We march. Tracks in the dust lead us to the archway Gaston and Spingate discovered. It remains closed, stone halves pressed tightly together.
I raise the spear. Everyone stops. I turn to face my people.
“Okereke, Johnson, Gaston, prepare the torches.”
Gaston and my fellow circles run forward. Johnson has a dozen long bones cradled in her arms. Okereke carries a bundle of black rags, the discarded pants legs from the circle-star boys. We won’t have grease like we had when we first entered the dark section. These new torches won’t last long—we’ll have to move fast and hope we make it to the thicket tunnel before they burn out.
We prepare ten torches, tying the fabric tight to the bone. Three for Bishop, three for Farrar, two for O’Malley—who will be up front with me—and two for Smith and Beckett, who will bring up the rear.
I talk to a hallway full of faces.
“We don’t have long before our light runs out. Stay close to the person in front of you. Ignore any side rooms. The circle-stars will run ahead and make sure those are empty.”
I hope they are. If we have to fight before we reach the Garden, we’ll be in the dark for sure.
The dark. If that happens, I know I won’t be able to handle it. I will fall apart. For a moment I am in my coffin again, the terror rolling over me along with that feeling of being trapped…then I force it away. We’ll make it in time. I won’t be in the dark, I won’t—I’ll get these people where we need to go.
I turn to Spingate. “Open it up.”
She goes to work with the scepter.
I stand in front of the door. Bishop and El-Saffani press in on my right, Farrar, Visca and Bawden on my left.
“Got it,” Spingate says. The door grinds open.
Inside, darkness.
We will make it in time, we will…
“Light the torches,” I say.
The scepter’s flame flares. Each group of circle-stars lights a torch, then rushes forward. I see them darting into dark rooms, darting back out, advancing down the hall. They will make sure Matilda’s creatures aren’t lurking inside, ready to reach out and grab us as we pass by.
O’Malley is on my right, his knife in one hand, two unlit bone torches in the other.
I wait until the circle-stars are so far down the hall I can barely see them.
“This is it,” I call out. “Move fast, stay together. Spingate, do it.”
The end of her scepter sparks brightly. O’Malley touches his torch to the flame. Black fabric whuffs to life.
We run.
So many of us. Our footsteps thunder off the stone walls.
Behind me, I can hear kids crying. They’re terrified, and I can’t blame them. We’re marching them through torchlit darkness, making them run fast so that monsters they have never seen can’t get them. These kids have been awake for only a few hours. They barely know us, yet are forced to take what we say on faith alone. So far, at least, none of them have had the courage to stand up to us. I’m sure that will come. I hope it comes, because if it does it will mean we’ve reached a safe place where we have the luxury of letting them argue. Are we bullying these kids into doing what we say? Yes, we probably are, but it is for their own good.
O’Malley’s first torch sputters. He lights the second. I know that in the rear of our group, Smith is doing the same. Up front, Bishop and Farrar are already on their second torch, probably close to starting their last.
We are almost out of light.
I wish Latu was here. She would have gladly fought at our side. She would have protected the kids. She would have done whatever needed to be done.
Latu, Yong, Bello…
When this is over, who else will be gone?
Torchlight plays off the walls and the dead ceiling. We know where we are going, and it doesn’t take long to get there.
Finally, we see that the circle-stars have stopped up ahead. We’ve reached the room with the thicket tunnel.
Bishop faces me, as if checking to see if I’ve changed my mind. I haven’t. We will stick to the plan. Torchlight flickers against the red-gray that coats him, glistens off the wetness of his white eyes.
There is anger and determination about him, but also an air of sadness. He is leading us into battle not because he wants to fight, but because he knows this must be done and that he is the best one to do it. He has taken life: even though that life belonged to a monster, the act haunts him.
The circle-stars gather around me. All of them this time, seven warriors with red-gray faces ready to lead us in.
“We’re almost out of torches,” I say. “Get into the Garden and make sure it’s safe for the rest of us to follow. If you see monsters, capture them if you can, but if you have to kill them to stay alive—kill them.”
Seven heads nod. They really all do look the same. If my people are a spear, the circle-stars are the blade.
Bishop shoves his bone-club through the hole, then crams his way in. The twins follow him, then Farrar, Coyotl, Visca and finally Bawden.
The strongest of us have gone forward, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us are weak.
O’Malley’s torch starts to flutter.