I’m sure of it now; the onslaught is thinning! I almost laugh aloud. But then something else comes down the tunnel—I hear it before I see it, the way it clackety-clacks against the stone. Storm continues to send his own bolts, but they’re weaker now. Not as weak as mine, though. I stop, saving my energy for whatever comes next.
It’s another scorpion. The mother of all scorpions. Bigger than a tavern building, glowing like a moon. Its pincers snap as its segmented tail curls over its back. A drop of venom collects at the tip.
Hector whips his sword to the ready position. “Belén!” he calls. “I need my forearm shield.”
Belén tosses it to him, and Hector catches it deftly. Then the commander of my guard advances on the scorpion.
It reaches out with pincers as if to snap him in half. Hector dodges and arcs his sword down, but he’s not quite fast enough, and the scorpion dances away.
Hector darts in, slashing, and nicks one of the legs. The scorpion stumbles but thrusts its tail forward to spear him. Hector ducks, and the tails misses him by a hand’s breadth.
The creature skitters sideways, pulling its tail back for another try. Beside Hector, something sizzles. It’s venom, shaken from the scorpion’s tail when it attacked, now burning through the rock like acid.
“Watch the venom!” I yell. “It burns.”
Hector circles the scorpion, keeping an eye on the tail as another drop of venom coalesces at its tip. “It’s too fast,” he hollers. “Can you weaken it for me?”
But I’m already focusing the zafira into a white-hot point of power. I scream, thrusting it from me. My white firebolt plunges into its side. The scorpion screeches, a metal-scraping-metal sound that pierces my head like a knife. But it works—the tail’s next shot misses, and its body smokes with char.
It’s a little slower now, wobblier, as it rounds on Hector once again. Hector attacks in a flurry of movement, slashing so fast I can hardly track him. The tail whips down again, but Hector dodges and rolls out of reach. A drop of venom sizzles on one of his gauntlets, and he backs away to give himself a few precious seconds to unbuckle it and toss it to the ground.
The scorpion advances. Its tail spears forward over and over again, desperately. Finally it overcommits, stumbles. Hector dodges right, leaps, plunges the blade into the creature’s head with a sickening crunch.
It shudders for a moment, then collapses, legs twitching, sword jutting from its carapace. The glow gradually fades.
I look around, collecting my breath, trying not to pass out from emptying myself of the zafira so quickly. The other scorpions are gone, burned or scuttled away. The cavern reeks of burned hair.
Mara lies on the ground, her head in Belén’s lap. Purple welts are rising up all over her hands and face. They must be all over her body, beneath her clothes. Her breath comes in gasps. Her lips are turning blue. I drop to my knees beside them. Not Mara, God, please, not her.
“Heal her,” Belén says. His one good eye brims with tears. “Please?”
I bury my face in my hands. “I can’t. I’ve got nothing left. I’m barely—”
“Try!”
The world sways; my vision blurs. “All right,” I hear myself saying. “I’ll try.” I reach down and take Mara’s hands. They feel odd, like puffy pillows.
A shape kneels beside me. “Let me,” says Storm. “I didn’t use everything up the way you did. I might have something left.”
“But healing only works for people you—”
“Tell me what to do.”
I’m so dizzy, so tired. But I have to stay awake. “It’s creation magic, so think about growing and cleansing and . . . I always imagine the power going through my hands into the other person. But I have a living stone. So maybe put your amulet in Mara’s hands?”
He wraps her hands around his amulet, holding them there with his own. Mara’s eyelids flutter, but they stay closed. I want to tell Storm to hurry, that there might not be much time, but I don’t want to ruin his focus.
He closes his eyes. My own Godstone flutters in response as he draws on the zafira and focuses all the power on his amulet. Their clasped hands begin to glow.
Mara’s back arches, and her sightless eyes fly open—but only for the briefest moment. She crashes back to Belén’s lap, and Storm topples over on top of her. “Not enough,” he mutters. “I didn’t have enough after all.”
Do I imagine that some of Mara’s welts have turned sickly yellow? That the swelling in her face has subsided? A partial healing, maybe. Dear God, please let it be enough to save her life.
I sway to the side, barely noting how Hector catches me before I join Mara and Storm in oblivion.
30
MY first thought upon waking is for Mara. I scramble over and put my hand to her cheek. Not feverish. And her breathing is definitely easier.
“Hector says she might live,” Belén says. His voice is ragged, his face bereft. I’d bet my Godstone crown he hasn’t left her side.
“You love her,” I say gently.
He nods. “But she won’t marry me. Says she may never marry. That her first priority is to be your lady-in-waiting, and she’s finally doing something she’s proud of, and she won’t . . . I’m babbling.”
I put a hand on his arm and squeeze.
Footsteps draw my attention away, beyond the scorpion’s giant carcass to the tunnel it came from. It’s Hector and Red, carrying something long and heavy between them.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no, no.”
They lay Waterfall beside the fire. Her once-beautiful features are unrecognizable, her face a lumpy mask of hives. But unlike Mara’s, hers are pale and bloodless. And unlike Mara, she doesn’t breathe.
Red hurries away as soon as she releases Waterfall’s legs. She sits, her back toward the rest of us, and hugs her knees to her chest, head down.
“I knew something must have scared them,” Hector says softly. “They only glow when frightened. I think she went off exploring by herself, to make sure we were going the right way.”
I glance over at Storm’s peacefully sleeping form, dreading the moment when he wakes and learns what has happened. My heart aches for him.
“We’ll have to go back,” I say. “We might be able to find our way. We can figure out how to get back over that fissure, and . . .” I let my face fall into my hands. There is no getting to Basajuan in time now. The city will burn, my friends and my sister with it.
“Maybe not,” Hector says. “She had this.” He hands me a scrap of parchment. It’s faded, the charcoal smeared, but the lines of a map are still visible. “She was scribbling notes when we found her. She started writing as soon as she knew she was dying, and she didn’t stop until she had to.”
“You found her alive?”
“Barely. We rushed to get her here. I thought maybe you or Storm could heal her. But she died on the way. She talked the whole time. Telling us . . . she . . .” Hector’s jaw clenches, and he blinks rapidly.
Tears fill my eyes. People are always so much braver, so much nobler, then I ever imagine. “What did she tell you?” Though I think I know.
“Everything she knows about these tunnels. See here?” He points to a hash mark on the parchment. “This marks a water source. And this here? This part of the route is merely a good guess, and she says we should be extremely cautious. And this . . .” His fingertip moves toward a small crescent, its top edge blurred from too much handling. “This is our exit. She said it would bring us to within a day’s walk of the northern pass.”
I push away the hope sparking inside me. It’s too soon to be glad.
Storm stirs. He stretches then sits up, rolling his shoulders.
I see the exact moment he notices his sister’s body. He stares, his eyes glassy with shock. Then his fist curls near his mouth as it opens in a silent scream.