Page 120 of The Bone Season

Gallows Wood was thinning. Ahead, I saw the towers of the House.

Warden was there. I refused to be eaten before I could rebuke him for this hellish night.

All that stood between us was a meadow and a rusted fence, which looked as if a toothpick and a wish held it together. It was high, but I sensed no ethereal battery. With no time to find a gap, I started to climb, jamming my boots into small toeholds. The adrenalin was suppressing the pain in my broken wrist, allowing me to use both hands. In the meadow, I could see the marker, the finish line – a flare planted in the ground, flanked by red-jackets. I swung a leg over the fence.

The Buzzer rammed straight into it. I fell off on the other side and hit the ground running. Another crash, and the Buzzer broke through.

David was with the red-jackets. They opened fire with old rifles. I dived to the ground and crawled for my life. The strongest acid in Scion was sizzling in its veins, and somehow the Buzzer was still charging after me.

The marker was close, but so was the beast. I twisted to face it and threw out my spirit, heading straight for the darkness.

Straight away, I knew I had fucked up. Other dreamscapes had defences – others tried to keep me out – but this one was a gaping maw, drawing me towards it. I fought like a fish on the end of a line.

Once you entered a black hole, you could never escape.

I jerked back to myself with a gasp. David lowered a gun with a strange trumpet barrel. A weighted net had flown out to entangle the Buzzer.

‘You’re welcome,’ David said.

Hardly able to see, I planted my boot on the ground and got up, hearing the whole company run forward. With the very last ounce of strength I could muster, I dashed past the flare and collapsed in its fizzing red glow.

‘Pass.’ Merope looked down at me. ‘By the narrowest of margins, 40.’

My own weak laugh was the last thing I heard.

MUTUAL TRUST

5 June 2059

There are certain memories that shape the person you become – memories that sink deep roots, changing the way you grow. For me, one of those memories was my escape from Gallows Wood.

The Rephs could be cruel, but they could also understand our pleas for mercy, even grant it. Their ancient enemies were something else. All that thing had wanted was to survive at any cost.

When I came round, it was still dark. Instead of a beamed ceiling, I was looking at a canopy. The gramophone was playing in the near distance. This time it was ‘In the Gloaming’ – a song I loved, performed in music halls.

My thoughts dragged. I couldn’t quite remember what had happened before this. It reminded me of when Jaxon had first let me try real wine. I had the vague sense that I should get up, but the bed was so warm, and my wrist hurt. I drifted back into a drowse.

When I woke fully, the curtains had been opened around me, so I could see the window to my right, the fire snapping nearby. To my left, Warden sat in the bay of the opposite window, accompanied by another Reph. For some reason, I was in his bed.

I watched him, my eyes barely open. He was talking to Terebell.

They weren’t speaking English. Their voices were soft and resonant, the words an unbroken glissade, sliding into one another with no stops for breath, more duet than conversation. A few spirits were nearby, almost dancing along. It reminded me of what happened when a whisperer played an instrument, or a polyglot sang.

Warden and Terebell were neither. Then again, none of the Rephs had auras I recognised. This must be the language of the Netherworld.

The two Rephs stood. As I continued to feign sleep, I remembered how I had got here. My fist clenched. The dirt of the forest lined the whites of my nails.

Terebell stopped talking. Her stance was stiff, her face hard. Warden touched her under the jaw – an intimate gesture, one I had never seen from a Reph. She seemed to soften, resting her forehead against his. They stayed that way for a moment, eyes closed, before she left the room.

Interesting.

Warden shut the door behind her. When I shifted on to my side, he looked at me.

‘Paige,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fuck you.’

His eyes burned. ‘Better, I take it.’

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