Chapter 4 - The Cave Breaks Open

Mira did not breathe.

Her fingers were locked around her bow. She pressed herself low behind the rocks, but every part of her wanted to run.

The cave entrance lay ahead, dark and wide beneath the hill, with bandits moving around its mouth like guards stationed outside a nightmare.

Lysa was in there.

She had to be.

The summoning beam had struck somewhere near this cave. The trail had brought them here.

Everything had brought them here.

But there were too many bandits.

One leaned near the entrance with a spear resting over his shoulder. Another sat on a crate, looking half bored and half asleep. Two more stood closer to the shadows, speaking quietly.

Their voices were too low for Mira to understand every word, but she heard enough to know they were calm.

Calm.

As though Lysa had not been missing for hours.

As though Mira’s chest were not splitting open with every second she remained hidden outside.

Melra crouched behind another rock nearby, her eyes sharp and her staff held close. She watched both the cave and Mira, trying to follow every danger at once.

Behind them, Malora slipped into cover with the silence of a drawn blade.

The captain did not speak. She lowered herself behind the stones, her gaze moving across the bandits, the entrance, the slope, the trees and every possible route of attack.

Mira barely noticed.

Her eyes searched for Lysa.

No silver hair.

No familiar voice.

No glimpse of her dress.

No sign of her at all.

Only the cave.

Mira shifted one foot against the dirt.

A pebble rolled.

The sound was tiny.

Almost nothing.

One of the bandits stopped talking.

His head turned.

Mira froze.

Melra’s eyes widened slightly.

The bandit near the entrance lifted his spear.

“Did you hear that?”

The other bandit frowned.

“Hear what?”

The first man stepped away from the entrance.

Mira’s throat tightened.

He was looking towards the rocks.

Towards her.

Melra’s hand tightened around her staff.

She could see the danger.

She could see the angle of his approach.

She could see Mira trapped in the wrong place at the worst possible moment.

But another bandit stood far too close to Melra’s hiding place.

If Melra whispered, he would hear her.

If she moved, he would turn.

If Malora stepped from cover too soon, every bandit near the cave would be alerted before they knew where Lysa was being held.

The bandit approached Mira.

One step.

Then another.

His boots scraped against the dirt.

Mira slowly reached for an arrow.

Her fingers trembled.

The bandit narrowed his eyes.

Then the cave exploded.

Not with fire.

With noise.

A crash thundered from somewhere deep inside, so violent that dust burst from the cave entrance.

Every bandit turned.

“What was that?”

Another crash followed.

Then a scream.

A bandit’s scream.

High.

Terrified.

Cut short by something heavy striking stone.

The bandit closest to Mira forgot about the rocks completely. He stumbled backwards, raising his spear towards the entrance.

“What’s happening in there?”

No one answered.

Another scream tore through the darkness.

Something massive struck a wall inside the cave.

The ground shuddered beneath Mira’s knees.

She stared at the entrance.

Melra slowly loosened her grip on her staff.

Malora’s gaze sharpened.

The bandits outside backed away from the cave mouth.

One of them shouted into the darkness.

“Boss?”

Silence answered him.

Then a young man’s voice echoed from inside.

Breathless.

Excited.

Far too alive.

“You hurt people in here, right?”

Mira blinked.

Melra stared.

Even Malora’s expression shifted.

The bandit holding the spear whispered, “What?”

Something moved inside the cave.

The shadows shifted.

Then a huge figure burst backwards through a wooden-framed opening beside the entrance.

He did not run out.

He flew.

The man was enormous, with shoulders like a wall and arms thick enough to crush an ordinary person in one hand. His leather vest strained across his chest.

His boots left the ground completely as he shot through the opening, struck the dirt outside, bounced twice and rolled into a tree root with a groan like a dying ox.

Two muddy footprints marked his chest.

The clearing fell silent.

The bandits stared at him.

Mira stared at him.

Then she looked towards the shattered opening through which he had flown.

Someone laughed inside the cave.

Not like a normal laugh.

Not like someone trying to impress an audience.

It sounded as though someone had just discovered the thrill of turning weight and motion into impact.

“HA HAAAAA!”

A bandit near the entrance dropped his spear.

“Nope.”

He ran.

The others followed almost immediately.

One sprinted towards the trees. Another tripped over the crate he had been sitting on and crawled several steps before regaining his feet. A third rushed past Malora’s hiding place without noticing her.

Malora moved.

“Stay down,” she ordered.

Her voice was low, sharp and immediate.

The rest of the knights were still searching the surrounding forest. For now, Malora was alone with Mira and Melra.

She stepped from behind the rocks, caught the nearest runner by the collar, twisted and drove him into the ground.

He stopped struggling.

Another bandit tried to dart past her. Malora stepped into his path and struck once—precise and brutal.

He folded.

Mira barely saw it.

Her eyes remained fixed on the cave.

“Lysa…”

Another bandit staggered into the sunlight.

His face was pale. His breathing came in broken, desperate gasps. He kept looking behind him as though something inside the darkness had become worse than death.

“No, no, no, no—”

He made it three steps from the entrance before collapsing onto his hands and knees.

“Please! I’m done! I’m done—”

A hand shot from the darkness behind him.

It seized the back of his shirt.

The bandit’s eyes widened.

“WAIT!”

He was yanked backwards.

His fingers carved lines through the dirt before he vanished into the cave.

His scream disappeared with him.

A heartbeat passed.

Then—

THUD.

The cave trembled.

Dust fell from the entrance.

Mira’s hand shook around her bow.

Melra whispered, “What is he?”

Malora did not answer.

Voices broke into panic inside the cave.

“Get away from him!”

“Where’s Vrok?”

“He kicked Harven through the wall!”

“He isn’t even wearing shoes!”

Something crashed.

A table snapped.

Then someone screamed, “WHY IS HE SMILING?”

The young man’s voice answered, closer now.

“Then don’t run now.”

The words were not delivered like a joke.

Although Mira could not see him, she could hear the grin in his voice.

That strange man.

The summoned one.

The person the bandits had apparently believed they could control.

He was still alive.

More than alive.

He was tearing their hideout apart.

Another tremor rolled through the ground.

Then something deeper inside answered.

A roar.

Low.

Enormous.

Furious.

It was the kind of sound that reminded every living creature nearby that it had bones—and that bones could break.

The remaining conscious bandits outside went pale.

One of the captured men whispered, “The gorehorn…”

Melra’s expression tightened.

Malora turned towards him.

“Gorehorn?”

The bandit swallowed and said nothing.

The roar came again.

Chains rattled with it.

Then metal snapped.

One chain.

Then another.

Then another.

The battle inside the cave became a catastrophe.

A howl erupted from the darkness.

Then a shriek.

Then frantic scraping.

The bandits were not the only captives inside.

Mira took a step towards the entrance.

Malora caught her shoulder.

“Not yet.”

Mira turned on her.

“My friend is in there!”

“And if you enter now, you may be trampled before you reach her.”

Mira opened her mouth to argue.

Then the first beast burst from the cave.

It shot into the daylight on four trembling legs, a broken chain hanging from its neck. It resembled a deer crossed with something sharper and more dangerous, but its eyes held no hunger.

Only terror.

It raced past them and vanished into the trees.

Another creature followed.

Then another.

A wolfish beast with a torn collar.

A massive boar with rope marks around its snout.

Bird-like creatures with clipped feathers.

Something long and scaly that ran on far too many legs.

They poured from the cave in a desperate flood.

They were not attacking.

They were escaping.

Malora dragged the two captured bandits away from the path, forced them onto their stomachs and bound their wrists with quick, practised loops of cord.

Melra’s vines pushed loose debris aside and formed a low barrier, guiding the panicked creatures away from the rocks where Mira crouched.

Mira’s breath caught.

The cave was breaking open.

Bandits were fleeing.

Beasts were escaping.

But Lysa had still not appeared.

Then the deepest roar came again.

The cave mouth darkened.

The gorehorn burst into the daylight.

The creature was enormous.

Even while hunched, it stood nearly twice the height of a grown man. Rough, dark hide covered its broad torso. Its disproportionately long arms hung so low that its heavy knuckles scraped the ground, while its short, powerful legs drove into the dirt.

Two large, triangular horns jutted from above its brow.

Broken chains whipped behind it, clattering across stone and earth like dead snakes.

The force of its steps shook dust from the cave entrance.

Malora stepped forwards, ready to intercept it.

But the gorehorn did not look at her.

It did not look at Mira or Melra.

It did not look at the bandits lying bound on the ground.

It ran.

The huge creature reached the open field and thundered away from the cave.

Away from the bandits.

Away from the darkness that had held it captive.

Grass tore beneath its feet. Dirt burst into the air behind it. Its broken chains snapped and dragged across the earth as it fled into the wider world.

For a moment, everyone watched it go.

Even the bandits.

Even Malora.

The gorehorn did not turn back.

It only ran harder.

Then the cave groaned again.

Not because of a beast.

Because of wood.

Wheels.

A sound that did not belong inside a cave.

Heavy.

Grinding.

Dragging.

Mira stared into the darkness.

Something large approached the entrance.

A stolen merchant wagon burst from the cave.

Its front wheels struck the uneven ground, bounced and nearly twisted sideways. The entire wagon lurched into the daylight.

It was packed.

Freed prisoners crowded inside, wrapped in stolen blankets and pressed shoulder to shoulder. Some held others upright because they did not have the strength to sit by themselves.

Injured.

Exhausted.

Terrified.

Half-conscious.

Shaking.

Silent.

Crying.

Enshin had not separated them according to who could walk and who could not.

If they had been trapped, they were in the wagon.

If they had been too weak to climb aboard, he had lifted them inside.

If they had been too frightened to move, he had moved them anyway.

Three crates were wedged near the back, jammed wherever space remained.

And there, lying unconscious across folded cloth, was Lysa.

Mira’s entire world narrowed to her.

“LYSA!”

At the front of the wagon, barefoot and covered in dust, Enshin gripped the pull bar with both hands.

He was not riding it.

He was dragging it.

One sleeve of his shirt had been torn. Sweat streaked through the dirt on his cheeks. His knuckles were bloody. His bare feet scraped across the ground as the wagon attempted to surge forwards behind him.

He looked ridiculous.

He looked impossible.

He looked as though one bad step would send him beneath the wheels of the wagon he was using to rescue everyone.

And he was smiling.

Not because it was easy.

Because it was not.

“Come on,” he growled, pulling with everything he had. “Move.”

The wagon jolted.

A prisoner cried out.

Enshin’s head snapped back.

His smile vanished.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

He adjusted his grip, planted his bare feet and forced the wagon straight.

The wheels scraped across the stone.

His arms shook hard enough for Mira to see from where she stood.

He pulled the wagon clear of the entrance more carefully.

Stone cracked behind him.

A large piece of rock fell beside the entrance and shattered against the ground.

Mira ran towards the wagon.

“Lysa!”

She almost reached it.

Then the wagon lurched forwards.

Enshin had begun pulling again.

Mira’s eyes widened.

“Wait!”

“I’m getting them away from the collapsing cave!”

“Lysa is in there!”

“I know!”

“Then stop!”

“I’ll stop when we’re no longer beneath falling rocks!”

The cave entrance spat dust behind them.

Another slab of stone crashed down exactly where the back of the wagon had been moments earlier.

Mira stopped arguing.

Enshin leaned forwards and pulled.

The wagon moved.

Slowly at first.

Then it reached the slope.

The wheels began turning faster.

Enshin’s grin returned for half a second.

“Oh no.”

The wagon started rolling downhill.

Not gently.

Not like a cart travelling along a road.

Like a runaway beast made of wood, iron, stolen goods and terrified people.

The pull bar jerked Enshin forwards.

His feet skidded.

His arms snapped straight.

“Okay! Okay! We are moving! We are very moving!”

The wagon gained speed.

Fast.

Too fast.

Its wheels hammered across stones and roots. The crates slammed against the back. The prisoners seized whatever they could.

Someone screamed.

Someone else shouted a prayer.

The entire wagon rattled as though it were about to break apart and scatter everyone across the hillside.

Mira ran after it.

Her boots tore through the grass. Wind struck her face. Dirt shifted beneath her heels.

The wagon was already pulling away, but Mira pushed harder, her chest burning and her legs screaming as she kept her eyes locked on Lysa’s pale form inside.

“Melra!” she shouted.

Melra was already moving, her staff in hand as she ran after them both.

“Mira, wait!”

Mira did not wait.

She reached back, drew an arrow from her quiver and placed it against the string while running.

The arrowhead trembled.

Her breath escaped in sharp, ragged bursts.

The wagon was too fast.

She would never reach it by running.

So she stopped trying to run like an ordinary person.

She aimed like a mage.

Green light gathered around the arrowhead, thin at first, then thicker, winding backwards along the shaft like a living vine.

The air surrounding the bow pulsed once.

Bwoom.

Mira fixed her eyes on the back of the wagon.

She rushed through the chant, the words tumbling out between desperate breaths.

“O spirit of life, root of the deep earth and breath of the living green, answer my call—let your vine become my hand, let your stem become my path, let your binding light reach what I cannot—”

Bwoom.

The green light darkened.

Then it brightened.

The arrow hummed.

The wagon moved farther away.

Mira’s voice shook, but she did not stop.

“By leaf and root, by pulse and breath, stretch beyond my body and carry me towards the one I must protect—”

Bwoom.

Melra’s eyes widened.

“Mira, wait!”

Mira’s boots slid down the hill.

Her bow steadied.

Her breathing slowed.

Only the final words remained.

The world narrowed.

The rattling wagon.

The rear rail.

The arrowhead.

Lysa.

Mira’s voice dropped.

Slow.

Clear.

Controlled.

“Pierce. Bind. And pull me to her.”

She released the string.

“Verdant Lifeline Arrow.”

The arrow flew.

For one heartbeat, the world followed it.

Wind screamed past the arrowhead. Green light streamed behind it in a twisting trail, each pulse of magic beating like a deep bass note through the air.

Bwoom.

The cave, the shouting bandits and Melra’s reaching hand fell behind.

The arrow cut across the hill.

Bwoom.

It passed over torn grass and loose stones, chasing the runaway wagon as its wheels hammered downhill.

Bwoom.

The glowing vine stretched from the shaft, thin as thread at first, then thickening into a living cord of light.

The rear of the wagon filled the world.

The arrow struck.

Thock.

For half a breath, nothing moved.

Then the green light bloomed.

The vine snapped tight.

A pulse of light raced backwards along the glowing line.

Across the stretched cord.

Through the whipping wind.

Straight towards Mira.

The vine coiled around her wrist.

She released the bow, and its shoulder sling caught it against her back.

Then the vine yanked.

Hard.

The ground vanished beneath her feet.

“MIRA!” Melra screamed.

Mira shot down the hill after the wagon, dragged by magic and momentum.

The force nearly tore her arm from its socket.

Her boots struck the ground, skipped and dragged before lifting again as the glowing vine pulled her towards the rear of the wagon.

She gritted her teeth.

Pain ripped through her shoulder.

The hillside blurred beneath her.

Melra ran after her.

“Mira!”

Her voice cracked between fury and fear.

“Mira, stop rushing ahead without me!”

Mira heard her.

She did not answer.

Lysa was inside the wagon.

That was the only answer she had.

Behind them, Malora remained alone beside the cave.

More bandits could still be inside.

Beasts were still scattering.

The entrance remained unsecured.

She could not leave it unguarded.

Her jaw tightened.

She wanted to follow.

But she was the only one there.

Then hoofbeats thundered along a firmer path beyond the trees.

The first knight arrived, his armour marked with dirt from the search.

“Captain!”

Malora turned towards him before his horse had fully stopped.

“Signal the others. Round up every bandit inside or around that cave. Secure anyone left within. Control the escaping beasts only if they threaten civilians. Do not pursue them into the forest unless ordered.”

“Yes, Captain!”

“Confiscate every crate, ledger, weapon, restraint and stolen item. This cave is now evidence. I want names, numbers, routes and ownership marks. Send the wounded prisoners towards the road as soon as they can be moved.”

The knight’s expression hardened.

“Yes, Captain!”

Malora looked towards the slope.

Melra was still chasing Mira.

Mira was still being pulled towards the runaway wagon.

The wagon itself was tearing downhill with the strange barefoot young man struggling at its front.

Malora mounted the knight’s horse in one fluid motion.

“One more order,” she said.

The knight straightened.

“Captain?”

“If anything emerges from that cave claiming authority, arrest it first and question it second.”

“Yes, Captain!”

Malora snapped the reins.

The horse surged forwards.

She rode after Melra.

Farther down the hill, the vine pulled Mira closer.

The rear rail rushed towards her.

Mira reached out.

Her fingers struck the wood.

Missed.

The vine dragged her forwards again.

She swung and slammed shoulder-first into the back of the wagon.

Pain burst through her ribs.

The wagon bounced.

Mira nearly fell beneath it.

She screamed through clenched teeth and seized the rear rail with both hands.

The glowing vine loosened from her wrist and dissolved into green sparks.

Her boots dragged across dirt and stone.

For one terrifying second, the wagon pulled her halfway beneath its rear frame.

A prisoner inside saw her and shouted.

“Hold on!”

“I am!”

She was not sure whom she was answering.

The wagon bounced again, lifting Mira’s feet from the ground and slamming her body against the wood hard enough to drive the air from her lungs.

But she did not let go.

Lysa was inside.

Mira forced one knee against the wagon’s outer frame and dragged herself another inch higher.

“Lysa!”

Lysa did not move.

Her silver hair shifted with the wagon’s violent rattling.

A folded cloth beneath her shoulder slipped.

Mira reached one arm through a gap in the side, desperate to grab her, steady her or touch her hand.

Anything.

Her fingers brushed empty air.

“Lysa!”

At the front, Enshin heard her.

He looked back.

His eyes widened.

“WHY ARE YOU ON THE WAGON?”

Mira glared at him through the wind and terror.

“WHY IS THE WAGON MOVING THIS FAST?”

“I DON’T KNOW! HILL!”

“THEN SLOW IT DOWN!”

“I’M TRYING TO ARGUE WITH GRAVITY!”

The wagon struck a rut.

The entire vehicle bucked.

Mira’s grip slipped.

Her left hand tore free.

For one awful heartbeat, she hung by one arm.

The ground blurred beneath her.

The wheel spun below.

Her shoulder screamed.

A prisoner inside lunged forwards and grabbed the back of her sleeve.

Mira seized the rail again.

“Thank you!” she gasped.

The prisoner only nodded, his face pale.

The wagon shot down the hill.

The world became wind, rattling wood, screaming wheels and flashes of green fields.

Then the trees opened.

The slope stretched before them.

The world appeared.

Fields spread across the land below.

A dirt road curved through the grassland.

Far in the distance, a walled city rose beneath the blue sky. Towers broke above its rooftops, and a castle stood at its centre.

Enshin saw it.

For one heartbeat, he forgot the danger.

The world stretched before him like the first page of every dream he had ever refused to abandon.

A real city.

A real castle.

A real road.

A real other world.

His chest tightened.

His eyes burned.

He laughed.

Not because anything was funny.

Because it was real.

“HA HAAAAA!”

Mira’s head snapped towards him.

“THIS IS NOT THE TIME!”

“RIGHT! SORRY!”

The wagon gathered even more speed.

The slope pulled it forwards.

The weight of the prisoners, crates and wooden frame drove downhill behind Enshin like a charging animal.

He was no longer truly pulling it.

He was trying to survive being dragged by it.

Enshin planted both feet.

His heels carved through the dirt.

His arms shook violently.

The pull bar bucked in his hands, threatening to tear itself free.

“Slow,” he growled. “Down.”

The wagon shoved him forwards.

His bare feet scraped across stone.

Pain shot up his legs.

He clenched his teeth.

“Slow down!”

The wheels struck a rock.

The wagon lurched.

A prisoner screamed.

Lysa shifted slightly on the folded cloth.

Mira’s eyes sharpened.

“No!”

She pushed one arm through the gap in the side and caught Lysa’s sleeve.

Barely.

Not enough to pull her closer.

Enough to keep her from sliding farther.

Mira’s body stretched between the outer rail and Lysa’s limp arm.

Her shoulder burned.

Her fingers tightened.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

The wagon bucked again.

Mira nearly lost her grip.

Enshin twisted his entire body and dragged the front of the wagon sideways just enough to turn its wheels across the slope.

The wagon fought him.

Wood screamed.

The frame shuddered.

One crate slammed against the side.

“Careful!” Mira shouted.

“I’M TRYING!”

“Try better!”

“THAT IS THE PLAN!”

The wagon hammered across another rough patch.

Enshin pulled backwards with everything he had.

His shoulders screamed.

His fingers burned.

His arms felt as though they were tearing from the inside.

For one terrifying moment, the wagon continued winning.

Then its wheels reached flatter ground.

The force shifted.

Enshin staggered backwards, still gripping the pull bar. He dragged the wagon into a wide curve, allowing its remaining speed to bleed away.

The wheels rolled across the final stretch of uneven dirt.

One last bounce.

One last groan.

Then the wagon settled onto the road below.

It stopped.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Enshin remained standing for half a second.

Then his knees nearly folded.

He caught himself against the wagon, breathing heavily as sweat dripped from his face.

His arms shook.

His legs shook.

His hands remained locked around the wood.

Behind him, the prisoners were alive.

Shaken.

Terrified.

But alive.

Mira still clung to the outside of the wagon.

Her hair had come loose.

Her hands were scraped.

Her shoulder throbbed.

Her breath escaped in sharp, broken gasps.

But one hand remained wrapped around Lysa’s sleeve.

Slowly, Mira pulled herself higher.

A prisoner inside helped drag her over the side.

She collapsed into the wagon beside Lysa and immediately reached for her friend’s face.

“Lysa…”

Lysa did not wake.

But she breathed.

Faintly.

Then again.

Mira pressed trembling fingers against Lysa’s cheek.

“Lysa, I’m here.”

Enshin lifted his head.

The city stood ahead.

Stone walls.

Castle towers.

An open road.

He was exhausted.

His bare feet hurt.

His hands burned.

His arms felt as though they belonged to someone else.

Behind them, Melra continued running down the hill, furious and terrified in equal measure.

Farther back, Malora’s horse thundered down the slope after them, the captain low in the saddle and steadily closing the distance.

But here, at the bottom of the hill, the road was open.

The wagon was out.

Lysa was alive.

And the world was wide.

Enshin stared at the castle.

A tired grin slowly returned.

“Finally,” he whispered.

Mira looked up from Lysa.

Her eyes were wet, furious, terrified and sharp all at once.

Her hand moved towards her bow.

And the road to the kingdom waited.