Page 77 of The Verdant Cage
Gryphon steps closer, sending a lick of flame down my spine. I’d swear by the Soil beneath my feet that he was about to ask to kiss me again, when the tree behind him rustles and Leonidas drops from its branches, his face twisted with glee.
My throat closes like a fist. Gryphon whips around to angle himself between us. Had Leo seen us training? But I barely have time to worry about that before a scream of pure agony rips through the forest. Confrontation taking a backseat, the three of us sprint toward the terrible sound. My lungs burn as I try to keep pace with the Guardians. I think we’re heading toward the abandoned industrial district where Peter’s body was found. The closer we get, the louder the sounds of battle grow. Metal striking metal, shouts of pain, and an eerie cacophony of rustling that makes my skin crawl.
Finally, we burst into the clearing.
I stumble to a halt, unable to process what I’m seeing.
The ancient, enormous vines that have always clung faithfully to our Wall are…moving.
No, I realize, my mouth going dry. They’re not moving. They’reattacking. They writhe like serpents, the fleshy rustle of their thick cords sounding grotesquely human as they seize Nebula of the Guardian House and lift her off the ground. Jarek and Misia Tzu are there, too, plus a fourth Guardian whose name I don’t know. They slash at the vegetation with gleaming blades, their expressions fierce as they try to free Nebula.
A vine whips past my face, leaving a stinging welt. I duck, watching in horror as the thick, green-purple cord trapping Nebula begins to squeeze. She makes a terrible choking scream. Her feet kick the air, her struggles growing weaker as the vine pulses and throbs and her skin tightens around her bones, taking on a horrifying grayish tint.
She’s being sucked dry.Just like Peter.
“Behind you!” I shout as a thick vine snakes toward Jarek’s throat. He spins, his blade flashing in a perfect arc that severs it. Deep violet juices spray from the cut, but three more tendrils take its place.
Gryphon launches himself into the fray, his movements fluid. He fights in perfect synchronicity with his parents, their blades flying in a deadly dance of steel and precision. Leonidas follows suit, but there are too many vines, too many angles of attack. Every cut births two more cords and then the vine seizes a Guardian anew, dragging them back as the others rush in vain to save them.
The vines lash out like whips, jagged barbs glinting in the holy Sun. I watch, horrified, as one wraps around the neck of the second Guardian, lifting him into the air. He severs the vine strangling him, but another surges forward as soon as he hits the ground, grabbing his leg and dragging him across the clearing. He claws at the earth, fingers raking the dirt, screaming as the barbs tear into his flesh.
Blood splatters, painting the ground red.
His cry is cut short as the vine rears back and plunges itself into his stomach, his body jerking violently before it goes limp, flesh sagging as the vine drinks him. His corpse crumples, his eyes wide and empty. The plant releases him with a wet, sickening hiss, turning its hungry tendrils toward Misia.
It’s all happening so fast.
Misia fights with the grace of a panther, her short, dark hair gleaming with blood as she ducks beneath a swinging vine, slicing through it in one elegant motion. The severed piece writhes on the ground, twitching. I feel nauseous. The vines are relentless, surging forward, coming at her from every direction. Misia spins, her blade cutting through the air, but a vine catches her from behind, wrapping around her waist, dragging her off her feet.
“MOM!” Gryphon yells, his body a blur as he charges. He leaps, sword flashing, cutting through the vine encircling her in a single stroke. Misia crashes to the ground, rolling to her feet without a flicker of fear in her eyes. Her gaze meets mine across the clearing, and for one dizzying moment, I see a flash of something raw, desperate.
A vine snaps toward me, and I stumble back, heart hammering, my mind blank with terror. I have no weapon. No sword. No way to defend myself. What good are Gryphon’s lessons against a thing likethis? The rustling, humming creature—if you can call it that—lashes out again, this time aiming for my stomach, barbs glinting. I throw myself to the ground at the last possible moment, dirt grinding into my palms as the vine whips overhead. It curls back, ready to strike again. I scramble to my feet, my brain white with panic.
“No!” Gryphon’s eyes are wild as he fights his way toward me, but he’s surrounded, vines coiling around his blade and pulling him back. I see his muscles strain, his body shaking with effort, but he’s unable to reach me.
I can’t breathe. Can’t move. This is a nightmare. It’s not real.It can’t be real.
“Rose!” Misia’s voice, sharp, commanding, cuts through the chaos. I jerk my head toward her, meeting her savage gaze. She’s covered in dirt and blood, her hair matted with gore, eyes blazing. “The can!”
I blink, disoriented. What is she talking about? But then I see it, lying on its side a few feet away from me: one of the large metal canisters I’d seen in the Guardians’ weapons barn. It has a trigger, like a greenhouse sprayer. I lunge for it, fingers closing around the cool metal. It’s heavier than I expected.
When the vine launches its strike, I pull the trigger, a stream of pale mist shooting out, enveloping it. The vine contorts, thrashing against the ground, its flesh bubbling and blistering before it pulls back, retreating like a cornered beast.
It actually worked.Hope flares in my chest.
But before I can release more spray, another tendril lunges, its barb slicing across my side. I remember the thorns I saw growing near Eden’s Gate—these are much larger. Pain explodes white-hot behind my eyes, acid spreading through my veins. I drop to my knees, clutching the wound. The vine rears back, ready to strike again. I fumble with the can, vision blurring from the pain. I squeeze the trigger, a cloud of mist shooting forward to meet the vine. It halts mid-strike, shuddering, then recoils with a furious snapping noise. Its barbs curl inward like a fiddlehead fern as it retreats.
The rest of the vines follow then, a purple-tinged green army crawling back up the Wall.
And just like that, we’re no longer under attack.
Two Guardians dead. Jarek, Misia, Gryphon, and Leonidas covered in blood and plant gore, their swords limp in their hands. Me on the ground, bleeding, still holding the sprayer.
Jarek opens his mouth to roar at the sky.
“What. Was. That?” Gryphon demands when his father quiets.
Leo limps over to whisper something to Jarek. Is he reporting us for training? It’s hard to care about that right now.
