R. Anderson - Rebel

Within seconds the chaos on the floor resolved itself into two sides: the rebels pressing eagerly toward the stage, and the Empress’s servants trying to hold them back. Birds wheeled about the ceiling, animals leaped and tussled on the floor, light sizzled and metal rang, and in the half-darkness it was impossible to tell which side was winning.

The Empress clawed at her fallen throne, dragging herself to her feet. She staggered forward and swiped at Linden, who ducked away just in time.

“I should have burned that blighted Oak to the ground,” Jasmine panted. “And when I regain my powers-I swear to you that I will-”

But at that same moment Rob and Corbin came clashing toward them, all swords and spell-fire. Linden scrambled back, shielding her eyes-and when she looked again, the Empress had flung open the door at the back of the stage and fled, leaving it open behind her.

Linden darted to Timothy where he sat slumped against the wall. She grabbed his shoulders and shouted in his ear, “Can you move? The Empress-she’s getting away!”

He looked at her dazedly, then gave a weak nod. Linden slung her arm around him and helped him struggle to his feet, then yelled, “This way!” and pointed at the door.

“Just a minute-” Timothy stumbled across the platform and bent to snatch up the iron cross from beside the fallen throne. Corbin’s sword whistled toward his head, but Rob blocked the stroke and kicked the Blackwing off the stage. Within seconds an enraged raven came whirring back toward him; Rob dodged the attack just long enough to stoop and clasp hands with someone in the crowd, then shouted back to Timothy and Linden, “Run! Save yourselves!” and suddenly whisked off into the darkness…

Linden blinked. Had he really changed himself into a fox?

“Free!” cried a melodious voice, and Linden looked around to see the faery who had helped them at Euston Station holding the Stone of Naming high in the air. Other faeries were fighting their way toward her, plunging through walls of blue fire and dodging fountains of red and green sparks; as the first of them reached the faery, she passed him the Stone, and his voice echoed hers in exultation, “Free!”

With a screech one of the Blackwings dove out of the shadows, straight at Timothy’s face. Timothy flung up the iron cross; the raven dropped like an anvil and crashed to the floor as Byrne, unconscious.

“We have to go, Timothy!” Linden called urgently. Clutching the cross in front of him, Timothy began weaving his way past the other faeries swarming onto the stage-but just as he reached Linden, he stumbled and crashed to his knees.

“Timothy!” cried Linden in alarm, and he gasped back, “Legs went numb-don’t know what’s wrong, but I can’t-”

Linden helped him to his feet again, and together they limped toward the door. They had almost reached it when a slim figure slipped out to block their path, tossing the pale hair from his eyes and greeting them with a familiar mocking smile.

“Martin, get out of my way,” Timothy panted, brandishing the cross, but the male faery only laughed.

“I have no quarrel with you, human boy,” he said. “Why should I? I have not had such entertainment in many a year.” And to Linden’s amazement, he swept them a bow and disappeared again.

A noise like thunder cracked across the room, and all the candles went out. “Run!” screamed Linden, and she and Timothy plunged through the door. They found themselves at the top of a stairwell, with a second and heavier door before them; Timothy shoved it open, and the two of them tumbled out onto a concrete step, dazzled by the cold blue light of morning.

There was no sign of the Empress, and behind them the battle of Sanctuary still raged. But at least-or so Linden thought, as she clung to Timothy in exhausted relief-at least the two of them were safe.

Timothy sat in the back parlor at Oakhaven, gazing out across the garden. Two days had passed since he and Linden escaped from Sanctuary: They’d huddled in an alleyway for a miserable hour or so until her magic returned, and then she’d turned them both invisible and they’d taken the train home. They’d arrived on Paul and Peri’s doorstep, filthy, starving, and half dead with cold-but they were alive.

The only question was, for how long?

Resignedly Timothy opened his Bible to the fifth chapter of Matthew and reached for his notebook. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven…

He had just started scribbling down some thoughts for the essay he owed the dean when a spasm went through his hand, and his pen tumbled to the floor. He was trying to make his nerveless fingers pick it up again when he heard Paul’s voice from behind him.

“You all right, Tim?”

“I’m fine,” Timothy said quickly, sitting up as his cousin rolled into the room. “Just an aftershock from the Empress’s spell.” It had frightened him the first few times, but by now the spasms were weaker and less frequent, and he was pretty sure they’d soon go away. Still, it was a chilling reminder that if he hadn’t been touching iron when the Empress blasted him, he’d be dead right now.

“Let’s say we just call her Jasmine,” said Paul, wheeling the chair around to face him. “I don’t think she deserves the title, do you? And if Rob can get enough rebels on his side, she won’t be holding on to it much longer anyway.”

“That’s just the thing,” said Timothy reluctantly. “I don’t know if he can. I don’t even know if he and his followers are still alive. For all we know the Emp-I mean, Jasmine-could be coming here with an army to take over the Oak right now, and there’s not much any of us can do about it.”

Paul was silent, his fingers steepled against his lips. Then he said, “True. In which case maybe we should just call your parents and get you on a plane to Uganda before things get any worse.”

“Are you joking?” demanded Timothy. “I’m not going to run away and just leave you all here!”

“Why not? You’ve done everything you can to help the Oakenfolk, Tim, and a good deal more than anyone expected of you. Believe me, Peri and I appreciate all you’ve been through for Linden’s sake. But I’m still your guardian, and I’d be a pretty poor one if I let you hang about in the middle of a war zone.”

Timothy dropped his head into his hands, fingers furrowing up his hair. To be forced to confront his parents on such short notice, when he still hadn’t decided what to tell them, would be bad enough…but even worse was the thought of being thousands of miles from the Oakenwyld, not knowing if his friends there were dead or alive.

“I want to stay,” he said huskily.

Paul frowned, but then Peri’s voice echoed in from the corridor. “I seem to remember another young man who refused to run away when his life was in danger, too.”

She walked into the room and crouched beside Paul’s chair, laying both hands on his arm. “I know you feel responsible for Timothy, and so do I. But after all that’s happened, I think he’s got a right to choose where he wants to be.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Paul retorted. “Unless you’re volunteering to call his parents and tell them their only son is dead?”

“No,” replied Peri, “but you won’t have to do it either. If Jasmine comes to Oakhaven, she’s hardly going to stop at just killing Timothy.”

Paul threw up his hands. “Oh, well, in that case there’s nothing to worry about. Good news, Tim! We’re all going to die together!”

His tone was sarcastic, but Peri put her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek, and when she let him go his mouth had pulled into a resigned smile. Timothy grinned back, feeling his own tension lift a little.