Bailey Baz's Arc

Chapter 21 of 44

Before he went down into the water, Bailey needed to know how the others had died. Crane had said the serpent drowned every thief. But not how. Cora led him to a sagging shack at the swamp's edge, its boards warped and split. "Trappers marked their kills here," she said. "And their dead." She was his younger sister, and a general now, but here she moved like the swamp-girl he first met, quick and quiet. Inside, names were scratched into the wall. Beside each name, a crude drawing of a serpent, then a line struck through the name. Cora ran her cracked wand along the marks. "They all reached the ribs," she said. "Then they turned to swim back. That's when it took them." Bailey studied the drawings. Every dead thief faced the same way. Toward the surface. Toward escape. "They ran," he said. "The serpent strikes what flees." He had watched swamp creatures for a hundred years. Most only chased. If he did not flee, it might not chase. Tyrek waited at the shack's door. He was the fugitive Bailey had saved, the one who first named him prince. Now he carried a coil of rope over one shoulder. "The rebels are at the gate," Tyrek said. "Your sister opens it soon. You don't have long." Cora gripped Bailey's arm. "Don't turn your back on it. Whatever happens." Then she left to lead her line. Tyrek tied the rope to Bailey's waist and braced against a broken beam. "I'll hold you," he said. "But I can't fight what's down there." Bailey slid into the flooded chamber. The water was cold and black. Below him arched the giant's ribs, pale bones curving like a cage. Between two ribs hung the locket, small and gold, sealed with red wax. Bailey kicked down toward it. The serpent came from the mud. It was long and dark, its eyes two empty holes. It circled the ribcage, watching. Bailey's chest burned for air. Every instinct told him to grab the locket and race up. He forced himself still. He reached through the ribs, slow, and closed his hand on the locket. The serpent struck. Bailey did not pull back. He held his place among the bones and let its jaws snap shut on empty water beside him. It coiled, confused, waiting for him to run. He did not run. He turned his freeing words on the locket in his fist and spoke them into the black water. The wax seal cracked. The locket split. A hundred stolen lifetimes poured out in a cloud of pale light, rushing up past his face toward the surface. The serpent thrashed once, then went limp and sank into the mud. Tyrek hauled him up. Bailey broke the surface gasping, the broken locket in his hand. The stolen years were free. But far above, through stone, he heard the palace groan. The King had just felt his power die. Now the King knew someone had come for sure.