Glenn turned and ran down to the river. By the time she got there, Aamon had stowed everything in the boat, and Kevin was sitting in its narrow bow.
“Quickly,” Aamon said as he waved her forward. Then he looked over her shoulder and shouted, “Glenn!”
Two of Garen Tom’s soldiers burst out of the trees beside the house. One was racing toward her with a sword drawn while the other dropped to his knee, pulling a bowstring taut. Glenn ran. An arrow cut through the air inches from her shoulder.
“Get down!” Aamon commanded as he pushed Glenn into the boat. “Both of you!”
Aamon charged up the hill as more of them poured out of the forest. A fat man swung an enormous ax, but Aamon dodged it at the last second and drove his immense fist into the man’s stomach. He doubled over, gasping, and Aamon brought both his hands together and smashed them into the back of the man’s head, dropping him to the ground.
An arrow sliced into the meat of Aamon’s arm, but it barely slowed him down. He tore the bow out of the terrified archer’s hand and snapped it like a twig. Another soldier managed a slash across Aamon’s back with his sword, before Aamon swept the blade out of his hand and then threw him to the ground. The man recoiled as Aamon fell on him, teeth bared and claws ready to tear at his throat, but for some reason Aamon didn’t strike.
Two others set on him while he paused. Both had heavy clubs and one of them managed a perfect swing to Aamon’s back that toppled him over onto his side. As soon as he was down, the others swarmed over him like a horde of ants.
Glenn dug her fingers underneath the bracelet and started to strip it off, her eyes on the soldiers. Opal said she could control it. Use it.
Glenn held her breath. It was a chance she had to take. It was either that or she, Kevin, and Aamon would all be dead.
There was a splash behind her. Glenn turned. Another soldier, a ratty-looking man with shaggy hair and pockmarked cheeks, was knee-deep in the water, racing toward them, a dagger in his hand.
Glenn pulled at the bracelet, but the soldier grabbed the side of the boat and yanked it toward him, knocking her to her knees. His blade gleamed. Kevin rushed to Glenn’s side, pulling her back just as something burst out of the water and the man disappeared, dragged under the surface. Glenn leapt forward and caught flashes of Aamon’s thick fur and the man’s leather armor in the churning water.
“Aamon!”
Glenn leaned out over the stern of the boat. There was a pause as she stared down into the murk, Kevin at her shoulder, and then the water exploded in a rush. A skeletal hand seized Glenn’s hair and a dagger flashed toward her throat. Before the blade could connect, the massive figure of Aamon Marta rose behind him, teeth bared, eyes the frenzied green of something radioactive. Aamon’s hands found the man’s pale throat, and Glenn watched, stunned, as his claws tore through flesh and veins and muscle. The soldier’s gray eyes went huge with pain and shock. Blood gushed up through Aamon’s fingers and spilled down the man’s chest and still he thrashed. Aamon’s huge arm flexed and there was a terrible snap. The soldier twitched once and went still. When it was clear he was dead, Aamon released his body and it slipped into the water.
The shouts of the men on the shore went distant, as if Glenn was hearing down the length of a long tunnel. The water rushed by, breaking over the wooden boat’s hull.
A buzzing numbness moved through her. She forced herself to breathe and then looked up. The snowy patch at Aamon’s throat was dark and matted with blood. His face was all brutal angles and sharp plains rimmed in razory teeth. Glenn searched his face for the soft familiarity of Gerard Manley Hopkins, but it was gone.
All that was left was a monster.
Aamon reached for the side of the boat and Glenn recoiled,
scrambling away from him in terror. He froze, one bloody hand suspended before him, when he saw the fear in Glenn’s eyes. In that second, the monster was wiped away and Hopkins was back. Instead of madness and violence, Glenn saw a deep sorrow, the look of someone lifted to great heights and then abandoned to gravity.
A chorus of voices rose behind Aamon. Steel gleamed in the
moonlight. The boat knocked into the current and they started to drift away. Glenn reached out her hand.
“Come on,” she said weakly. “Let’s go.”
21
More soldiers were cresting the hill. Aamon curled his hand around the edge of the boat and pushed it away.
“Go,” he said. “Don’t stop. Just keep going!”
“Aamon!” Glenn called, but he was already running for the shore.
The current bit into the boat’s hull and swept her and Kevin away. As they sped up, the boat fishtailed wildly until Kevin grabbed the pole off the bottom of the boat and dug it into the riverbed, steadying them and pushing them out of sight of the shore.
“Kevin! No! We have to turn back!”
Kevin ignored her, pushing the pole into the water and driving them down the dark river. Something inside Glenn screamed for her to get up, to stop him, but she saw Aamon’s bloody face and his bloody hands and she sat there, frozen and helpless as they slipped away.
Behind them were the sounds of clashing metal, then there was a terrible roar, followed by screams that went on and on.
Sometime later, Glenn took the pole from Kevin and pushed
them on through the night. To either side of them was a wall of ivy-choked forest nearly twenty feet high. In places it grew so thick that the trees joined over the run of the river and it was as if they were sailing through a black tunnel.
Once they left Aamon it was quiet except for the rush of the river and the sporadic crack of branches and crunching of leaves beyond the shore. Glenn and Kevin drew inward with every crash, refusing to acknowledge them, refusing to consider what might be responsible for them. It was as if they could make a castle out of their silence.
Glenn wondered if she would be able to feel what was hidden out in those woods if it weren’t for the bracelet. Could she muster up enough control to lift them both up and take them out of there? Would she know what had happened to Aamon?
Glenn jammed the pole into the water, relishing the pain that shot up her arms and pushed that sick guilt out of her mind. Aamon pushed them away, she told herself. Made them promise to keep going no matter what. They had no choice. After all, what could they have done to help him?
Glenn felt sure they had done the right thing, but if that was true, then why did she keep seeing Aamon’s face as the boat slipped away?
And why did his face always seem to fade into her father’s as she dug her heels into the ground and threw him into the arms of the drones?
Glenn poled them down the river as the cold night wore on and the first reaches of dawn, orange and yellow, lit up the water. Sunlight arrowed through the gaps in the woods, and the trees were trees again, winter gray trunks and thin branches. The sounds lost their menace as well. There was just the sluice of water against the boat’s wooden sides and the rhythmic chirp of frogs and insects. Overhead, the dark shapes of birds tumbled about in the sky.
Glenn collapsed into the stern, balancing the pole across the boat and letting the current carry them forward. Kevin was up front, his back to her, leaning over the water. He looked so alien in his drab Magisterium clothes, a brown leather fleece-lined coat and thick rust-colored pants. If it hadn’t been for the wilted shock of green hair, she would have barely recognized him. He had said hardly a word the whole night.
Restless, Glenn opened the pack Aamon had thrown in the boat before they left. She hoped to find a map,
