Silas took the brunt of the fall to protect the child cradled in his arms. Landing shoulder first, his lip split as he clipped an exposed root. Blood pooled in his mouth, the metallic tinge mixed with soil. He rolled to his back, arms extended, and stared up into the small face peering out from the bundle of blue blanket. The infant’s bright blue eyes lit in a smile, and he gurgled a laugh as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Remarkably, until then he hadn’t made a sound in hours. That alone qualified him as special.

“Just another day in paradise, hey Oliver? Well, Elysium used to be a paradise anyway,” Silas muttered, collecting himself slowly. “If you have a say in it, maybe it will be again.”

A crackle of leaves brought Silas quick to his feet. Hollow steps carried through the dark, dense, forest, seemingly from every direction at once. They were close. Silas hurried on, bounding between trees. Thin streams of moonlight cast odd shadows but revealed little else. Fortunately, he’d made the trek hundreds of times. He didn’t need light to find his way. He just needed to find Miriam and get through the passage. Once safely through, the misery could end. Oliver could grow up in a world free of darkness and pain. They could wait until the time was right. Until Oliver could return and change it all.

If the Storyteller was right.

Silas pushed the thought away, silencing the doubt. It had to work. Otherwise, there would be no world left to save.

Ahead, a wide grassy clearing flared in pale light as if spotlighting his destination. Silas cut between two wide trunks, protecting Oliver from the overgrowth of shrubs. Several thorny leaves cut into the shaded beard along Silas’ cheeks, the last nearly taking his glasses clean off.

Heavy footfall increased, still close behind. The dread were relentless creatures, but they were only part of the problem. Outrunning the undead was at least possible. Avoiding the wraiths, however, was nothing short of trying to hide from your own shadow.

Across the clearing, three trees joined at the base, trunks spreading out like fingers rising to the sky. The passage lay through the center trunk. Miriam loved to toy with the mind more than she loved nature. Creating a passage through a tree that wasn’t really there was one of her better plays. Silas leaned into the open to scan the night sky for movement. Pinpricks of motionless starry light filled the view, the bright full moon at its center. For now, it was safe. The moment he stepped from beneath the cover of trees, however, they would see him. Erebus had eyes everywhere.

“Miriam,” Silas called out, in a strained voice just above a whisper.

Nothing. No return call. No sign of movement. He’d have to get through on his own and wait for her to arrive.

The clearing was too wide to cover in time, but he’d have to chance it. With the dread moving to flank him, going around the clearing wasn’t an option.

Silas sprinted into the clearing, head down, Oliver clutched tight.

Voices carried from the woods beyond the passage, rising ahead of careless steps.

Midway, exposed in the center of the clearing, Silas stuttered to an unbalanced stop. Two boys rounded to either side of the three trees, crossed from darkness into moonlight, whispers evolving into a full-fledged argument.

“It’s bloody stupid, Gareth. Find some bloke running about a dark forest with a baby? Who—”

In tandem, they drew swords so perfect, so unblemished, they may as well have come straight from the forge. Moonlight glinted off loose silver breastplates, oversized crimson and gold uniforms marking soldiers far too young to wear them. Kids in the Guard. They weren’t equipped for this. Not that Chancellor Corvus cared. The moment he assumed control of the throne, he’d started his war on magic and drafted kids like they had nowhere else to be.

“You Arundel, then? Silas Arundel?” asked Gareth, voice tiny, shaken.

So young.

Silas checked the sky. “I know you’re both doing what you were told, but you need to get out of here, now. Just go. It isn’t safe.”

With some effort, Gareth wobbled the point of his sword at Silas. “Don’t be a funny guy, all right? We’ll go. You with us. Chancellor wants you and that baby, straight off. Captain Vorel’s orders.”

An eruption of birds scattered from the treetops. Gareth yelped. The crack of steps echoed through the trees, seemingly coming from every direction. Silas set his feet, measuring the distance to the passage. He wouldn’t make it in time. The dread weren’t much on thinking, but they obeyed commands to the end. If they saw him go through the passage, they would follow.

Braden backed into Gareth. “Bunk to the Chancellor, I say. Didn’t see nothin’ out here if you didn’t.”

Gareth shook his head, stuttering on an agreement that needed no words.

But it was too late. The dread had arrived.

Shadow became form. Bodies staggered into light, one after the next, encircling them. Dead though they were, the Dread moved with purpose, with clear vision. Tattered uniforms hung loose to their slumped bodies, patchy gray skin in varied states of decay. The swords they held dangled low at their sides, tips dragging trails through the soil. It was a deceptive grip, as if they might lose it on first swing. But Silas knew different. He’d seen them in action. Watched friends fall by their blades. They fought with more skill and speed than the soldiers they once were. The first into the clearing made a noise like a gurgle—a wet sound, wordless—and the forest erupted in replies.

Silas nudged the young soldiers. “Unless you want to end up like your elder comrades here, I suggest you run.”

“What if they start to chase us?” asked Gareth, voice high, on the verge of breaking.

“Then run faster.” Silas scanned the tree line, found a small opening in the approaching dread off to the right. “That gap, there! We can make it!”

Without Miriam present to clear the dread, the passage wasn’t an option. There were too many of them. He would have to lead the herd away, then circle back. If she was already through, then hopefully she would stay put and avoid the desire to search for him. That was the agreement. Get through. Wait. Take Oliver together. Silas took to a run, at the edge of the clearing when a particularly foul-smelling dread tumbled from behind a tree, blocking the way.

This seemed to be enough adventure for Oliver, who took the approach of the groaning dead soldier as a call to shriek like a banshee. As if struck, the dread recoiled, decayed fingers rising to its ears. It matched Oliver’s wail, clearly in pain.

Special, indeed.

Silas aimed Oliver and his scream at the dread, then kicked out, buckling the ashen soldier at the knee. When Oliver’s cry came to a sudden stop, it recovered, brittle bones of its hand clicking as it reached out to press hard into Silas’ shoulder. Pain burned deep through his arm as a finger burrowed into his skin, unleashing a heavy flow of blood, but he turned away, elbow dropping into the dread’s forearm. Bones split. The dread released him and stumbled forward, left arm dangling and useless, backing Silas again into the center of the clearing, Braden and Gareth clinging to his side, the mass of dread closing in around them. One of the boys was crying. He couldn’t tell which.

“Sorry, Oliver,” said Silas. “Looks like you’re going to have to do this without me.”

Oliver blinked wide, eyeing Silas.

The passage was still within reach. If he couldn’t make it, then he had to make sure Oliver did. Miriam could take him to Scorpion Hollow from there.

“Hang on. Cushioning spell or not, this is going to be a bit rough.”

Silas wheeled, shoulders down, on a line for the passage despite the approach of several dread to either side. He almost convinced himself he was going to make it.

But his time was up.

The wraiths had found him.

Dark streaks cut into the clearing, settling like a murky fog blocking him from the passage. Silas shielded Oliver with the blanket, muting his cries. The fog split, drifting to either side of Gareth and Braden, dissipating to reveal the sickly pale faces of two fallen witches. Sunken cheeks broadened dark circles rounding charcoal eyes. Curls of hair black as night obscured much of the silver spiral of circlets across their foreheads. The wraiths launched into an immediate attack, gnarled wooden staffs cracking the soil in unison, a glow of red light pulsing from a ruby framed in silver atop each. The hoarse whisper of their voices seemed to arrive from elsewhere.

“Corpus recedimus!” they said in unison.

Silas hit the ground. “Down!” he shouted, too late.

Blinding light collected both soldiers, lifting them from the ground, the residual energy blasting nearby dread across the clearing. The boys’ screams intensified until, in a flash of blinding light, they vanished. Empty breastplates and swords clattered against the ground. Silas felt his heart drop with them.

So much death. He couldn’t take much more.

The witches turned on Silas. “The child,” said one, the other finishing with, “give him to us.”

Silas cursed beneath his breath. The passage was so close. The wraiths were positioned to either side of it. He could charge, possibly get close enough to get Oliver through, but there was little chance he’d make it. Then again, it wouldn’t matter what happened to him if Oliver made it to safety. If the Storyteller’s plan worked, the war could be stopped before it ever began. Before Erebus returned.

Oliver had to survive.