Looks like the governor of this mountain Budrahrium wasn’t informed of our coming, or he would have had us destroyed before we got this close.

The only way for a Magisterium courier to reach this place was through Lerk. We’d headed off into the mountains four days before, in the late evening, immediately after Kasamarchi performed that strange rite in the animator’s hut.

Raven had probably pointed at this village again, but, even if the Magister had sent the chasteners out right away, they couldn’t reach Lerk until the next morning. They could only make it back to the Magisterium to report by next evening. Hearing them, the Burned One could send the courier, who would be behind us by at least thirty-six hours—possibly even forty-eight, considering all the delays the cumbersome bureaucratic machine of the Magisterium could produce.

All of this enabled us to reach this place first. But still, we didn’t have much time. Moving faster than us, the messenger could arrive at any minute.

The Budrahrium towered on a steep rock. A glance down at the whispering Ironsea made my heart plummet right into the waves that were barely visible from this height.

We had crossed the Ashline—a broad circle of burned stones surrounding the magic farm. Half a century ago, when the first Budrahriums had been constructed in Crealia, the local people would not take the heralds’ messages as seriously as they did now. So, many of them had burned alive.

Unaware of what would happen next, a person would step into “the pen,” as they would later call this forbidden area. It was enclosed by a barrier that only permitted small animals or children through. An adult rider or pedestrian crossing the Ashline was far less lucky. Breathing the fresh mountain air a moment before, they would suddenly hit a wall of air condensing around them, reeking of gas, closing their ears, and forming sticky dew on their face and clothes. Heating up, the air became hard and uncaring, scratching down their throat until the world vanished in a dazzling explosion. A scorching wave, like that from a bonfire, hit the poor soul’s body, followed by a wave of agonizing pain.

At this point, those with less endurance were lucky to pass out instantly. The stronger ones would thrash around for a while, bucking like a horse on fire. Their screams echoed through the nearby hollows until they’d fall off the cliff and into the sea, leaving behind a column of fire and the smell of roasting flesh.

But we didn’t even pause at this line. Kasamarchi was absolutely certain it would allow us through, so he just took my hand and led me to the front entrance, winding among the large stones.

Our hope was that the governor would not send any men with crossbows to the high tower just because two kids had wandered in. Instead, he’d just have a few Budrahs chuck us out of the forbidden area.

Now that every Crealian was aware of “the pen,” no local in their right mind would cross the Ashline. So we could only be a couple of crazy kids who had strayed in. And our luck was bad enough as it was—the freshly produced Budrahs were a little unpredictable. They would not try to kill us without a command, but they could kick our stuffing out with an accidental movement of their hooves. For the first two weeks after a gorilla is merged with a horse in the Bloody Basin, the created hybrid has impeded coordination. That’s why they have to stay in the fortress for two weeks until they can be sent to the Magisterium.

I trailed after Kasamarchi, feeling like an animal led to the slaughterhouse. The trampling hooves of the Budrahs that I’d barely escaped by hiding inside the burned tree resounded in my ears.

Sure, I now had Kasamarchi and his Angel at my side. Sure, I knew this crazy world a bit better, and my Asp had grown stronger.

And sure, we had applied the feather. It should help. At least somewhat. However, I had seen no changes over the past few days except for the pouch that reeked of smoke, full of burdock seeds, now dangling from Kasamarchi’s neck alongside the Whistle. He waved off all my questions about the purpose of this Burdock Lord kit with his usual “you will see.”

I’d love a bit more clarity about what I will see and when.

The hulking Budrahrium was looming ahead, shielding half the sky, and tying a knot of primal fear in my stomach.

That’s a colossal fortress! How is this crazy kid going to take it over?

We stopped in front of a tall, narrow gate that looked like a giant mouth. The flat-roofed buildings adjoining the tower seemed to be windowless and doorless, with only dark slits beneath the roof, too narrow for anyone to get in or out.

So that must be the only entrance.

I barely had time to take in the forbidding walls when the ground shivered with the trampling of hooves.

The Budrahs!

Skipping a beat, my heart raced like crazy. Without looking back, I started to retreat from the clang of invisible chains winding around the screeching winches, the black maw of the gate baring its iron teeth at us, its unwelcome guests.

The trampling sound grew louder as the Budrahs approached from inside this stone throat. I could hear the clatter of hooves and the animals’ heavy breathing.

I backed away, keeping my eyes on the gate.

The noise growing louder.

The band loosening in my hair.

Another step back.

The hooves clattering closer and closer.

The snake slipping off and down.

Another step.

The heavy breath approaching.

My hair falling down to my shoulders.

Another step, or half-step, as I stumbled over, falling back, my shoulder hitting a pile of stones, dust raining down on my face…

…a moment before something heavy hit my head, turning the lights off.

…Coming to, I saw myself seated on the ground, with my back resting against a slab of rock, my ears ringing, the top of my head numb.

In my hair, a swarm of ants seemed to be running to and fro. Their tiny legs were a warm tickle on my forehead, vanishing down past my eyebrows as they jumped off to land on my hand with a cooling splash a moment later.

Looking down, I saw blood.

Feeling woozy, I touched my head. Moving the sticky hair aside, my fingers found a deep gash. Almost bone-deep. It must have been from a rock hitting me on the head.

I felt no fear.

No pain.

Where am I?

Remembering the last moments before passing out, I sprung to my feet. The Budrahs!

The invisible “ants” crept down my forehead, but I no longer cared.

Drip.

I must have been unconscious for only a few seconds. The first Budrah was just dashing out of the gate, his head barely missing the teeth of the raised portcullis.

Drip.

The freeze-frame and scenario choice had probably been completed while I was out; I didn’t remember them at all, but Asp and Angel were already fighting.

Drip.

A crack of Angel’s whip swept the ape torso off the galloping horse body. Dark fountains of blood gushed up. The strong hairy legs took a couple of leaps before bending down; the dead Budrah rolled on the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

Drip.

Flapping its wings, Asp ducked beneath the next Budrah’s belly, ripping it open with his upright speared tail. The animal’s death shriek drowned out the trampling of hooves.

Kasamarchi stood in the middle of the blood-and-dust, as still as Buddha. He seemed to be the eye of the storm, his immobility the only thing keeping him safe.

Drip.

No, though. I got the last part wrong because the next moment, he stirred into barely perceptible motion, lifting his head. Instinctively, I followed his gaze.

The blind eyes of slits beneath the tower’s roof were now sighted; the angry pupils of soldiers aimed their crossbows at us.

Drip.

The air over Kasamarchi’s head darkened as though a swarm of flies had appeared. As this small cloud started to twirl, I heard a high-pitched, squealing sound lowering to a hum as its source darkened and expanded, forming a vortex over Kasamarchi…

…until it turned into a large, buzzing cloud. The sound grew lower and stronger, becoming a deafening roar that pressed on my ears, sending ripples over my whole body.

A black swarm of giant hornets covered the setting sun.

Drip.

Shooting his right arm out, Kasamarchi pointed at the crossbows. The vortex spun faster, roaring like a plane taking off; then it dashed up, completely obscuring the tower for a moment.

Fast, heavy blows hailed down the fortress walls, stone dust raining to the ground as if the Budrahrium were under machine-gun fire.

In a couple of moments, the gaping holes were blind and dark again.

The humming swarm was slowly descending.

Eight disfigured Budrah bodies were spread at the entrance.

The portcullis in the gate began lowering with a shiver. Noticing, Kasamarchi pointed at the gate. With a deafening buzz that made me close my ears, the hornets vanished into the gaping stone mouth. The portcullis stopped, barely making it halfway down.

Asp and Angel ducked into the Budrahrium, following the hornets.

Drip.

Kasamarchi finally turned back to look at me. “Now you see why I need this Burdock Lord kit,” he said flatly.

I gaped at the empty pouch on his chest. “Hey, wait. So…it was…Are you telling me those hornets were burdock seeds?”

“I told you how important it was to use the feather, Ana,” he said. “Come in. They’re done in there. How’s your head?”

“Not sure,” I answered, casting an apprehensive glance at the gate. “All those people inside…Are they dead?” I asked, cold spreading inside my chest, a ball of vomit rolling up my throat.

Without answering, Kasamarchi vanished into the tower.

Drip.

That makes nine.