Zahara had forgotten the snorkel and she desperately needed to come up for air. She had no idea how far she’d swam or how many Mynds or Moonlamps could be waiting for her if she resurfaced. Still, she ploughed on; her arms cutting through the breaking waters. Maybe she could come up slowly and poke her mouth out; just enough to swallow some air. She had to chance it. She’d be dead either way.

On her first attempt, she swallowed water and almost choked. It took all her willpower just to stop herself thrashing in the water. It tasted toxic. Her vision was clouding. Mind growing foggy. Her muscles burned. Lights rippled through the surface, casting a specular shower across her face. She wondered fleetingly whether she would shortly meet the lights, then waved the thoughts away with the water. She would put everything she had into one last push—she had to.

She felt her feet touch the gravely river bottom. Allowed herself to sink further. Bent her knees. And then, she pushed. With everything she had, she pushed—and emerged perfectly, her cheeks just breaking the surface enough for her to inhale, open her eyes and sink back down.

It wasn’t quite enough. She was still dangerously close to drowning, but she’d learnt one thing—there was a wall, atop which sat a tall, wrought iron fence guarding the river. Even if she was discovered, they wouldn’t be able to reach her without passing through the elaborate, thirty-five-foot gate further down the river. She sprung for the surface again, grabbing on to the bank. The wall, several inches tall, would be enough to shield her momentarily whilst she caught her breath. She could feel sleep rapping at her window. But she dared not open it. Not just yet.

* * *

Jonas wound his way cautiously through the trees towards the river; the one that cut through the entire palace. He would have to cross it to reach what he assumed was the main palace complex on the other side; a sweeping neo-baroque edifice made of gleaming white marble. Both sides of the river were lined with a matching wrought iron fence. Scanning the fence for an opening, he saw two tall gates that mirrored each other on either side of the river. It didn’t look like it carried any regular traffic, so he could probably swim across without any issues.

As he neared the clearing in the trees, he spotted a figure breaking the surface of the water on the other side. Zahara! She’d made it, but—she wasn’t moving. Had she passed out? Was she injured? He made to rush to her aid but faltered. Someone was coming. He pulled himself into the bushes, blending back into the shadows.

A lone Moonlamp, no older than Keon, marched into the clearing dressed in nothing but a black kameez. It was the one who’d led the Moonlamps when the others had been captured. He was a runt, but Jonas knew size mattered little in Underland. Someone’s heart, their will, could make them a mountain.

The young Moonlamp was moving along the fence as though looking for something. Any second now, he would spot Zahara and raise the alarm. Jonas couldn’t chance it. Without another thought, he barraged through the trees making as much noise as he could muster.

* * *

Aslan whipped round at the snap of twigs coming from the small forest. He stood, palm on his satchel, as a shadow of a man emerged from the trees; tall, broad shouldered and athletically built. This one wasn’t wet behind the ears like the ones they had down in the barracks. Though he could only see his eyes, they blazed with the fury of one weathered by warfare. Unruly tufts of brown hair poked out the top of the mask, giving him the semblance of a ninja; a look, no doubt, calculated to radiate with intimidation—but wasted on Aslan.

“You lost, hain?”

The man said nothing.

As Aslan started to pace, he matched his movements. This guy was wise. He was sussing him out. He knew better than to charge in, assuming his size would overwhelm someone like Aslan. This would be a good fight, if the Torchbearer actually put one up. They were notorious for avoiding physical conflict; a weakness Aslan didn’t quite understand. If only they were willing to get their hands dirty, they would have made further strides into Underland instead of skulking through fields and bushes like tramps.

Aslan suddenly shifted direction and the man followed, mirroring him perfectly. That’s when he realised it. He was watching him but glancing over his shoulder at something. He was trying to keep him distracted! He went to turn and look when—

“Oi!”

Aslan slowly turned back.

“Ye might wan’ t’keep yer eyes on me, laddie.”

* * *

Zahara flinched and dropped into the water, keeping her eyes just above the surface. Stupid! She’d actually dosed off, half sprawled on the side of the riverbank! Turning towards the source of the shout, she saw two figures standing on the other side of the river. One had his back turned, but she recognised the other. Jonas!—How in the blazes had he made it over the wall so quickly?—And that was a Moonlamp sizing him up. Either he was brave to take on Jonas alone, or he didn’t know what he was getting himself into.

As much as she wanted to stay and watch, she had a feeling Jonas was trying to buy her time and she dared not waste it. Looking back the way she came, she could see the Mynds and Moonlamps investigating the breach. It would only be a matter of time before they turned their attention further upstream.

Moving away from the bank, she took a deep breath and dived, swimming towards the river gate.

* * *

In all these years, Jonas Kersey had never once had to drop his façade. The one the King had ordered him to adopt the moment he’d first set foot in Underland. He’d never understood the King’s reasoning until the day they found a confused Keon Wesley sprawled out in the forest. He recalled the King’s words from all those years ago.

“Your tongue is mine to wield until the day of which you’ll know,

for reasons that will become clear when your two paths cross.”

And in that moment, he knew—though he never could have foreseen it—that today was the day. That it wasn’t just a young life that needed his protection. It was a student.

The young Moonlamp stood, feet shoulder width apart and knees bent. His hand hovered over the satchel containing his Codex. Moonlamps were unnaturally strong. A by-product of their grit and tenacity. Fast—but predictable. Jonas eyed the boy’s twitching palm. He would seek to disarm him first by striking at his harness, then rain blows upon his head—assuming he could reach it. All Moonlamps followed the same pattern, having been taught meticulously how to disarm and defeat Torchbearers—and this wouldn’t be the first one Jonas had fought.

The kameez told him the boy was rich by Underland’s standards. The sandals meant he was pampered. Some kind of royalty perhaps, if Moonlamps had such a thing. He’d probably been trained from the moment he could walk. The way his hand lingered over the satchel—it hadn’t seen use in ages. He was more attuned to the chained harness they wore across their chests, allowing them to forge free-handed. He was out of practice and doubting himself, but still dangerous; of that Jonas was sure. Even still, his rustiness would give Jonas an edge. All he needed was an inch to take a mile.

He moved his hand sleekly towards his harness and the boy bolted to attention, bent prone like a cat.

“Easy,” said Aslan.

Jonas’ eyes widened. The boy had already unclipped the shawl and pinched the spine of his Codex. He hadn’t even seen him move.

“You’re not gonna slip one past me, hain,”

The boy let the book slip back into place. Then, there was a piercing ring of metal, a glint of gold between his fists and the boy’s Mirror came hurtling through the air towards him; teeth bared and eyes wild. Jonas had little time to react when the boy himself suddenly came soaring through the Mirror and kicked him square in the chest. He barrelled backwards across the grass, knees flying over his head. He managed to roll onto his hands and knees, skidding back a few paces. The boy moved faster than he’d thought possible. He’d used his Mirror like a slingshot to propel him through the air. Ingenius.

That brief respite was all Aslan needed. He bore down upon Jonas, swinging a paper scimitar over his head. Jonas jerked his harness with his left hand, flinging his Codex through the air. With the other hand, he grasped it, flicked and slammed it onto the ground. It swelled to the size of a suitcase as Jonas raised it, stopping Aslan’s scimitar dead in its tracks.

He shoved the young Moonlamp off, sending him stumbling backwards. Grabbing the side of the enlarged Codex, he tore of a strip and spun it into a crude staff. Slamming his fist on the book, it contracted and snapped back to its normal size, bouncing into the air. He slung his arm through a buckled strap used to seal the cover, attaching it to his forearm like a shield.

Aslan faltered. He’d never seen anyone use a Codex like that before!

“Ye like that, laddie? That’s the full force o’ mah Codex. Mah belief. Everything ah hold t’be true.”

Aslan shook to his senses.

“Then I feel sorry for you!”

He swung the scimitar. Jonas parried with staff and shield. Aslan danced across the dirt twirling the blade. Then he sprung, twisting into a somersault before bringing the sword slamming down towards Jonas’ head again. He bent down on one knee, bracing his staff against the shuddering impact. As their weapons collided, thousands of paper fragments fluttered through the air, spiralling around them like cherry blossoms. They battled through the beige blizzard, faster than time itself seemed to be turning. Then they swung simultaneously, their weapons cleaving a path through the parchment particles. On collision, they shattered.

For a moment, both wavered; unsure of what to do. Then they drew back, grabbed their codices and flipped through the pages. They folded. They turned. They twisted. Then, they clashed. The Mask with twin knives. The Moonlamp with a single yatagan.

* * *

Zahara pulled herself onto the riverbank, up the marble steps and through the towering gate. Stopping to glance back down the river, she saw Jonas engaged in battle with the Moonlamp. But she couldn’t linger. She kept low to the ground and scuppered across the grass towards the palace. It looked nigh-on deserted from all the commotion. Suddenly, something to the left caught her eye, protruding from around the corner of the building. She checked both directions, as though crossing the road, then ducked across the paved path towards the palace. It was a solitary boot sticking out between some rose bushes. Keon’s boot! She would recognise it anywhere. He’d tried folding down the sides, ‘To make them look more like Converses’ he’d said. She looked up at the walls, surmising the path it must have taken down the sloping roof—and the route Keon must have taken to escape. A smile crossed her lips.

* * *

Crossing the colonnades had been simple enough. Keon and Asya slipped between the pillars just in case there were any guards still lingering around this part of the grounds. Where the pillars failed to shield them, the lush gardens more than made up for it. Asya grasped the last pillar, Keon right beside her, signalling with her head towards a beautiful, twisted black tree beside a small wooden bridge. It looked as though it had tried to grow horizontally towards some unseen light source before changing course and arching towards the sky. If they weren’t potentially running for their lives, Keon would have loved to have sat on its trunk to admire the night.

“Across the bridge and to the left. That leads to the barracks.”

Keon nodded.

“You ready?” she said.

“Yeah.”

They waited another heartbeat, then angled for the black tree.

“What do we do if it’s guarded?” hissed Keon.

“It will be guarded, but that’s easy. Just hang back.”

Asya rounded the edge of some bushes and strode towards the barracks with a kind of regal authority. Arms clasped behind her back and chin held high, she approached the Moonlamps guarding both sides of the spiral staircase that led up to the barracks porch. Keon hung back (as instructed) peering through the bushes near the bridge. He could see that Asya was twiddling something between her hands, hidden from the guards. An insurance policy in case her plan didn’t work. The Moonlamps stood to attention when they caught sight of her.

“Aydin, Cemil!”

“Sister Asya! We heard the bell, then an explosion,” said Cemil.

“My brother needs reinforcements at the South Wall. Outsiders have breached the courtyard.”

“He told us to guard the prisoners…,” said Aydin, an eyebrow raised.

Even this far away, Keon saw her grip tighten around the paper contraption.

“They won’t get past me,” she replied with a wink and a smile.

The Moonlamps looked at each other, then took off towards the bridge. Keon flinched and quickly ducked down as they bounded past. Once they were safely out of sight, he allowed himself to breathe again and emerged from the bushes.

“Bloody hell, that was close! D’you know everybody’s name here?”

“They’re like family,” she replied, contemplative.

“Listen, are you sure you wanna do this?…”

She silently dismissed his question.

“Wait here. There’ll be another two inside.”

She signalled for him to hide around the side of the building and ran up the stairs before he could say anything else. Sure enough, two more Moonlamps were guarding a flight of stairs leading down into the depths of the barracks.

“The Western Wall’s been breached! Aslan’s calling for reinforcements!”

“The Marble Mynds…”

“Most of them were destroyed in the explosion.”

“Explosion?!”

“The Western Wall burns and it could spread to the palace! He needs you now!”

Keon couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as the Moonlamps scrambled down the steps and practically tripped over each other trying to reach the bridge first. She was good.

“You sent them off in different directions,” he said with a grin.

“Can’t have them running into each other now, can we?”

They stooped by the railing-less stairs that sank into the wood panelled floor. At the bottom step was a solid oak door, blackened with age and bolted with thick pillars of padlocked metal.

“Alright, you’re up,” said Asya.

Clearing two steps at a time, Keon hopped down the stairs, rummaging for his satchel. He flipped the Codex to an empty page, slipped out the graphite pencil and began to write.

15 seconds. Boom!

He tore out the page and slid it beneath the gap at the bottom of the door, then took out his flint and steel kit and fanned sparks over the parchment. It caught almost immediately, and he scrambled back up the stairs.

“We need to clear the building!” he said, signalling toward the porch.

“What, why?”

“This close, the shockwave might burst your eardrums.”

Outside the building, Keon grasped her hand and made a dash across the grass towards the bridge.

“Just how big did you make the explosion?!” she asked.

“Er…I dunno…”

The resulting blast blew the front third of the building and the entirety of the porch off the barracks. Keon and Asya were thrown flat onto the grass. Through the dust, fire and smoke, Keon caught a hint of the blackened oak door somersaulting through the air and clear over the trees. Asya stared at him, aghast.

* * *

Aslan strained against Jonas, his teeth bared and clenched. All those piercing eyes did was stare back at him, calm and unwavering. He wanted to gouge them out. To bruise and blacken them. Rob them of their deep blue hue. He tried shifting his weight to the side, feigning to left. Nothing. There was only one thing for it. He released one hand from the hilt of his blade, felt the push of Jonas’ weight bearing down upon him; then, with the free hand, gripped the invisible chain that hung from the other wrist and pulled.

A thick, whirling shadow twisted around them. Jonas caught the fleeting glimmer of reflective eyes and spun round to meet the Mirror as Aslan wriggled away. He parried a strike from the Mirror and skipped back. The Mirror stalked towards him, flickering wildly, almost threatening to explode or burst out of coherent existence. But its eyes held firm, gleaming like headlights through the darkness. Aslan’s breathing was heavy and rattled, like he was fighting to regain his composure. Jonas could see it in the Mirror; that with each breath Aslan took, its form shuddered.

“D’ye need a minute?”

“Shut up!”

The Mirror flared as they circled each other.

“Ye have a lot riding on this, don’t ye?”

“What do you know?”

“A wee bit ah reckon. Ah know a bairn tryin’ t’bide up t’someone’s expectations when ah see one.”

“A barn?”

“A weans.”

“What?”

“You, laddie. A boy.”

Aslan blinked and his Mirror twisted into a howling rage.

“Aslan!”

It was Baris and Ruslan, running at the head of about twenty Moonlamps.

“GET BACK!” Aslan seethed, “HE’S MINE!”

They halted and holstered their codices.

“Yer literally sportin’ ye heart on yer sleeve there,” he said, motioning to Aslan’s Mirror. “Tis yer old man, ah bet. Ah know whit’s like t’have a bahookie for a father.”

Jonas wondered whether he’d gone too far when a guttural roar ricocheted back and forth between Aslan and the Mirror—then the night sky lit up to the north and a deep boom rumbled across the grounds. A plume of flame mushroomed over the gardens.

Aslan froze. Not another one! What the hell was going on?!

“Made ye look,” said Jonas.

He flung the blades. The first slashed across Aslan’s wrist. The second nipped his Mirror’s ankle. They both collapsed in an agonised heap, writhing in the grass as Jonas pelted for the gate and dived into the river as several paper throwing knives whizzed past him.

* * *

Zahara steadied herself against the edge of the sloping roof as the explosion rocked the grounds. Her jaw dropped at the blackened door hurtling through the air before coming to crash land somewhere in the forests to the east of the complex. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she galloped across the roof in the direction of the explosion.

* * *

“Were you trying to kill them?!” said Asya as they stomped through what little was left of the barracks entrance.

The bell was pealing across the complex again. Everyone would be drawn to their location. A slope of rubble led up to the remains of the main hall. Splintered wood panels jutted out at odd and dangerous angles.

“Course not! But my theory was right...”

“Your theory?”

“Kai—one of the guys—got me to light this smoke signal earlier. Told me to write ‘blue’ on a piece of paper and set it alight. I figured that when you burn it, the paper inherits the properties of whatever’s written on it. Then I saw you put those two to sleep the same way and that confirmed it for me,” he halted, panting with his hands on his waist. “Just didn’t think to specify the size of the explosion.”

Asya eyed him with admiration. Despite his little blunder, he was good.

The main hall of the barracks that had once gleamed with polished wooden floors, crystal chandeliers and elaborate golden filigree was now blackened with soot; the remains of the roof scattered across the boards in heaps of smouldering rubble.

The entrance to the dungeons was obscured by smoke. Keon and Asya strained to look through it, as though, by bobbing their heads from side-to-side, the smoke would somehow get the hint and dissipate. Realising this was a fruitless endeavour, Keon pulled the corner of his hood over his face and began tracing his steps down. Asya hesitated then followed, tugging her own hood across her nose and mouth.

He drew to a halt a few feet from the billowing doorway. Something was moving. A shadow amidst the smoke. Suddenly, it blew apart and a burly figure emerged, fists raised over their head. He flinched and shrunk back when they stopped and lowered their arms.

“Bloody hell…Keon?!”

Kai, Dawit and Avana materialised around the figure, the smoke wafting away to reveal Shem’s fierce countenance.