Aslan stood stiff in front of Asya, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. On either side, he was flanked by two burly Moonlamps, their faces obscured by their head wraps. Even so, Asya recognised them instantly. Ruslan (who’d been joined at the hip to Aslan since birth) and Baris (whose name meant ‘calm’ but was anything but).

“What’re you doing here, Asya?”

Don’t panic, she thought. Don’t react. If there was one thing she could do, it was think on her feet.

She crossed her arms, staring up at her brother from beneath her brow.

“Baba thought he needed a less ‘clumsy’ touch. His words, not mine.”

“And the guards?”

She shrugged a solitary shoulder.

“Dismissed. To give him a false sense of security. I think he likes me.”

Aslan seemed to shudder with frustration, clenching and unclenching his fists as he shuffled; unsure of where to go. She didn’t relish the idea of weaponising their father against him, but right now she had no other choice. She gently clasped his hands until he stopped shaking and his shoulders relaxed. He exhaled and sat down on one of the crimson chairs lining the hall, rubbing his temples. She knelt beside him, nodding to Ruslan and Baris who continued down the hall.

“He treats me like I’m useless, Asya. If he could, he’d give my inheritance to a goat.”

“Or an amazingly charismatic sister.”

He looked at her, aghast and she playfully shoved him. He shook his head.

“He probably would, you know. If Almuluk allowed it.”

She shrugged with a smile.

“I guess the world will never know.”

He finally let out a grin.

She took a firmer grip of his hands, placing one palm on top.

“You’re strong. You’re bold. And most of all, you’re dedicated to Almuluk. All the people can see that, even if Baba can’t,” she said.

He tenderly touched his forehead to hers, eyes closed.

“I couldn’t survive this place without you, you know.”

She pinched his arm.

“I know.”

But he would have to. At least until she could come back for him.

 

* * *

 

Night had long since fallen across Midnah-Dogu. The same cosmic light hung over the horizon. Keon waited alongside the tall, cedar door, squeezed into the corner of his room. Suddenly, the bolt squeaked its way through the latch, and the door opened. He flung an arm around Asya, covered her mouth and held a finger to his lips. Popping his head into the hallway, he scanned both ends of the corridor. The coast was clear. Asya removed his arm and gently closed the door back behind her.

“What was that all about? I said I’d get rid of the guards,” she said.

He shuffled on the spot, suddenly feeling quite silly.

“Sorry. Just making sure.”

“You watch way too much T.V.” she muttered.

She approached the window, looking briefly from side to side. Two guards stood directly underneath the window on the grounds below.

“Are you ready with this plan of yours?” she said.

“More or less.”

She stopped, glancing back at him.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“What, and you have?”

“Only for fun,” she grinned.

She slid the window up inch-by-inch, which made far more noise than she would have liked. She’d snuck out like this a million times before, but never from this wing of the palace.

“And you know your way to the barracks from here?”

“Yeah,” she scoffed, audaciously.

She rolled over her mental image of the grounds, rehearsing the route they would need to take. It would be slow going. They would have to make their way around the outer fringes of the roof so as not to make too much noise. That thing echoed like crazy. Then they could drop down into the northern gardens and cross the colonnades towards the barracks.

With only a few inches to go, the window made one last squeak. Asya froze. The guards below hadn’t noticed.

Dipping her head beneath the open window, she stepped out onto the precariously thin ledge, clawing for the window frame to steady herself. She slowly rose and began shuffling sideways, back pressed against the wall.

It was Keon’s turn next. He took one look out, backed off cursing inwardly, then returned to the window. Turning sideways, he reluctantly stuck one foot out onto the window ledge. Then, swinging his left shoulder beneath the open window, he rose—and banged the other one into the window frame. The guards turned and looked right up at them.

“Asya!” one of them yelled, going for the latches on his Codex.

The pealing of the palace bell suddenly rippled through the air, tearing the attention of the guards away from Keon and Asya. Keon traced their line of sight towards the sky. A pillar of glowing, red smoke was rising beyond the southern wall.

 

* * *

 

Aslan’s first instinct was to dash for the guest quarters. It was him; it had to be. But something drew his attention towards the towering windows that filled the wall adjacent to his four-poster bed. Marble Mynds were streaming along the western wall towards the outer courtyard. Several of his comrades were sprinting south across the grounds. And then he saw it, the pillar of red smoke billowing over the southern wall.

There was no time for his fatigues. He’d have to take the satchel. It’d been years since he’d carried it into combat, but Emir’s drills were still fresh in his memory. Harness or not, there was no faster forger in all of Underland.

He slid into his black kameez, kicked on his sandals and left the apartment.

 

* * *

 

Shem peered through the bars of their subterranean prison. He could just about make out a carpet of green grass and multiple feet thundering across it, kicking up dirt. He shuffled in vain from side to side to get a better view, Kai and Avana crowding behind him.

“Something’s going on. Can’t see a bloody thing.”

“Told you,” said Avana. “Geniuses.”

 

* * *

 

Jonas leant against a tree, picking the grime out of his fingernails. A pyre of Codex parchments burned nearby sending plumes of thick, crimson smoke up into the air. The flicker of the flames made shadows dance across the darkness. He could hear them already, stalking through the forest. The Mynds would come first, followed closely by the first wave of Moonlamps. They would try and enclose him in a ring formation. Smart but pointless.

He stepped away from the trees and pulled back his shawl. Tugging on the harness, he swung out his Codex. A flick of the wrist sent the pages flapping. He tore two sheets from the book, brought the pages together between his palms and folded. There was no waste in his movements. Nothing grandiose, just pin-point intentionality; each bend a meticulously calculated piece of art.

His weapon forged, he flicked it to full size, gripped the hilt and tore it down the middle, splitting it in two. In each hand, he held a jagged, right-angled trumbash. A string of what looked like perforated tickets dangled from each handle.

Spear tips clawed through the clearing in the trees on all sides, like spokes on a wheel closing in on an axle. The shafts of the spears, driven by porcelain hands came next, followed by the furrowed brows of alabaster faces. Unflinching, Jonas’ glowering gaze swept across the ring of Marble Mynds. He would need two tickets at least. Slowly raising the trumbashes, he held one above his head, the other below his waist. Then, whipping his arms across one another, he tore a ticket off each end, holding them between his finger and thumbs.

He flicked the first ticket dead straight into the pyre. It erupted into a sparkling pillar of blinding white light that consumed the forest. The flash suddenly vaporised into a thick, white mist that filled every space the light had touched.

The heads of the Marble Mynds sailed through the surface of the mist in search of the masked Torchbearer.

Dropping from the trees, Jonas spun like a windmill and cleaved the heads off two Mynds one after the other. Twisting mid-air, he landed prone like a cat then launched himself back up into the trees. Dropping down several feet away, he decapitated two more before shooting up again. Rolling down onto the ground in front of the next two, he severed a leg each. Their gleaming forms teetered then toppled beneath the mist. The ring of sliced marble echoed through the trees then, suddenly, the mist began to clear.

The remaining Mynds circled round every tree trunk they crossed, certain that the masked Torchbearer was somewhere up in the boughs. An ivory warrior traced its way around a tree before it stopped, catching the fleeting hint of movement on the tree trunk. Suddenly, two arms whipped out like unfolding scissors, slicing through its midriff. It dropped in two pieces to the ground. Jonas crept out of the shadows, over the fragmenting body and stepped back into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

Zahara Karmarian didn’t like getting wet unless it was absolutely necessary. This, right here, was not necessary. She’d forged a paper snorkel and was ever so slowly making her way downstream, popping her head out of the river every now and then to check her location. Jonas had remained in the forest; to ‘distract the guards,’ he’d said. She could have easily done that. He should’ve been doing this. Why dress like a bleeding ninja if you’re not going to be the one sneaking around? The lack of foliage by the riverbank made her a potentially open target, but she doubted any sentries would pay any notice to a simple reed bobbing down the river. At least, that was the hope.

Once he’d lost sight of her, Jonas had lit the signal fire to attract the guards. With that distraction, it would be child’s play to slip into the palace, assuming the drain didn’t have a grill. If it did, they were screwed. She had a backup plan, but it involved making a lot more noise than she would like. Not to mention, she’d probably have to fight her way through, which she didn’t much relish.

She suddenly dived, inadvertently swallowing water through the snorkel. A Marble Mynd was scanning the river. Whatever it thought it saw had quickly vanished. Zahara chastised herself inwardly then waited a few moments before re-emerging, spitting water that didn’t taste like water out in a bubbling splutter. It should’ve been Jonas.

The drain was finally coming into view. And there was the grill.

Damn.

 

* * *

 

“Was this part of your plan?” said Asya.

The duo stood on the narrow ledge outside Keon’s window, staring across the palace grounds towards the pillar of red smoke rising beyond the walls. The two guards had taken off and the grounds had come alive with activity.

“Yeah—I mean—no, but—basically.”

She popped a shrug.

“Nice work.”

“Don’t think I can take all the credit!”

They continued shimmying along the window ledge. Asya signalled for Keon to duck as they passed the next window. The light was on, and muffled voices were funnelling from the room. This was easier said than done. Not only was their footing precariously thin, it was hard enough to shift across the ledge standing up, let alone crouched down. Keon pressed his back against the bricks, praying that sheer force of will would somehow allow him to stick to the wall. Empty space beckoned him just an inch or two to the left.

As they reached the end, Asya gripped the corner of the wall and swung around it like a leaf on the wind. Keon stared befuddled for a second then decided he wouldn’t bother copying. Clasping the corner like a baby Koala, he inched his body around, feeling with his feet for the ledge.

Their destination came into view. The ledge led straight onto the sloped roof of the lower level. From the peak they could reach the upper roof. It was a bit of a leap, but Keon fancied his chances. Heck, if Asya could reach it, he was pretty sure he could.

But again, this was easier said than done. The roofing tiles were ridiculously well polished. Good thing this part of the roof didn’t echo like the rest; the Moonlamps probably would have heard him slipping and sliding down repeatedly, cursing as he went. Wiping his clammy hands on his shawl, he removed his boots, tied them together, then slung them around his neck. He inched his way back up on all fours like a timid cat.

Reaching the top, he swung round in triumph and went to slip his boots back on, Asya shaking her head. In his excitement, he hoisted his knee up with a bit too much enthusiasm, nearly throwing himself over the opposite side. Scrambling to catch himself, he managed—but dropped the other boot in the process. He could only watch as it slid down the roof, bounced off the edge and fell to the grounds below.

 

* * *

 

Zahara was beneath the arch of the drain. She ran her hands over the bricks until she found what she was looking for: a flowing script etched into every inch of the palace walls. She’d need the right text to counteract it. Thankfully, a small ledge on either side allowed her to prop herself up whilst she rummaged for her Codex. It’d been wrapped in a piece of parchment over which the word ‘wax’ had been written. Glistening globules of water slid off the surface as she unwrapped the book.

She placed it on the ledge, slipped out the graphite pencil and flipped through the pages towards ‘Truth.’ Her fingers ran down the text and along the pages until she’d found what she was looking for:

 

A wise person can scale the city of the mighty and bring down the stronghold in which they trust.

 

Tearing out the passage, she folded it, flicked it to full page size and began scrawling over the text in big, black letters:

 

Slow Burn, Big Bang

 

She screwed the parchment up into a ball and stuffed it into one of the gaps on the grill. With the ball set, she took out her kindling kit, sparked flames over the edge of the ball and swam out in the opposite direction. Once out of the river, she took off alongside the wall, being careful to stick as close to it as possible so as not to be seen.

When she was a good distance away, she knelt down, plugged her fingers in her ears and waited. And waited—and—waited.

Until—

 

* * *

 

The boom thundered through the palace, shattered windows and ignited the cobalt sky like a thousand fireworks. The middle of the western wall ballooned outwards like an enflamed mushroom, sending bricks, stone and pieces of Marble Mynds soaring through the air.

 

Aslan skidded to a halt, dredging up dirt. A sudden blast of heat hit the back of his neck and he instinctively ducked as the ground beneath him shook. The tufts of his coal black hair rippled from the rush of hot air cascading across his head. Twisting to the west, he saw vast columns of smoke and flame rising from the western wall. Boulders and large stones fell towards the grasslands beyond the palace. His fellow Masabih, who’d been rushing to the gate, stopped and turned to match his gaze. Then, as one, they looked to him.

He hesitated; the criticisms of the Rayiys echoing through his ears. These next moments could either define or discredit him. He fingered the chain on his right hand. The Wall. That which distinguished the Masabih from the Hainlerin; the traitors. That which defined them as the faithful of Almuluk; the Last Who Would Remain to march at the forefront of his armies.

“GO, GO!” he waved. “THE SOUTH WALL WAS A DISTRACTION!”

As he raced towards the inner gate, he heard something whistle overhead. Silhouetted against the mini-cosmos, an object—no—a man was sailing across the sky towards the inner courtyard. He put on an extra burst of speed.

 

* * *

 

Zahara stood to her feet, ash and dust settling over her head. A massive v-shaped hole had been blasted through the wall, smoking and smouldering at random.

“Maybe I should’ve put ‘Big-ish’?” she muttered.

She made a mad dash for the river and dived in, just as the first Mynds not consumed by the blast made it to the breach. She didn’t know exactly where the stream would take her, but she knew it would get her inside and no one would think to search it just yet.

 

* * *

 

Keon and Asya scrambled unsteadily to their feet. They’d been lucky. If that shockwave had come from any other direction, it would have knocked them clean off the roof. Instead, they’d been blown off the outer fringes onto the sloping tiles.

“The hell was that?!” said Asya.

“Heck knows, but it wasn’t part of the plan!…”

“Come on!”

There was no need for them to keep quiet now. The guards would be far too distracted to notice their footsteps thundering across the roof. They cleared the distance to the north wing in record time, taking a moment to shimmy down to the lower levels. It was just a bit of a jog towards the edge of the building and then they could drop into the gardens.

Asya halted him as she peered over the edge. All was clear. Swinging her legs over, she dropped down behind a bush. The shifting auroras and wispy nebulae lit up Underland’s cobalt sky, but there was enough darkness to cloak them. Keon shortly followed, tripping and falling to a heap when he couldn’t quite stick the landing. Asya peered back and shook her head.

They kept low to the ground, moving between the bushes. Whoever landscaped this place had made slipping between positions light work.

They froze at the rustle of bushes several feet in front of them. Up ahead was a soldier and a maid (who clearly weren’t supposed to be there), holding hands and staring dreamily into each other’s pupils. He whispered poetic, sweet-nothings and she giggled like a child. Asya rolled her eyes with exasperation. These two again!

She tapped an index finger to her lips. Stepping back a few paces, she slipped out her Codex and gently gripped the corner of a page. Similar to Shem’s, it read from right to left, with a deep-green leather cover embossed in gold. Easy. Easy. Rrrrip! The couple stood alert, heads whipping round. They must’ve chalked it up to the wind in the leaves because they went right back to business.

Taking out what looked like a stylus, Asya scrawled something onto the paper and scrunched it up into a ball. She had to time this just right.

 

* * *

 

Malik had timed this just right. Things hadn’t gone exactly as he’d planned, but it had worked out for the better. With all the calamity, everyone was distracted, and this wing of the palace was deserted. It was perfect! The trees arching over their heads like a glorious crown. The lights shimmering on the blanket of an indigo sky. And Faiza was radiant. The cool blue bathed her features in ethereal light. Her skin was smooth as porcelain. Yes. Tonight, was the night. He would confess his love and propose. First in Underland, then again back home. Their families probably wouldn’t approve, but who cared? They would run away if they had to or marry in secret, snatching these moments together in Underland. Whatever they had to do, they would make it work.

His back bristled. He thought he’d heard something—not another guard, surely! Then suddenly, a wad of smoking paper rolled across the grass between them. What was that godawful smell? Why did the air suddenly feel so thick? And why was the sky disappearing?

 

* * *

 

The couple hit the grass and Asya made a dash for the maid, pulling her hood across her mouth to protect herself from the fumes. She dragged the prone form further into the bushes. Keon could only watch in disbelief.

“Trust me, I’m saving their lives,” she said.

“What was that? What did you write?”

“Sleep,” she replied. “Come on.”

 

* * *

 

Jonas didn’t like this. At the sound of the explosion, the Mynds who were left had immediately withdrawn towards the palace. Zahara would be overwhelmed. He needed to buy her some time. There was still the other tag. With a little adjustment, he could cook something up.

He made a grab for the Codex, flipping rapidly through it. Suddenly, it rippled from back to front. He turned to the Appendix. An elegant golden script was weaving its way across the page.

 

Jump over the wall.

 

Jonas’ eyes twitched as he read, comprehension dawning. Then, he slammed the book shut, holstered it and took off through the trees. He picked up speed rapidly. Five metres per second. Ten. Twenty. Forty! And then he leapt. The air seemed to swell around him like a cushion, lifting him high into the air and over the palace walls. He soared clear past the outer courtyard towards a line of trees near the river.