The storm breaks as we reach the spot where we entered last time. Under the strobing lightning, I see the dried blood, hoofmarks, and tire treads from yesterday. I'm glad that soon it'll all be washed away.
In spite of the weather, everything flows better this time. Daryn has the orb. The horses are calmer without the Arabians, especially Shadow. And so are we, even knowing the dangers inside. And knowing this might be our last shot at getting Bas.
Daryn was right. This is how it should've been all along.
I get that now. I feel it, and so does Riot.
This is much better, Gideon. Soon we'll be whole again. Together. I hate rain.
Daryn's faster with the orb. More confident. She flips it up like she's tossing a ball. It catches in the air, brightens and unspools, swallowing us up into a completely different kind of storm.
Going through is the same agony as before, ripping pain. Like being pulled apart. It's only slightly easier to bear, knowing there'll be an end. When it comes, I'm spit into the woods, barely staying in the saddle. Disoriented, nauseous, and with a pounding headache.
Like before, there's no geographical or weather correlation between where we were and where we are. We left the stormy desert behind us; now we're in quiet woods at night.
For a split second I don't see Daryn and my heart stops beating. Then the glint of her blond hair catches my eye. Mounted on Shadow, and dressed in black, she practically disappears.
Jode pulls Lucent to my right, Marcus brings Ruin to my left.
Daryn cues Shadow forward and recovers the orb from where it's spinning in the air. "Let's go," she says quietly.
We go.
I'm not crazy about the darkness for a few reasons. We'll have a harder time spotting Bas or the Harrows. I ride a burning horse. Lucent glows like a paper lantern. And though Ruin isn't as bright, she still glints like copper. We're extremely conspicuous. The odds of achieving our goal are significantly hampered, but we don't have any alternative.
Barely five minutes in, we spot the white begonias.
Daryn keeps Shadow going, but Jode and Marcus exchange a look, and the weight of my sword becomes noticeable at my back.
Time drifts past. Slow time. Fast time. Measurable in breaths. In hoofbeats and trees. I don't hear the Harrows. I don't smell their burnt reek or hear the wind rising.
Just as the woods are becoming numbingly, painfully the same, I see something different up ahead.
A fallen tree, dried and leafless, resting on its side.
Marcus hops off Ruin and probes it with the scythe. It's strange. The bark is broken, and parts are shredded like corn silk. I don't see heartwood or sapwood-it's hollowed out. And the inside of the bark is blackened and burnt.
I have the discomfiting thought that it looks like a cocoon. Like something clawed its way out.
Marcus shakes his head. "Don't like it." He mounts back up.
We ride again.
My mind starts to want to wander. I catch myself and bring my focus back to Bas, to the Harrows, to listening and looking. But the sameness of the woods feels like staring at a blank wall, and doing that for hours is impossible.
Random stuff starts popping into my head, like the time Bas and I were having a discussion at the train station in Denmark over whether it was okay to order a Danish or not.
Gideon, it is rude. You'd never order an American, would you? Or an Australian?
If someone asked me for an American I'd say, "You got one right in front of you."
You're missing the point. They're asking because they're looking for food.
I'm pretty sure I taste amazing.
Okay. I dare you. Walk up to those girls over there and ask if they're hungry for an American.
I would've done it to make him laugh. But at that point I was already thinking about Daryn all the time. She was the only girl I would've allowed to cannibalize me.
I also find myself thinking about Airborne School. Remembering the double parachute malfunction that killed me, for a little while, after which I became War.
It would suck if I died for good here in the Rift.
Why? Why am I thinking about this?
I rub the back of my head. My headache hasn't faded; it's getting worse.
"G?" Marcus says.
I look at him. Then suddenly Riot jolts back-all the horses reel back as the ground starts to shake.
A loud noise like a boom of thunder comes from the thick woods up ahead. Trees shudder, and all I hear is the splinter and snap of branches.
We rush toward it. I have no idea what to expect.
Harrows? Samrael? Sebastian?
But the massive object that we approach is one I'd know anywhere. I recognize it instantly.
The C-130 is a workhorse of a military plane. Big and cumbersome. It's the plane I jumped out of about a year ago, and then fell to my death.