The Thing had pondered death many times. Mostly, it had pondered someone else’s death, often hungrily—but it had thought about its own death, too. It had imagined painful deaths and lingering deaths, but this time the Thing’s mind caught stubbornly on a new thought. The Thing had never pondered a good death.
The changeling, Tinn, was alive because of the Thing. The child had said thank you. The boy’s friends would also live, thanks to the Thing—and their survival would make the boy’s life happier. The Thing’s sacrifice had made all that possible. It was going to die, and yet . . . it felt good. It had been prepared for death, but it had not been prepared for a death that meant something.
For the first time the Thing could remember, it felt full—the terrible hunger that usually raged inside of it had been somehow sated. As the last of the shadow finally boiled away to smoke, it felt content in a way it had never known before. If the Thing’s death meant something, it mused, then some part of its life must have meant something, too. And perhaps that was enough.
The air above the magma lake rippled with heat. Defenseless, powerless, the Thing stared, numbly, as the golden haze danced and wobbled before it. It could almost imagine the shape of a mighty eagle in midair, swooping toward it, wings outstretched. The Thing blinked and wobbled where it stood. Was this death, coming for it at last? Or just a mirage? The eagle grew larger as it neared, and soon the Thing could make out the curve of the sharp beak, the texture of each quivering feather, the curve of the talons, outstretched and reaching.
Tinn had hoped maintaining his bird form might be simpler without the befuddling mists of the Oddmire to throw him off, but nothing about this felt simple. He flapped hard the moment he felt the Thing’s meager weight in his talons. Coasting downward had been much easier than rising, but now he had to go up. The scorching air pouring off of the magma provided some lift—which Tinn used to the best of his limited abilities, but the heat was still unbearable. Eagles were not meant to fly under these conditions—nothing was meant to survive in this place. Except, it seemed, for the coiled colossus now waking up beneath them.
A spray of magma spewed up as another chunk of falling debris hit the surface. Tinn pulled the Thing close to his feathery chest. It was like hugging an ice cube, which—under the circumstances—was at least a small comfort. Today had taken more strange turns than Tinn could have possibly imagined. What used to be his right arm exploded with pain, and Tinn lurched to one side before getting his flight clumsily back under control. He surveyed the damage as best he could mid-flight. A few glowing beads of liquid rock had spattered his wing, and now the feathers were darkening around those spots and flickering with blossoming flames.
YOU ARE ON FIRE, said a voice from beneath Tinn.
Tinn tucked his head down and shot the Thing a withering glare over his beak.
I JUST THOUGHT YOU OUGHT TO KNOW, said the Thing.
Tinn brought his head up and pushed through the pain as hard as he could. The ledge was thirty feet ahead of them, but still too high. He could see his brother’s face, pale with panic, and Evie’s, too. They were yelling something and reaching out their hands. Tinn strained to climb higher on the sweltering breeze, but the pain was blinding. With every pump of his wings, he was losing altitude. He needed to climb higher.
YOU WILL RISE MORE EASILY WITHOUT ME.
Tinn ignored the voice. Twenty feet away. He wasn’t nearly high enough. He wasn’t going to make it, and dropping the Thing’s puny weight would not change that. His wing was too badly hurt.
YOU CANNOT SAVE US BOTH. RELEASE ME.
Ten feet. And falling. With his brother’s outstretched hands tantalizingly close, Tinn gave one final tortured push and then tucked his wings back and spun upside down, opening his talons at the last second so the Thing whipped out of his grasp like a skipping stone.
Tinn smiled. Think fast. The tiny creature twirled wildly through the air . . . and into Cole’s startled hands.
And then Tinn fell.
Twenty-Eight
The Thing did not send icy shivers through Cole’s bones the way it once had, but it still felt like he had caught a dead mouse. Its sickly body was damp and oddly cool in spite of the oppressive heat all around them. Cole dropped the Thing at his feet and did not even bother to watch as it scampered away—he was too busy staring numbly as the eagle that was his brother tumbled backward toward a lake of molten magma.
Cole’s voice cracked as he screamed, “Tinn!”
The earth shook, and before Cole could make sense of what was happening, he felt a broad arm hook around his waist and haul him off his feet. He hit the ground just as an avalanche of stones came thundering down on the ledge where he had just been standing. Joseph held his body over Cole like a human umbrella until he was satisfied that the rockslide was done.
“What happened?” asked Evie. “Where’s Tinn?”
Cole hurried back to peer over the ledge. The glowing surface of the magma rippled with a dozen fresh dark spots. Any one of them could be . . . “I-I can’t see him,” Cole breathed. “He’s gone.”
Joseph put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “He’s a changeling, right? Maybe he changed himself into something tiny. Like a spider. He’s probably climbing the cliff wall right now with eight little legs.”
“It . . . it doesn’t work like that,” Cole managed. “It’s all the same him on the inside, just squished around into different shapes.”
Joseph took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, kid. I really am. But we need to keep moving. We need to find a way out.”
“Our way out is on the other side of that boulder that none of us can move,” Evie said. “Or on the other side of that lake of lava, if you prefer.”
“Right,” Joseph sighed. “We’re between a rock and a hard place, except the hard place is molten death.”
“Ugh.” Fable grunted as she lifted her head. “What’s happening? Am I dead yet?”
“Not yet,” said Evie, holding Fable steady as she tried to sit up. “But not for lack of trying.”
“Glad you’re back with us,” said Joseph. “We need to move that big rock over there to get everybody out of here. Think you can use some of that magic of yours on it?”
Fable shook her head, and the subtle motion nearly threw her off-balance. “Sorry,” she grunted. “Not my area. Rocks don’t listen to my magic.” She rubbed her head with one hand and leaned on Evie for support with the other. “Which is super annoying, because the stupid kobolds can magic their way through them just fine.”
“What was that?” said Joseph.
“The kobolds,” Fable repeated. “They can . . .” With great effort she raised her chin and looked up. “They can move through solid stone. The kobolds could get us out.”
A hundred feet off, a barrage of falling rocks whistled through the air and splashed into the magma below with a series of heavy slaps, followed by a gurgling hiss.
“The kobolds left,” mumbled Cole. He was still staring down into the pool, the orange light reflecting in his eyes. “They ran away. We’re on our own.”
“We can call them back,” said Fable.
“Do you know how to talk to those things?” said Joseph.
“Not exactly,” said Fable. “I know they’re smart, though. They did things on command for Madam Root.”
“And Madam Root is . . . ?” asked Joseph.
“Not . . . here,” admitted Fable.
“It’s no good,” murmured Cole. “Nobody is coming to save us this time.”
“Well, we have to try something!” barked Fable. “Why are you acting like this?”
Fable’s eyes were scowling as they met Cole’s. His were tired and red and rimmed with tears.
“Wait,” said Fable. “Where’s Tinn?”
Cole let his chin sag down to his chest.
“Where’s Tinn?” Fable repeated. She turned to Joseph, who shook his head soberly.
“Oh.” Fable swallowed
.
“I can do it,” said Evie, softly.
They all turned their attention to her as she fumbled with one of the pockets in her vest.
“I can call the kobolds,” she said. With shaking hands, she produced a tiny purple vial. “It’s magic from the spriggans to let me talk to any animal. I can call them back. I’ll only get one shot, though.”
Below them, the body of the impossibly huge serpent broke the surface again, glowing white-hot, moving faster as it uncoiled. It was like watching a mountain of light unfolding beneath them. The scales skidded against the central pillar’s foundation, sending a spray of ruby droplets splattering all around it. The surface of the yawning magma lake swelled and rose as the Ancient One unfurled. Already the glowing, liquid rock had completely swallowed the last crumbling remnants of the charred floor and begun to climb higher up the walls of the cavern.
“It’s no good,” sighed Cole. “Even if you did call the kobolds back—even if a few of them heard you and tried to help—there’s just too many of us.”
Fable glanced over at her mother and all the rest of the freed captives, who remained blank and expressionless while the world crumbled around them. “Then we’ll take turns,” Fable said. “It’s better than just sitting here waiting for another rock to land on our heads.”
Evie nodded and tipped her head back as she downed the vial in a single gulp. She gave a little shiver like she had just felt a jolt of static electricity, and then she stepped closer to the wall of the cavern and took a deep breath.
“And then what?” Cole went on, grimly. “We make it to the other side of a rock? We’d still be lost in the dark, still buried miles beneath the surface.”
Evie hesitated a moment, worry drawn across her face—but then she leaned in and let her forehead rest directly on the stone as she called out in her loudest voice. What emerged from her mouth was not language in any human tongue, nor any of the typical sounds that animals are supposed to make. It droned and hiccuped in a series of discordant tones. When she was through, she repeated the same series of strange sounds, cupping her hands around her mouth as she did.
“The delvers weren’t digging themselves a temple down here,” Cole went on. “They were digging us a grave.”
“Oh, stop it!” Fable shouted. “I get it! He’s gone! He’s gone, and that hurts so bad I wanna be sick, and I can’t imagine how much more it hurts for you.” She took a slow, deep breath. “But we need to keep trying! Do you really think Tinn would want to be the reason that you just gave up? Tinn would want you to keep going. Tinn would want you to be the hero for all of them that you always were for him.”
Cole said nothing. The tears that had been welling up in his eyes finally slid down his cheeks, leaving trails in the soot. He did not reach up to wipe them away.
SHE IS WRONG, said a voice on the wind. It was frail and breathy, but Cole could hear it as clearly as if it were whispering directly in his ear. From behind a cracked lump of rock, the Thing’s tiny head emerged.
“Shut up,” Cole growled. His fists clenched. He could feel the chasm of pain and helplessness into which he had been sinking suddenly turning to anger. Rage rose in him like a fire climbing a hayloft. “You don’t get to have a say in this right now,” he snarled through clenched teeth.
BUT—
“I said shut up! Tinn trusted you! You tore him down, you tried to kill him, and he still felt bad for you! He saved you! Now he hasn’t been gone five minutes, and you’re already tearing me down? You want me to just give up and die? What is wrong with you?”
QUITE A LOT, said the Thing. BUT SHE IS STILL WRONG.
“I said shut—”
BECAUSE THE CHANGELING IS NOT DEAD. I CAN FEEL HIM.
The Thing’s next words were drowned out by a sudden, deafening, sucking sound from the lake below. A blinding light illuminated the whole cavern as the serpent’s head finally broke the surface of the magma. Whole cow fields could have rested on the flat of the creature’s head—not that they could have rested there long without being reduced to ashes. It hurt Cole’s eyes to look directly at the brilliant glow for too long. As the colossal serpent rose, so, too, did the bubbling magma lake. The whole cavern shuddered again, and this time it did not stop.
“Holy heck,” Fable breathed. “Now would be a really good time for some kobolds to start showing up.” Golden light washed over them as the snake’s sun-white eyes blinked open in front of them. It rose, the air around it rippling in a wobbly haze.
“I didn’t call the kobolds,” Evie stammered, transfixed as the behemoth slid higher and higher in front of her. The heat radiating off of the serpent washed over them in waves like an invisible incoming tide. Still, the cavern rumbled and shook all around them.
Somewhere, high above, a thunderous crash announced yet another onslaught of rocks shaken loose by the shuddering earth. Piano-sized stones came tumbling down the slope of the cave, bouncing and spinning and colliding with heavy cracks and bangs, bound toward the crowd of freed prisoners.
Annie Burton and Raina stood beside each other at the front of the pack, their expressions placid and their eyes dull.
“Nooo!” Cole could not hear his own voice—all sound melted into a meaningless cacophony—but he felt the scream of horror leave his body. It was as if time slowed down and he was frozen in place, helplessly watching it all unfold in front of him.
The magma rose below them. The rocks thundered down from above. The serpent had turned its fiery eyes toward the crowd. And then the rocks on the side of the cavern rippled like the surface of a lake in a soft breeze. A moment later, a monstrous animal with bristly fur and a frame like a locomotive burst free from the solid stone, its mouth yawning so wide it could have fit an entire mail cart, complete with horses, on its tongue. Its teeth were as big as whiskey barrels and looked as if they could grind mountains into molehills. The kobb scooped up a dozen bodies with one swoop of its mighty jaws. Former prisoners tumbled over one another into a pile on the kobb’s tongue, Raina and Annie at the top of the heap. Cole watched, horrified, as the monster prepared to devour them in the moments before the magma or the serpent could reach them.
“They came! Yes!” Evie yelled beside him. “Hey! Listen up! Everybody grab on to the kobb!” Her voice, full of urgent authority, cut through the air like a bell.
Glassy-eyed goblins, slack-jawed gnomes, and tottering trolls all obeyed the instruction mindlessly. Those within reach clutched handfuls of bristly hair and then lurched off their feet as the kobb kept plowing forward. By the time the beast plunged back into the wall of the cavern, it had thirty or more bodies clinging to its sides, plus the dozen it had snatched up in its mouth.
The stones in its wake had not stopped rippling before two more kobbs came diving out of the rocky walls farther down. These beasts echoed the movements of the first, scooping up mouthfuls of freed prisoners and collecting the rest on their backs just seconds before the ledge they had been standing on was obliterated by the landslide. The swelling magma hungrily consumed the debris. The snake’s mighty head merely turned to follow the frantic exodus.
Cole barely had time to snap out of his astonishment and grab on himself as the last lumbering beast raced past them. The creature’s furry coat was layered thickly over muscles as wide as barn walls, and Cole rose and fell with each loping stride. The fur in his hands felt like a horse’s mane, but it was dense and long enough that Cole could wrap it once around his hands for a firmer grip. The kobb smelled a bit like a horse too, musky and earthy.
Cole pulled his knees up under him as the ground whipped away beneath them. He glanced from side to side. Fable had taken hold on his left and Evie on his right. He could see his father over Evie’s shoulder—that was good—but had they left somebody behind? It had all happened so quickly. Had everyone heard Evie’s command? Had they all grabbed hold? Too late for stragglers now.
Cole glanced over his shoulder for one last look at the hellish und
erground cavern before the kobb leapt toward the far wall.
The changeling is not dead. The Thing had said so. It said it could feel him. Tinn was still alive . . . which meant he was still trapped in the cavern somewhere!
“Wait—” Cole said.
But then the stones enveloped them, sound abruptly cut to silence, and the whole world was a sea of warm molasses.
Twenty-Nine
The serpent rose out of the liquid rock, its song a ballad of aching loneliness. There had been more of its kind, in the beginning. The earth had been hot then, and there had been such beautiful fires everywhere. The serpent missed the world as it used to be. It hardly recognized the world any longer. It could hear sounds on the distant surface—but they were wrong sounds, foreign, alien sounds. They were the songs of creatures who knew nothing of the sweet aroma of molten metals or the tender embrace of a blazing fire. But perhaps they could know. Perhaps the earth could be as it once was. The serpent could set the world ablaze—the whole world—a paradise of fire and ash. For all of them.
A column of rock rose high into the air, precisely as the serpent had dreamt it for eons. It knew this scene. It had seen it play out countless times as it slept. The pillar would crumble, the land above would fall, and then the serpent would rise to make the world right. Yes. It was time to make real the visions it had dreamt. The serpent turned its head toward the pillar. How very little it would take to snap the feeble column.
In the space between the serpent and the pillar, the magma bubbled.
The serpent paused.
Something was rising above the glowing surface. The serpent lowered its white-hot head to better see the tiny shape rising out of the liquid rock.
It was—impossibly—another serpent. Miniature scales of brilliant gold dripped with crackling lava. The tiny creature was a fraction of the great serpent’s size, but it was unmistakably kin and kind.
The serpent felt welling emotions wash over it. With infinite gentleness, it lowered its tremendous head until it was inches away from its tiny counterpart, and then it sang. The little snake pressed its glowing head against the great serpent’s snout.
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