She took the last two brands, dashed all the way across the chamber, and jammed them into the rocks on either side of the tunnel opening before rushing back again.
Sounds from within the tunnel’s blackness grew audible. Their time was almost up. Redden summoned the magic of the wishsong, emitting a soft hum to begin the process, bringing the heat of it out of his core to be balanced invisibly within his chest, ready for use when it was needed.
Oriantha was completely changed by now. On all fours, she slunk into the shadows and disappeared. She would choose her own place to make her final stand. She would face what was coming on her own terms.
Across the chamber, shadows emerged from the tunnel and started toward them. They were just a handful at first, then a dozen, and then many more. At least thirty or forty by Redden’s quick count, too many for them to withstand. Too many for them to escape. They crossed the chamber and hovered in the shadows just beyond the light, vague forms that emitted a strange hissing; that grunted and growled; that gave high, keening moans. Eyes glittered from out of the dark here and there, but never for more than a moment, always shifting away again.
Tarwick appeared suddenly before them, his scarecrow form materializing out of the gloom. His lean feral features were bladed and planed by the deep shadows, and his eyes glittered as they fixed on his prey. All around him, his hunters pressed forward eagerly—Goblins with demon-wolves on leashes, Furies with their terrifying cat faces, and creatures that had no name Redden could determine.
There were so many, he thought in despair.
Tarwick began speaking, and the language he used was unknown to the boy. But Tesla Dart understood. “Says we put down weapons. Says we are his prisoners.”
Now the Furies were mewling and hissing, and the demon-wolves were snapping at the air. If they all came at once, Redden knew it was the end—even with the power of the wishsong to aid them.
“What does Tesla say to Tarwick?” the Ulk Bog whispered back at him.
She was deferring to him, which he found oddly ridiculous. As if he knew what to do. As if he were leader of their little group. He did not answer, but instead concentrated on bringing the magic of the wishsong closer. He took deep breaths and centered himself inside, where the fear and doubt fought to claim him. Words whispered in his head, repeating themselves over and over.
We will fight them. We will stand until we fall. We will never go back into the cages.
Almost without thinking about it, he stepped backward into a pool of shadow and knelt, setting the metal case on the cavern floor. When he rose again, his fingers were closed so tightly about the crimson Elfstones he could feel the edges cutting into his palm.
What sort of power did they possess?
He was remembering those times he had linked the magic of the wishsong to another form of power—to when Railing and he had flown the Sprints through the Shredder and again when he had used the wishsong to enhance the power of the fire launchers aboard the Quickening.
But he remembered, too, when he had tied to escape the Straken Lord’s camp, been confronted by a giant that could crush him with a single blow, and almost failed in his efforts to summon the wishsong’s power.
He remembered what he had felt in those crucial moments, and how he had responded. He remembered how good it was to be free again and how desperate he was to remain so.
“Move back,” he said to Tesla Dart. “Behind me.”
She stared at him in surprise, but then did as she was told. “What are you doing?” she hissed at him.
He ignored her. He didn’t know what he was doing. Not specifically. But he knew what he wanted to happen, and that was enough.
Tarwick was watching him suspiciously and the creatures that served the Catcher were beginning to edge forward, no longer content to stand and wait. The volume of their cries was increasing, and the gnarled bodies were edging closer, pressing them backward toward the niche.
“I will get serpents and throw!” Tesla Dart insisted.
“Stay where you are,” Redden said.
He was gathering himself, trying to make certain that what he did next would achieve the result he sought—or at least something close. He was seeking a way to shape it into something formidable through the use of his magic, through strength of heart, mind, and body.
With so little of each to call upon, he must be certain he found enough of each if they were to survive.