A sad mix of coffee and waiting for a new copy of The Silver Door to arrive in the mail returns me to you, at long last. I had come up with so many amazing ideas for these last few chapters, I've had a hard time choosing which ones blend the best together. I mean, we should probably check in with the remainder of the squadron, and see what Junie is up to - not to mention Rowan is loose in the palace somewhere…

Honestly, I've done SO. MUCH. Retooling. Plus, I can't get my head around the fact that this final installment is coming to a close, and might be stalling for sentimental reasons.

BUT.

We have got to get on with it, and finish this story at some point before the next Rodda series is released, now don't we?

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Chapter 16: A New Kind of Magic

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Zione was never unhappy to have Rita's company; the two were good friends, oddities among their ranks, and had become close as sisters over the years because of it. Between Zione's shortness and Rita's lack of strength, they had always known they would need each other to lean on. But the skills they had learned at the Central Academy had never truly been tested against a real enemy.

And for all that Rita was a capable hand-to-hand specialist, she was hardly built for endurance. The two friends, plus Zak and Misha, hadn't gone four flights of stairs, battling through pod after pod of monsters, before the frailer woman had to stop to catch her breath.

"Oh, it's always the same," Rita lamented between gasps for air. She slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, hanging her head in shame. "I've always been the weak link - the one who holds everyone back, when the rest could continue on just fine without me! The three of you should go ahead. My strength is all but gone, and I will only slow you down."

Misha shook his head angrily and joined her on the cold floor, taking her face in his hands. "Don't be foolish, my dear. We won't leave you here to die alone like this! We're not going any place without you."

"It's what friends are for, isn't it?" Zak added with a grin, cracking his knuckles. "Besides, we are only meant to provide a helpful distraction. We can do that just fine, right where we are."

Zione said nothing, unable to share his enthusiasm. Rita was right. She may be uncommonly short, and Zak may be silly, and Misha may be untrained, they were still strong and fit for carrying on as they had been. And now that she had been on a roll, slaying real monsters with only the power of music, she had found a taste for it. More than anything, she longed to go charging ahead in search of the next pod.

But Zak and Misha were also right. They were not just friends, but a family. If that bond hadn't been enough, one of the very first things a soldier of Central Control was taught was to never abandon your squadron. To leave a living teammate behind would have been the same as admitting defeat.

It would also be inhuman, making them little better than the evil they had struggled so long against. Feeling ashamed for her impatience, Zione shook herself and knelt beside her friend, daring to raise her bow to her fiddle and play a sweet, soothing melody.

Zak squinted down at her. "Um, hey, what are you doing?" he asked warily. "They're sure to hear and come running at once."

Zione paused and gazed back knowingly. "Perhaps," she said evenly. "But this is a song of healing. The best I know, in fact. I hope it will revive Rita's strength, or at least lift her spirits."

She still looked pale and out of breath, but Rita did smile faintly over all her companions. It wouldn't be a perfect or permanent fix, but it was the best any of them could do for each other.

Zione also smiled faintly, even as the fiddle played slightly out of tune. The one she called Ivan had been stashed at Bhlai House, and she considered it to be her weapon of last resort. Her first and oldest instrument, it had been poorly crafted to start with; and as the years had passed, it seemed harder to keep in tune, no matter what she did. Seeing what had been left of Bhlai House, she was more than certain that her other two - Anika and Kyril - had been destroyed.

She had spent time in the last days grieving her instruments in her own way, and despairing that Ivan was the only weapon she had left. In the beginning, she hadn't been sure how much help she could be if she couldn't depend on her own self.

That had changed suddenly, when Allun and Marlie had spied her desperately tuning the fiddle right before they left for the palace. The husband and wife had offered her other weapons they had acquired, and asked what on earth she was doing. This was one party that hardly called for merry song, the baker had pointed out grimly.

And, indignant, Zione had hopped to her feet, straightened to her fullest height, and played a sharp, rapid succession of notes. She had refused to wince when some of those notes were sharp, or flat, or entirely different from what she had wanted. Without a warning, the remains of a porcelain vase seemed to explode of its own accord, blasting shards around the corner where it lay.

Given that it was Ivan, Zione hadn't been sure what would happen, exactly. But it had been something like what she had wanted, and it had given her back some of the courage and pride she had lost in the dungeon. Plus, the looks on the beloved heroes' faces couldn't have been bought at any price.

Her work in the palace had been erratic and unpredictable so far, but it was enough. It was more than she had expected, and was helping keep her friends alive. It was even restoring them, a little. Though the tune was meant for Rita, Zak and Misha could also be seen smiling, and heard humming along.

As mismatched as their small team was, they were managing. And at least the diversion appeared to be working. Shouts and stamping feet could be heard from around a corner, the loudest voice of all barking that he could hear tics nearby, and to follow the cursed sound of the fiddle playing.

Rita didn't look ready for another fight, but she climbed to her feet with Misha's help. Bravely, she planted her feet in a fighting stance and raised her fists in preparation for what was coming. She was exhausted, but a fire had been lit in her like so many others. She wouldn't stop trying until there was no breath left in her body.

Dismayed, Zione raised her bow again, gritting her teeth and hissing a sigh. She suddenly longed for June Barsa's trustworthy presence and dependable dancing. Perhaps it was a new kind of magic, but the girl's precise, deliberate style of moving always seemed to charm the best out of any tune. Even Ivan had behaved, in the past, with June's dancing to give the notes direction.

But she never would have wished the girl inside this dread place, just for her own benefit, so she wished her a kind thought - perhaps her last - and set her eye on the next battle.

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Perhaps Zione's small, kind thought, conceived and wished in a heartbeat, was the very thing that changed June's whole day for the better. She hadn't joined her friends in storming the palace, but had instead turned her feet back toward the grand home of her dead master. She had always acted as a voice of comfort to the enslaved household, sneaking them news of the rebellion and kindling hope in them. With their master dead and her half-mad, grieving sister in charge, June was sure they would need a special kind of rousing.

Zared Azan may have been a tyrant, but at least he had been reasonable, and generally too lofty to care about the affairs of his slaves. Certainly, he had never tormented them for his entertainment. Tiba, one the other hand, liked nothing better than to flex her claws on those beneath her to show off her authority. She was always looking for a reason to punish people, as brutally as she could get away with. The household was far more terrified of her than they ever had been of their master, and this morning would be little exception.

As much as she knew what had to be done, and that she was the only person who could do it, June was afraid to return. Since gaining their master's attention for her dancing, Tiba had grown fiercely jealous. The only thing preventing her from torturing and perhaps even killing her younger sister had been their master's very severe command to not lay a finger on her. To, in fact, see to her every comfort, which had only made things worse.

Upon hearing that their master had been slain in the Central Dungeon, the first thing Tiba had done was wail so bitterly that the dead had surely heard. The second thing she had done was begin prowling the house like a hungry lion, combing its many rooms and hiding places, free at last to do her sister a great deal of harm.

June had been glad when Zan had appeared in the middle of the second, rainy night and given her a way and a reason to escape. She hadn't expected to have to return so soon. As soon as she was seen outside the gates, Tiba would know it at once. And the only thing she had left for protection was the hope that the household would rally to her.

It was a precarious hope, and she was scared to trust it. But as she sprinted home, two things happened. First, a sound like a wave rose up from the city - the sound of all its living folk gasping in awe at the same time. June had skidded to a halt and spun to look behind her, only to see what all the city couldn't help noticing. A magnificent black Dragon had appeared out of thin air, perched atop the palace' tallest spire, the deep, dark scales flashing against the rising sun.

The Hallowed Father really was everything they had heard of and more, just as Zan had said. June had been stunned, and filled with the same longing pang as any other Zebak at the sight. Yet she had been told that He was coming, and she had a mission to complete, and so she had also been strangely unsurprised.

She had finally torn her gaze away and continued her journey. A battle cry was ringing through the streets of Southside, and people were pouring out of their hiding places. Between the sudden throng and rubble blocking her usual way, June found herself woefully delayed. As she doubled back from blocked street after blocked street, she hoped halfheartedly that her household had risen up and defied Tiba's rule all on their own. They would be left behind, trapped in that grand house to be slaughtered like minnows in a puddle, otherwise.

But as she finally turned a corner and ran down her street, she saw that this wasn't so. The windows were dark, and smoke spilled from the two chimneys, and the tall, iron front gate was locked tight with chains and a padlock.

Then, just as she was beginning to quake with anxiety and disappointment, a strange feeling pierced her heart. It was a deeply good feeling, like hope and love and a sense that all could be well if she would let it be. The anxiety melted away, and all at once she felt bold, prepared to do whatever she had to.

June had no clue where it had come from, now of all times, just when she most needed it, so she chose not to question it.

There would be no getting in through the main gate. Instead, she dashed around the side of the house toward the back gate. It was how she had slipped away in the first place, through a gap in the iron bars that was slightly wider than the rest; the difference couldn't have been wider than her fingernail, but it had been enough. She made her way to the spot brazenly, running through the littered street in plain sight, half hoping her sister had seen her and would screechingly summon the household to meet her.

It would make my task much easier, she thought ruefully, beginning to squeeze back through the gap.

And she was pleased to have her wish granted almost at once. She had barely pulled herself all the way through the gate when, across the trampled courtyard, the backdoor swung open and hit the wall with an echoing smack. People she had grown up enslaved beside were running out to meet her, some waving their arms in warning, begging her to go back the way she had come, and demanding why she had returned at all.

And storming through that crowd, knocking people aside like a ball through pins, came Tiba. Or, at least, it looked like Tiba. Her face was primly painted, but the face was gaunt and thin. Her hair had been done as usual, but it seemed to have turned dry and coarse. Her fine dress and jewels seemed to be hanging off her, as though she were the one who had been starved.

And the pale green eyes she and June shared were burning with wild rage.

"You!" she shrieked, her voice more animal than human. "You caused all this to happen! I know you have!"

Tiba's voice was snide and shrill on the best days. This morning, June hardly recognized it. It tore at her stomach to see her sister looking and sounding the same as she did on the inside, but she stood her ground. She let the sight of the Hallowed Father and that suddenly good feeling fill her mind, and she found herself standing defiantly as Tiba babbled on.

"I don't know how you escaped - I don't know how you've caused it all - but you did! You just did! I'm going to deal with you like I've never dealt with any other! You're a traitor, you hear me? Nothing but a wretched little traitor! Now come over here! Come over here at once!"

But June held her head high, took a deep breath, and spoke calmly.

"No."

Tiba's eye twitched violently. Her cracked lips curled back in a snarl that looked just as confused as furious. Behind her, the household seemed a mix of amazed and alarmed that June, the unlikely little sister Tiba hated more than anyone else alive, was standing up so strong and sure against her.

It had been often commented that June had never seemed like much, and that it was one of her great strengths. But those words had always made her feel small, and not very strong at all. How the tables had suddenly turned.

Seeing that she had taken everyone gathered by surprise, she seized her chance to fulfill her mission.

"Friends, our master is dead. We are free people," she pleaded. "But there is a far greater menace loose in our city, so we must start acting like it! The rest of our people are going into battle, to fight for their freedom. You shouldn't be cowering in this house - you should be out there, with the rest of us! We need you! If we don't win this fight, the Shadow Lord will have his way with us. Is that really what we want? To be free of Lord Azan, and the Dragon Lord, only for a Lord ten times worse to devour us whole? We can't allow this! We have to join the fight!"

June hadn't planned what she was going to say. She had thought of ideas on her journey, but hadn't chosen the words. She certainly hadn't put them in any kind of order. Oh, how she had wished that Star had come with her! Her great strength was with words. She would have known just what to say to inspire these people. June hadn't been sure if she could do it.

But she gazed across that sea of familiar faces and saw them changing. It was as if they had caught fire. A sea of tiny candle flames coming to life in a dark void, just as Zamiel had sometimes described his vision for the rebellion. Just as he had once described June, herself. The news she had been feeding them for years was no longer just news, but a summons. And they were willing. They wanted to fight, even if only to get out of the shadow of this terrible house once and for all.

For a moment, June's newfound boldness had shocked Tiba to silence. But as the crowd began to murmur in excited agreement, a vile look spread across her face. She pinned her wild eyes on her sister, and June noticed it almost too late. She barely got a glimpse of that hungry, twisted look, before another piercing screech bellowed from her mouth.

And then she pounced.

All her sudden confidence evaporated, as June nimbly leaped back just in time. Her sister caught nothing but open air and darted after her once again, her nails and teeth scrabbling after her more like the claws and fangs of a feral, alien beast.

In that moment of panic, a thought flashed across her mind. A combination of things she knew and things she had wondered about, and what better time than right now to try them together?

"Mallin!" she called to the crowd. "Sing, Mallin! Sing!"

A part of the crowd backed out of the way, revealing the shy, thin boy whose pleasant singing often made the work of a house slave tolerable. But now he was wringing his hands, nervous and afraid, his eyes wide and empty of understanding.

"Just do it!" June begged when he didn't answer, narrowly dodging as her sister lunged again. "Mallin, please! Trust me!"

The boy squeezed his eyes shut and clapped his hands over his ears, and shakily did as she asked. June could scarcely hear his voice, and thought he was just humming in place of words his frightened mind couldn't get to his mouth in time. But it was enough. All she really needed was the vibration of the tune, no matter how faint, and good intentions.

Instead of just leaping away from her sister's grasp, she danced. A step, a step, a spin, a low lunge to the left, and another spin to the right. And as her hands formed the movements they knew by heart, she felt something forming in them. Something was being pulled out of the air with every swift gesture, every carefully timed step, and becoming solid. Useful.

As if she had the physical strength to push her mad sister away, June made the last turn and thrust her open hand directly at Tiba's face. A weight she hadn't noticed gathering was released, like a cannon being fired. In the blink of an eye, by a force only June could see as a faint violet haze, Tiba collided with an invisible barrier and was sent flying back with a cry of pain.

Magic. Real magic! June had often suspected she might have a little bit, ever since she had begun dancing to Zione's fiddle. But she had never guessed that it could be so potent, or that she could use it all by herself.

Angrier than ever, her cosmetics smeared and her hair a tangle, Tiba struggled to crawl to her feet. June was more than prepared to work her new magic again, if she had to, and was unafraid. But she wouldn't have to. Tiba had barely righted herself when a figure barged through the onlooking crowd and struck her sharply over the head with a dull clang.

June blinked once. Twice. It was Lamina, their own mother, brandishing an iron frying pan and looking so disgusted she might cry. She struck Tiba again, full across her once lovely face, and watched with contempt as her withered form crumpled to the damp courtyard tile.

The woman squared her shoulders and gazed at the crowd like a seasoned commander over her troops.

"Well, you heard my only child," she barked. "Prepare for battle! Arm yourselves! Fire-pokers - pots and pans - shovels and rakes - use the good plates and silver if you must! No more masters! No more hiding! Today, we fight! Today, we are free people!"

Needing no more permission than that, the whole house cheered with excitement and joy, even if they were headed into the unknown. Every man, woman, and child obeyed the order, chanting Lamina's words in both the common tongue and their own ancient language.

But the mother and daughter remained behind, regarding one another in amazement, and the disowned woman on the ground with great sadness. After a moment, Lamina placed her strong hand on June's shoulder and gave her a warm smile.

"You do not need arms, I think," she commented proudly.

June returned the smile, but shook her head. "What I need is to return to our rebel leaders," she said, peering anxiously back toward the palace. "Or at least, to my friend Zione. We had guessed that might work, but we have never tried it. This could be everything! It could mean the difference between life and death! I have to climb that hill and find them in the palace! Somehow…"

Lamina looked toward the palace, frowning in concern. She looked higher still, where the vast herd of loose grach still swarmed the sky like a cloud.

"Climbing would be pointless, June. It might be more prudent to fly. Don't your rebel friends have grach of their own? Do you suppose you could find them? Call them down to you?"

June gazed at her mother in amazement. The idea hadn't occurred to her at all.

"There are so many… But if I could find even one of them, do you really think they would obey me?"

"Maybe," her mother answered evenly. "Maybe not. But it is worth a try. They would be eager to find their own masters - also within the palace. Grach are fiercely loyal creatures. It's not a thing to underestimate, my dear."

That was true enough, June supposed. She also thought of how she had recently hugged Star and Zan, and Rowan and Zamiel, and carried the Earth Sigil and rested at Bhlai House for a time. To the nose of a loyal beast, she would smell deceptively like the people they loved most.

But the question was, if Dollosus and Unos were alive and wheeling with that huge flock, how on earth was she to reach them?

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Somewhere in the palace, spiraling higher and higher into the sky, Star found herself fighting for everything she held dear with the most agreeable company she could imagine. Her father, mother, and true love were with her, all mirroring each other in the best ways. Arin and Zebak. Earth and Fire. Solidarity and passion. Love and war. Acting as one, at long last. Just as the littlest Titan's first prophecy had foretold.

A destined company with a destined purpose, to be sure.

As so many others in the city below had already discovered, it was easy to conserve energy by withholding actual attacks and simply touching any monster that came too close. Star and Zan had realized it quite by accident, rushing ahead to guard her parents from an oncoming pod, and tripping over a loose stone in the spiraling steps. They had tumbled over, dragging each other headfirst into the pit of the first monster's stomach.

Star had heard her parents cry out in terror, then gasp in confusion. Instead of the guard's form cushioning their fall before killing them both, the young couple had hit the solid stone stairs with a thump. The creature had dissolved under their weight, the puffs of smoke especially thick and blackened where their bare skin had touched it.

And that was all they needed. Zeel had put away her knife a little too readily, thrilled that she could defend herself with nothing more than a motherly slap. A defiance had appeared in her face, which Star had written of but had never seen for herself. Of course, Zeel was stubborn and strong-willed by nature, but she had also grown responsible and level-headed. This sassy streak, so like Vivi's, had been put away long ago for the task of raising a family.

But that family had grown enough to fight the Shadow Lord, and so that sass and defiance was shining like Star had only been able to imagine. In fact, as her mother dodged blow after clumsy blow, cackling with delight and nearly looking like she was having fun, Star was reminded more and more of their young friend. She even leapt in front of one monster, catching it off guard with a devilish smile, and simply blew in its face as if blowing out a candle. Like all the rest, it crumbled and dissolved at her feet.

Star was amazed. She had never seen her mother so cheeky before. She had also never seen her father looking so in love with anyone or anything.

"I've never felt so alive," she nearly cheered, dashing up the steps and forcing her family to catch up with her. "Running for our lives - monsters creeping after us from all directions - destroying them with but a touch - oh, Rowan, it's just like the Pit all over again!"

She sounded positively ecstatic. But Rowan shook his head as he ran, exasperated and in awe at the same time. "You and I have always remembered that night very differently," he hollered back, all of them wondering if Zeel had even heard him.

They may have been halfway up the tower, intent on the instructions the Hallowed Father had left them. But Rowan came to an abrupt stop, all at once very tense and frowning in thought.

"What are you doing?" Zeel asked from the head of the line. "We have to keep climbing!"

"No, no, no, something's wrong," he said urgently. "Something's changed."

"But the queen is in the highest room of the tallest tower," Zan insisted. "The Hallowed Father promised us."

"And I don't doubt it, but that was some time ago, now. She may be wicked and insufferable, but she isn't stupid. She's left her hiding place. She is coming to meet us."

He ran his hand along the stone wall and shivered. "I know this, because she is suddenly very near. She knows where we are. We mustn't let her find us in this stairwell! Deep magic or no, we will be trapped."

"We just passed a door," Star remembered. "It can't possibly lead somewhere worse for a final stand."

"It won't," Zan agreed, sounding relieved. "It will spit us out somewhere on the eastern side of the sixth floor. I saw it, too, and the number beside it."

Even though she seemed disappointed to abandon her good fun, Zeel nodded resolutely and skipped down the steps to rejoin her family. "We have no time to lose, then. To the door, before another pod waylays us."