Keon’s eyes snapped open as he let go of the glider. He fell three metres—his fall cushioned by the mass of branches—and hit the ground on both feet. Arms swaying, he steadied himself. He’d actually stuck the landing! That was awesome! The bliss of his elation was fleeting though. Dread scraped its way through his stomach as he spun in a circle, the density of the forest closing in like claws all around him.

“Zahara?…Asya?…Shem?!”

Nothing. Nothing but empty forest.

He heard the rush of the river beckoning to him but ignored it.

Turning north instead, he began weaving through the trees; squinting to make out anything in the dark.

“Zahara!”

Emptiness was the only response, the forest devouring any hope of a reply. What if they’d passed by him already?

He turned westward, doubling back. It was like the branches were trying to push against him as he swatted and slapped them out the way; an army of arms urging him to turn back.

“Asya! Shem! Jonas!”

A strong hand clamped his shoulder and spun him like a cyclone, almost throwing him off his feet. Stumbling forward, he came within an inch of Avana’s nose.

“What are you doing?!” she hissed. “You’re supposed to follow the river!”

“Yeah?! Well—what’re you doing here?”

“Making sure you don’t do anything stupid! Come on!”

She shoved him forward with such unnatural force, it propelled him several feet. Before he could think, she’d grabbed his arm and was pulling him along. His legs had little choice but to keep up; the ground rolling beneath his feet like a treadmill. Avana yanked him right, turning towards the river. As the sparkle of the ripples came into view, she veered left, letting go of his arm.

“Now, keep up!”

He glanced over his shoulder, trying to spot the others.

“They’re fine! Move!” she said.

“Wait, what is that?”

There was something like a deep, droning hum looming over the forest, growing louder like an approaching swarm of hornets. Avana scanned the sky with unease.

“Oh no…”

Suddenly, an outstretched palm blocked their path. It was Asya. A quick glance to the right found Zahara leaning against a tree. Asya shooed them back, her eyes darting across the treetops. Keon ducked down behind some bushes and Avana leapt over to the adjacent tree. The humming grew louder still, then suddenly a shadow whipped past the canopy. Then another. And another.

“Five…six…seven,” mouthed Asya.

Keon looked at her, eager to move. She shook her head. Not yet.

Another shadow.

“Eight…”

Then another.

“Nine…”

The humming grew quieter.

She waited. Nodded.

They broke into a run.

“What was that?” said Keon.

“Aslan and the Eight,” said Asya. “His best soldiers.”

They bobbed and weaved through the trees and bushes; ducking, diving and leaping as they went. Then it started to come back. The humming. It was rhythmic this time. Out of sync. They clung to the tree trunks, willing themselves to shrink out of sight. Shadows criss-crossed the sky in rapid succession. But only four of them. They’d split up to cover more ground.

Keon could hear his pulse beating in his ears. The shadows kept circling back making it impossible for them to move. Two minutes became five. Five became eight. Suddenly, something wafted past the corner of his eye. A thick, white mist was rolling in from the north, twisting through the forest towards them. And it was coming fast. Was that normal for Underland? Had they crossed into another season without realising it? Then the mist flashed blue and a shriek pierced the silence.

“Oh crap…” he whispered.

He angled round the tree in search of Avana. She was closer to the mist, biting her thumbnail as she scrutinised it. Asya was crouched a few trees behind her, frozen to the spot. She’d never been this close to them before and it showed. The only one looking for a way out was Zahara. He guessed she was thinking the same thing he was. The humming still droned overhead. The river wound behind them. They could make a run for it, but the Moonlamps would spot them. If they stayed put, they would have to tangle with the Mysts. The water would ward them off, but it would also expose them to the Moonlamps. The river was narrower than up in the palace, but still way too wide to leap. Trying to swim through the current would be a losing battle.

“Keon!”

Zahara held a paper sword in her hand. She tore it down the middle, flicked it into two blades, then tossed one towards him. It was a falchion, covered with the same text he’d seen before back in the Narrow Strait. Asya put her back to the tree trunk, flicked through her Kodeks and forged a yatagan.

“I wouldn’t bother,” said Avana.

Asya glowered at her, not that she could see.

“It won’t work,” she continued, “but don’t worry; we’ll protect you.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Asya.

“Suit yourself.”

Avana stepped out from behind the tree into the open. She tore a sliver out of her palm-leaf manuscript and folded furiously, forging the most bizarre weapon Keon had ever seen. It had a hilt and knucklebow like a sword, but the thin blade was rolled up in a loop like a whip.

Those same voluminous bodies began emerging from the mist; swirling heads bobbing from side to side.

“We’re gonna run!” said Avana. “Cut down any who get near. Stick as close to the river as you can.”

Keon squeezed the hilt.

“Go!”

They broke from the trees, Avana lagging slightly behind; running half turned towards the Mysts. The wall of vapour shuddered as the Mysts surged forward. If they got too close, the group would lose sight of the river. Avana hop-skipped, twirled and whipped her weapon in a wide, cursive arc. The looped blade unfurled like a two-metre long belt and cracked across the frontline of vapour. Keon saw six decapitated Mysts drop like sacks of burst flour.

“Whoa!”

Avana landed in a crouch, spun on one foot, then beat the air with another snap of the weapon, felling four more. One suddenly broke through the line, leaping at her. She ducked and it sailed overhead towards Asya. With a cry, Asya swung the yatagan, tearing through its midriff. The Myst landed, looked down at its undisturbed abdomen and cackled; a dry, rasping laugh, like twigs rattling in the wind. It tackled her, lifting her several feet clear off the ground. Keon spun round and brought his sword swinging down on its back, cleaving it in two. It disintegrated, dropping Asya to the dirt.

“You ok?!” he said, lifting her scrambling form by the armpit.

“No!”

Then came the hum, accompanied by an undulated fluttering. A Moonlamp swooped through the canopy towards them on a flying paper carpet.

Avana’s weapon whipped through the centre of the carpet, tearing it in two. The unfortunate Moonlamp was propelled into the rushing wall of Mysts. His cries of terror were drowned by the shrieking howls of the Mysts as they converged on him like a wake of vultures. The strobe of their frenzied flashing lit the mangled silhouettes of their bent forms. Asya’s tears sparkled in the blue cracks of light as she heaved with grief. That was Taner!

“Come on!” said Keon, pulling her away. “We have to go, come on!”

The Mysts were moving again, and the humming continued to drone overhead. Something whistled past his ear, and he felt the earth jolt beside him. An arrow! Two more Moonlamps were trailing them just above the trees, loosing arrows. Didn’t they care if they hit Asya?

Avana was too busy fending off Mysts on the left to deal with the Moonlamps and Keon didn’t know the steps to forge anything defensive. Nor did he have the time. They were gaining and the wall of Mysts was drawing closer and closer, threatening to cut them off up ahead. Suddenly, there was a high-pitched whistle. Not an arrow this time, but human. Then, Keon and Asya were shoved with tremendous force into the river.

Tumbling head over heels, they rolled into a longboat! Keon whipped off the hood that had flapped over his face. Above him sat Shem, paddling furiously.

“Gotcha!” he winked.

Keon rolled over and peered over the back of the boat. Avana and Zahara leapt onto another longboat with Jonas at the helm.

He wheeled back round.

“How did you?…”

“Art of distraction, mate. Jonas unlocked the gate before you lot jumped. We leapt the wall, waited for them to follow, then strolled right back in.”

“What about the other boats?…”

“They’ll be back there somewhere,” he said, nodding. “But ‘nough of that. Grab your weapons. You’re gonna need ‘em…unless, of course, you forged that one yourself.”

Keon glanced down at the falchion and shook his head.

“Good, ‘cause you don’t believe any of this yet.”

Keon’s eyes narrowed. Dout said something similar, but he didn’t have time to question it. An arrow had just dug itself into the back of the boat where his hands had been but seconds before.

“What you waiting for, mate?! Swat ‘em! It’s just like playing Rounders.”

“It really ain’t!”

Planting his feet, he rose; hands on the hilt. He fixed his eyes on the Moonlamp closest; watched him draw the bow, aim and loose. He swung left, cleaved the arrow in two, and looked to Shem for affirmation. He shrugged.

“See? Easy.”

Two more Moonlamps had circled in front of them, bows drawn. Avana whirled her weird sword and swung it as they flew past, tearing huge gashes in both carpets. Whilst one of them spun out of control and vanished beneath the forest, the other was caught by one of his comrades and pulled onto the back of his carpet. Zahara gazed back at the flashes of blue light signalling the frenzy of the Mysts where the other one had landed.

Suddenly there was a shudder. A shudder unlike anything they’d felt before. A deep rumble seemed to ripple through the entire forest and buffet even the river. The tops of the trees swayed, flicking clouds of leaves and dust into the air. Then the shudder became a tremor and the tremor a quake. The river appeared to boil as it shook, and the forest began to sway as shockwaves barrelled through it. All of a sudden it felt as if they were surging upwards as though carried by an elevator. Trees tipped and toppled and the ground fractured along the riverbank.

“What’s happening?!” said Keon, flattened against the boat.

The Moonlamps had fallen back. They were hovering above. Chanting.

“ALMULUK! ALMULUK! ALMULUK!”

Aslan flew to the front of the formation, pointing his yatagan towards the horizon.

“Look!” He shouted, “He sends Cebrail!”

Shem stared ahead, jaw dropping. The opposite wall of the trembling canyon was disappearing into the ground ahead of them.

“Oh, bloody hell!”

He jammed two fingers in his mouth and whistled like a boiling kettle.

“There!” said Avana, pointing.

Dashing through the collapsing forest, leaping over rocks jutting randomly from the ground and dodging falling branches were Kai and Dawit.

“You left us!” yelled Kai. “You flippin’ left us!”

“Get in!” said Avana.

They angled for the boats and dived headfirst, Kai landing in the back boat, Dawit rolling into the front. It tipped precariously from the sudden additional weight then splashed back down onto the river.

“You left us!” said Kai, kicking in his entangled shawl.

“Oh, you’re alive aren’t you?” said Avana.

Shem had stopped paddling. There was no need. A wave was carrying the boats, but to where he didn’t know. The air was rapidly growing colder as if they were ascending. But that was crazy, right? How could they be? Unless—

“Guys, what’s going on?!” said Keon.

“We need gliders!” said Shem.

“What, why?”

Shem slapped another paper glider on Keon’s chest and nodded with his forehead. The canyon wall had vanished, as had the rest of the forest. Dead ahead, the river was dropping into nothingness. They were headed for a waterfall.

“Where’d the cliff go?!” said Keon.

“Soon as we go over the edge,” said Shem, “you flick those gliders!”

Keon gripped the sides of the boat, his pulse thumping in his neck. He breathed deep as they neared the edge, as though he were about to jump into a pool of ice-cold water. He felt his spine bristle in anticipation. And then weightlessness. The bottom of the boat bowed beneath them, tipping into oblivion. Hills and valleys unrolled like a scroll in miniature far below. The wide neck of the cliff face seemed to be rearing up towards them faster than they were falling. He flicked his wrist and grabbed the expanded glider. The winds caught it, propelling him through the air. He looked down at the land scrolling beneath him. Just how high up were they? When the heck did that happen?

He tried blinking back the craziness unfolding before his eyes, but no; it was still there. The cliff really was moving, rising up towards them like the impossibly large, monstrous neck of a beast. And they weren’t going fast enough! They were going to smash right into it. He started bicycle kicking (as if that would make him go faster). He’d seen long jumpers do it. Then again, he’d read it helped maintain balance, not increase speed.

“Tilt it!” came a shout from somewhere. He strained his neck trying to find the source.

“Tilt the glider, Keon!”

How on earth was he supposed to do that? He had to make himself heavier; increase the weight at the front of the glider. But how?

Cannon ball. He had to cannon ball.

He crossed his legs and lifted his knees to his chest. The effect was instantaneous. The glider dipped, sacrificing altitude for speed. It’d be close. Way too close—but he was going faster. Next thing he knew, he was screaming. The jagged rocks below rose like sharp little mountains, threatening to slice him in two. He banked between them, the ground rising fast. He was going to crash! Then it was all gone and all he could see were fields flying beneath his feet. He let his legs hang to try and increase drag. He was slowing, still moving fast, but slowing. His heels hit the grass, dredging up dirt, and he ground to a halt. Dropping the glider, he looked around for the Millionth and Fifth and saw that everyone was accounted for. The Moonlamps hadn’t followed and the Mysts were gone. Light peaked over the horizon at the rising of Zaphon, but the ground still quaked.

“Run, Keon!”

The Millionth and Fifth were running. Asya was running. It was only when he looked back that he saw why. A mountain was rising out of the land—sheer, jagged walls of rock pushing a tidal wave of grass and dirt towards them. The mountain was moving! Keon turned and pelted, but the ground started to incline. He was running downhill, pushing to pump his legs faster. He dared not look back for fear he’d lose what little nerve he had left.

Then, suddenly, the roaring stopped. The land began to level out. But still he ran. He ran until his legs ached. He ran until he caught up with the others. Only then did he turn, and only then did he see.

Gargantuan black eyes filled the horizon, rising with wreathed irises of rushing blue flame beneath a bent brow of mountainous slopes. Like a long-necked wolf, but not. Ridges of sharp, igneous rock instead of fur. And there between its eyes—the object of its focus—stood Wellworn.

“NightBringer,” he said.

“Dawn-Son,” it rumbled.

“Where are you going?”

Keon frowned. Was he hearing right?

“They tresspass on my land.”

“Your land?” Wellworn said with an upturned brow. He looked around derisively, scanning the area. “You must be getting senile in your old age.”

“It was given to me.”

“Yet yours no longer…usurper.”

Wellworn reached beneath his jacket and withdrew his long, gleaming broadsword. What on earth did he plan to do with that? The pupil of one eye completely dwarfed him in size!

“I have the right to sift them.”

“You forget your place, Helel. Need I remind you?”

From behind, it looked as though Wellworn was tapping a spot on his bracers with the flat of the blade. The creature growled a deep rumbling sigh of frustration then began retreating into the ground. Without waiting, Wellworn sheathed the blade, turned, and strode towards them. By the time he reached them, the creature had almost completely vanished into the ground. They were standing on the opposite side of the canyon; Midnah-Dogu and the palace just visible in the distance. The Stronghold—the entire region—had been riding on that gigantic beast’s back.

Wellworn checked each of them in turn, like a father checking his children for scrapes.

“Are you alright…Are you okay?…”

He paused by Dawit, who couldn’t look him in the eyes. His voice broke as his face faltered.

“I’m sorry…I…”

Wellworn squeezed his shoulder and bent forward, beckoning him to meet his gaze. The once harsh eyes were soft as silk, and his brazen skin seemed to shimmer with warmth.

“Obedience and loyalty. That’s all he asks.”

Whatever that meant, Dawit seemed to understand. He brushed his nose with the back of his hand and sniffed, all the colour seeming to return to his face. No sweat. No heavy breathing.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

Wellworn slapped the side of his shoulder and moved on to Kai. He smiled glowingly and winked.

“Good job, Kai.”

Kai grinned, looked down and gave the minutest of nods.

Finally, he came to Asya. At first, she didn’t meet his eyes, unsure of where to look.

“And who is this?” he asked.

At this, her eyes met his and she saw in them something she recognised but couldn’t quite place.

“A-Asya,” she said.

“Welcome, Asya,” he said with a bow of the head.

Before she could answer, he moved on to Keon.

He sighed deep, a mischievous smile barely hidden beneath his uneven beard.

“And Keon. You have questions.”

“Yeah…” he rasped. “That…was Helel flippin’ Shakar? That was a Morningstar?!”

“Ibn Shakar,” whispered Kai.

Wellworn nodded.

“That was indeed Helel ibn Shakar. Chief Prince of Meshech and Tubal.”

Keon looked back at the others as if to confirm, then back at Wellworn.

“Just who the hell are you, man?”