She tried again, glancing at her erstwhile friend and current captor. He was propping Guyrin against the Box in a sitting position. She only had a few seconds. One finger snagged in the mouth of her trouser pocket, and her heart leaped. Angling her right leg outward to give more purchase for her tingling hand, she shrugged her shoulder, watching the fingers fall and rise without having any direct control over them. She was suddenly, absurdly reminded of the game she’d played as a child, using a fishing rod to hook a curved leaf stem from three paces away. She’d never been very good at that game. Two fingers slipped into her pocket, the cleft between her fingers stopping her hand a mere thumb’s width from the lump of the Shard below. Almost there! The crook of her arm was burning with sensation, and her elbow twitched. If she could exert just a hair more control and bend it just right… Yes! Her hand lifted and slid smoothly into the recesses of her pocket.
Vise-like fingers gripped her forearm, and she looked up. She hadn’t been paying attention to Gamarron! He had her, caught in the act of rebellion. Her hand was still in her pocket, but she couldn’t tell if she was touching the Shard. I’d know, wouldn’t I? Things feel different. She despaired. So close! She willed her fingers to move, to explore the space they were in, but she felt nothing.
“No,” snarled the old man, but it was not Gamarron who spoke. His voice still rang with harsh harmonics, and he fumbled for simple words. “I… say… when.” His fingers tightened on her arm, and she gasped. It wasn’t pain, exactly, because numbness still reigned there, but she felt alarm bells go off within her body as the bones of her forearm creaked under the force of those gnarled-root digits. If I shove my shoulder down, I’ll touch the Shard even if he breaks my arm. It’s worth it. She clenched her jaw, bracing herself against the damage that would surely come.
There was a disturbance from the tunnels, a demonic howling that rose sharply and crested in barking, coughing screams and the slaps of colliding flesh. She heard a distant cry of “Nira!” It was Kest! Kest is coming! Strangely, she could hear the trumpeting of some kind of beasts, too.
Gamarron’s head snapped toward the commotion, and she took her chance, shoving her right shoulder down, driving her hand deep into her pocket. She thought she could feel the brush of something smooth and hard against the backs of her fingers, but that brief sensation was washed away in a heartbeat as the world unfolded before her like a lotus petal. She had the Chaos in her grasp. The crushing fog of despair clouding her mind shredded away, leaving her as if she had taken a deep breath for the first time in days. Feeling flooded back into her arms, and the aching in her throat and head vanished.
Rage flooded Gamarron’s face and his hand tightened on her arm. She extrapolated down that avenue of possibility and knew that the inner bone of her forearm would shatter in less than two seconds. Quickly sorting through the probabilities, she found one where his feet were so off-balance and hers were so perfectly planted that she would be able to easily knock him down. Somewhat less likely was a reality in which her push coincided with a wobble in the world’s rotation that would massively multiply the strength of her shove. It was child’s play to link those probabilities together and push them into existence; it took her nine thousandths of a second. The world warped and reshaped itself, and only she knew it. Her left hand reached up and planted itself in the center of the old man’s chest, and she shoved. His eyes widened, and he went flying, striking the hard gray cube at an oblique angle and spinning into a heap in the corner. I will not be a pawn in someone else’s game! I shape the world!
She heard a scream of pain from the great entrance cavern that could only have come from Kest. Shocked back into reality, she ran for the tunnel and stumbled out into a scene of utter madness. The cavern was boiling with demons, and they were all fighting like mad. The hundreds of statue-still demon watchers had not stayed that way. Roiling through their midst, weaving between legs, and sinking sharp teeth into tough demon hides were hundreds upon hundreds – one thousand two hundred and forty-six – of shiny black beasts that she had never seen before. Running on four legs, they were long, burly, and as tall as her shoulder. They tore at the demons savagely with horns and teeth. One-on-one they were no match for a demon – but they stalked the big monsters in groups, harrying at their haunches and ankle tendons while others distracted the brutes. The brave creatures died by the score, but they were taking at least a few of the demons with them.
And there in the center of the maelstrom of chaos stood Kest, the only possible reason that a pack of wild animals could have converged on the Great Scar at this perfect moment. Renna was nearby, laying about herself with a demon bone, fear and outrage in
