The Mossheart's Promise by Rebecca Mix

Author:Rebecca Mix
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-09-05T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Eight

The General

They left Chives and took off toward the ant kingdom with a new vigor. The Underground pressed around Ary. She and Owl rode on Shrimp’s back again, clinging to the pill bug’s shell as he and Sootflank wound their way down, down, down. The air grew colder and damper, and the scent changed too—less like earth, and more like dust and old, dying things. Yet even here, the mold flourished.

Ary shivered. Everywhere they looked, it was clear this land was holding on by the barest thread.

There was a tenseness in Sootflank that unnerved Ary; he was grouchier than usual, snapping at them every time they made the slightest noise, urging them to move even faster, though Shrimp was plainly exhausted.

The land grew sicker as they descended. The mold here bloomed in columns and had taken on a horrid, sickly yellow color. The water, too, though it ran cold and swift, had accumulated too much rot to stay clean. Half the time Sootflank emerged from the water he was covered in a thick, rank slime that soured the air so terribly they gagged. Though he would never complain, Ary could tell by the way the newt shuddered that it sickened him, too.

They saw very few other creatures—only a few small, sleek beetles that scuttled away as soon as they spotted them. Sootflank snarled under his breath every time it happened, muttering something about spies, but seemed too tired to give chase.

Chives’ voice returned, haunting Ary as they descended through tunnels that felt more like a graveyard. She’d thought Terra was in rough shape—but the Underground had begun to die out long before potatoes burst with slime and fairies sliced off their wings to grow what little produce they could. There were so many echoes of past lives here—burrows left empty, tunnels lined with dust. Strangely enough, some of the once-traveled paths were smaller, almost fairy-sized, and twice she could have sworn they passed flights of stairs carved into the dirt. It was a pretty, silly dream—that maybe before the mold had ruined everything, fairies had been welcome here, that the Underground had been their world, too. But whether it was her imagination or a relic of a long-lost past, it didn’t matter. Whatever—or whoever—had once lived here was long gone.

No one spoke. Owl rode in front, hunched over Dracaena’s journals. Chives had given him a tiny glow-shroom lamp before they’d left, and whispered something to Owl that made the color drain from his face. Ary recalled the old mole’s amusement when Ary insisted only fairies with wings had any kind of magic.

But whatever Chives had shared with Owl, the fairy boy seemed keen to keep to himself.

After a few hours, Shrimp grew tired, and Owl and Ary slid from his back to give him a break. Owl regretfully put out the glow-shroom lamp to save its dwindling light. Walking in total darkness on a steep decline forced Ary and Owl to trek single file, arms splayed for balance, while Sootflank grumbled about their lack of speed.

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