“Pyra!”
His fear apparently forgotten, Benin waded into the stream, heading straight for the beleaguered chariot. The emberfox perched atop the ark, baring her teeth at the water below and barking with every violent shift of the chariot.
“Take the water away,” the mage was muttering.
He wasn’t the only one fixed on saving a loved one. Abandoning her position on the bank, General Hoppit sprinted to where the first wagons had been brought further inland. With a few practiced movements, she unyoked Steelpaw from his wagon, swung herself up onto his back and the pair of them charged into the water. She called out instructions to her captains, Serene and Magnus, who began relaying orders to the warriors. Those in the water converged on the panicking badgers, forming protective circles around the animals, while those on the bank loaded stonebows and strung shortbows, scrambling up onto the scattered rocks in hopes the increased elevation would let them better spot our attackers.
The scouts joined them, led by Longshank, who strode fearlessly back into the water, armed not with his hunter’s stonebow but a warrior’s spear.
The warriors already protecting the chariot held their ground, though some of them were chest-deep in water. They were clearly terrified, but Ris’kin’s presence kept them steady. The acolytes who’d reached the shore were whimpering, and the children on the far bank, though they’d been herded well away from the water, were screaming and wailing at the sight of blood.
The air crackled with energy. Everything felt suddenly heavy, slow, like the pregnant pause before a storm. Benin was standing just upstream from the chariot. His feet were planted firmly, and his hands were held out in front of him. Arcane energy wove itself around his dancing fingers, blue-white sparks one moment, tendrils of flame the next.
“You do know that summoning lightning will likely fry us all, right?” I called to him.
The mage grunted. Bekkit replied for him. “There will be no frying. Watch.”
“There’s no time—”
The air shimmered in front of Benin. He grunted again, sweat pouring down his face as he focused his energy on the swirling circle appearing before him.
With an enormous effort, he pulled one hand away from the spell and pointed it to the side, at the grassy bank we’d just left. Another circle appeared there, hovering a few inches above the ground.
“Now?” he gasped.
“Now!” said Bekkit.
The fingers on both Benin’s hands splayed wide, and suddenly the floating circle was spewing water onto our former campsite. The one in front of Benin—and in front of the chariot—was a shimmering silver void.
“A portal?!” Ket and I both exclaimed.
The river still ran on either side of the portal as usual, but the magical field it emitted meant the space directly behind it was no longer subject to the current. As the water began to drain away, its depth dropping dramatically, I started to see shapes flopping in the shallow puddle that remained.
One of the shapes tried to lunge at Hoppit, who was now helping Gneil lift the ark down from the stranded chariot. Quick as a striking tree-viper, Longshank thrust his spear into the creature and lifted it from the water for all to see.
The warriors recoiled from the toothy fish, gripping their weapons more tightly as they escorted Gneil and Hoppit to the shore, avoiding the deepest puddles and flopping shapes. Longshank made to follow them, but another beached fangfin threw itself at him, and razor teeth—perhaps the very teeth that had already torn apart two gnomes this day—closed around his leg.
The hunter glared down at the fish, much larger than the others. Its crimson eye stared balefully up at the hunter as it gnawed futilely on his wooden leg. He jabbed his spear through its eye and twisted. It fell still, its teeth still clamped around his prosthetic calf. Longshank tried to pry it off with the end of his spear, but it held fast. Grumbling, he began to limp to shore, dragging the heavy fish behind him.
“I can’t hold this thing open much longer!” Benin warned through gritted teeth. The circles were looking rougher around the edges than they had before, as though the magic sustaining them was beginning to fray.
The emberfox had bounded along the muddy ground and clambered up to Benin’s shoulder. Longshank was well on his way to shore, accompanied by his dead hitchhiker. Hoppit had already climbed up onto the far bank and was helping Gneil up as well. The pair of them reached down together to pull the ark up after them. Ris’kin lifting it up from underneath, while Sir Fura offered chattering encouragement from further up the bank.
A thunderous crack rent the air. When I looked back at the portals, they were edged with fire.
“Let go!” Bekkit urged. “You have to let go! You’re almost dry!” I knew he wasn’t referring to the absence of water.
“I can’t!”
The mage’s voice shook. Not even when he’d been lost in tunnels following the death of his teammate Lila had he sounded so scared.
“The fire does not control you. You control the fire,” Bekkit was saying. “You must re-balance the elements, otherwise it cannot end!”
The circles spun faster, the orange flames taking on a blue tinge. Tongues of flame licked the air as the portals began to roar and groan, as though struggling to contain a force much greater than they were meant to hold.
“Control it, Benin!” Ket cried. “You’re going to burn out. Don’t let that happen! You can’t!”
My heart broke a little bit at the helplessness in her voice. I’d heard it before, a long time ago, when I’d almost used all my mana on Observe. It was the way she herself had been destroyed as a Core, and I knew she’d never come back from watching it happen to someone else,
