Thorne Berry's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Thorne pushed north through the swamp. His legs ached. His wings sat folded and useless against his back, too small to lift him. His friends flew by his age. He still walked. Behind him, somewhere in the wet trees, Gribble Snotfinger tracked him, closing in hour by hour. Thorne needed speed he did not have. The ground turned to black mud. Ahead stood a cluster of swamp trees, twisted and dripping. Their trunks bore faces. Hollow eyes followed him. Thorne slowed. The largest tree opened yellow eyes and groaned. "None pass," the tree said. Roots ripped from the mud and slapped the path shut. "Turn back, small bug." "I can't turn back," Thorne said. He drew his sword. "My sister waits north. A goblin hunts me. I have no time to walk around you." The tree laughed. A root swung at his head. Thorne ducked and rolled. He slashed the root and cut it clean. Another root grabbed his ankle and yanked him off his feet. He hit the mud hard. The tree dragged him toward its snapping mouth. Thorne twisted and stabbed the root that held him. It let go. He scrambled up, chest heaving. He could not win by cutting one root at a time. There were too many. Then he saw the plant. A broad black leaf grew beside the tree, streaked with yellow lines like lightning. When a root brushed the leaf, the yellow lines flashed and the root jerked back, smoking. The tree feared it. Thorne ran for the plant. Roots lashed at him. He cut two and dove past a third. He gripped the thick stem and tore a leaf free. The yellow veins buzzed warm in his hands. "Stay back!" the tree screamed. Thorne charged and pressed the leaf against the trunk. Light cracked through the wood. The tree shrieked. Its roots curled and blackened. The yellow eyes dimmed, then closed. The trunk split down the middle and went still. The path lay open. Thorne dropped the leaf and caught his breath. Inside the broken trunk, something round gleamed. He reached in and pulled it out. It was a shield, small and flat, shaped like a bottle cap. Its rim curved out in stiff ridges. He slid his arm through the strap. It fit. He still could not fly. His wings were still small. But now he had a shield. Gribble's hammer would land on steel, not on skin. Thorne looked at the ridged edge and understood what it meant. He would not outrun the goblin. He would have to stand and block him. Thorne stepped over the dead roots and walked north, shield ready. Behind him, faint through the trees, a warhammer thumped against mud. Gribble was close now. The gap had nearly closed.