Many of the Scrat grabbed spears and bows from their huts. They ran outside and steadied their weapons, turning to face the colossal threat. The beast was impossible. Naked, yet with no genitals to speak of, its hands the size of cartwheels. They dangled from long, multi-jointed arms. It was hairless, the skin grey-green and bloat-slick, like something that had been submerged beneath water for an age. The flesh seemed ready to slough from the separating bones of its face.

  Lowen moved to run for her own weapon and join the ranks of Scrat, but Nicanor held fast to her hand.

  “Please, my love,” he pleaded, “do not place yourself in harm’s way.”

  “This is my home,” Lowen argued as Odelin launched himself up into the night, circling above the treetops. “I will defend it.”

  She wrenched her hand free, unable to look at the caged satyr. She knew that being trapped, unable to help, would be agony for him. She ran for a discarded spear, balancing its familiar weight in her hands as far above her, the creature opened a wide, raw mouth and howled again at the small army massing before it. Kerra stood with the Scrat, two daggers gripped in her hands. She pointed one at the monster.

  “Take the beast down!”

  With an undulating battle-scream, the Scrat surged towards the gargantuan creature. It waded into the centre of the clearing, tearing through the huts stacked against the trees. Splintered walls and doors scattered before its feet like the pieces of a wrecked ship shattering against a coastline. Scrat plunged spears into the gelatinous pale skin of the giant’s calves while archers perched in the surrounding trees sent a volley of arrows into its chest and back. The monster bellowed again, groping wildly at its attackers with its long, strangely bent arms.

  Lowen ran full pelt towards the back of its legs as it swung around, launching her spear with such force she thought it would pass straight through the creature’s rubbery flesh and erupt from the other side. She was about to grasp the spear’s hilt and yank it back out for another attack when a hand on her arm made her pause. She turned to see Koth Conwen at her side.

  “What are you doing, child?” the old woman cried.

  From some mysteriously deep pocket of her skirt, Koth Conwen produced a small, roughly hewn key carved from bone. She pressed it into Lowen’s hand.

  “I stole it from that idiot, Cade. Quickly, child, free your satyr from his cage. Be away, the both of you. Take your chance.”

  The creature screamed again and the two women reached for each other, bracing against the nightmare swaying above their heads. Lowen searched her grandmother’s face, wildly aware this might be the last time she ever saw her. She tried to take in every careworn line, every soft, smooth curve, trying to commit it to memory like a painting.

  “Thank you, Grandmother,” she whispered.

  The beast’s call died once more, dwindling to a deep grunt that dissipated amongst the shivering leaves of the surrounding trees. It staggered, elongated hands swatting at the unending shower of arrows, and Lowen hauled her grandmother from its path. She began to propel her backwards but the old woman pushed her away.

  “Go, love, go.”

  Lowen nodded fiercely, squeezed her grandmother’s shoulders once, and ran back to the cage where Nicanor was waiting.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded. His eyes were wide and wild, fixed on the giant thrashing against the trees beyond her.

  “I’m getting you out of that cage.”

  Lowen plunged the key into the lock, heard the minute click of the mechanism snap apart inside, and swung the door open. She darted inside, crushing herself against Nicanor’s warm body. The satyr stiffened with pain but held her close, his arms tight across her back.

  “We cannot leave your people here to fight and die,” he said when she pulled away.

  “I know that.”

  Lowen began to cast about for more weapons but stopped when a strange hush descended on the clearing. The Scrat warriors’ onslaught stilled as all turned towards Koth Conwen. The old woman was standing before the creature, staring up at it defiantly. Her hair blew wildly about her shoulders and her mouth was set in a grim, determined line.

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  Then, she laughed.

  The unexpected sound chimed strangely against the furtive rustling of the leaves and the hideous nasal breathing of the giant. Red-rimmed eyes rolled in its head as it struggled to focus on the tiny old woman standing at its feet. Koth Conwen lifted her arms to the sky, a glass vial tightly clenched in each fist. A quantity of something like dull brown glass tinkled inside, catching the light of the moons to sparkle a deep, cold violet.

  “Fly back to the Nether, demon,” Koth Conwen screamed up at the monster. With a swiftness Lowen had not known her grandmother possessed, she flung the two vials to the floor and broke them against the dirt.

  For a moment there was no effect, then a hissing sound crackled into life, accompanied by a snaking smoke that wound about the creature’s feet. It stamped in confusion, sending great smoking waves back towards the tree line. The Scrat began to move away when the hissing grew more intense, covering their faces with their sleeves. They had heard tales of Blood Seer’s Glass, a concoction that would blind and maim upon contact with the air. In Amoria, the glassy brown substance was known as Wink-Out Chips.

  “No, Grandmother,” Lowen cried.

  She started to run, but Nicanor wrapped tight arms about her body, holding her as she kicked against him.

  “Let me go.”

  “There is nothing you can do now,” he said, his voice breaking. “The vials have been shattered. We must cover our eyes and mouths, or we’ll die too.”

  Lowen thought of the baby growing inside her, her face crumpling with grief as she watched her grandmother. Koth Conwen was crushing the flinty brown chips of the Seer’s Glass to dust beneath her boot, her face all but obscured as the rising smoke became thicker, shining with a sickly yellow iridescence. Nicanor swept Lowen’s cloak around them both, covering her face before masking his own. They stood together, their eyes shut tight behind the press of the coarse material.

  The monster screamed again and again, great rolling expulsions of pain and rage that made Lowen’s ears throb. Beyond her makeshift blindfold, she could feel the earth shake and the trees quiver as it stumbled about. There was a crashing sound, a crushing of wood and glass she could only assume was the monster falling against another stack of huts. Then the creature fell. Lowen shuddered against Nicanor’s chest as the ground beneath their feet reverberated and an explosion of earth and leaves flew past. The creature’s screams dulled to a long, low moan as it thrashed. Then it was a gurgle. Then it was no more.

  Lowen waited for as long as she could bear before finally pulling the cloak from her face with shaking hands. The giant was dead. It stretched across the clearing on its back, arms awkwardly splayed, head turned towards the Scrat-Heart. Its eyes were thick with mucusy blood. Blood poured from its open maw to pool on the ground beneath it, a long, black tongue protruding from one side.

  “Where’s my grandmother?” Lowen said. Her voice felt small and strange in her swollen throat. “Where’s Koth—”

  Then she saw her, crushed beneath one of the monster’s elongated arms.

  “No,” Lowen breathed, fighting to remain standing as darkness gathered at the edges of her vision.

  Koth Conwen’s eyes, nose, and mouth were shining with bright blood, glistening beneath the light of the stars. Her face was alien—contorted and ruined—yet her mouth was turned up in the faintest glimmer of a smile.

  Lowen moved away from Nicanor, desperate to be with her grandmother, but Jenifer appeared and blocked her path.

  “Mother says you must go,” she said.

  She was out of breath, her face flushed and her eyes wet. A deep cut across her forehead wept blood into her eyebrows and she swiped at it impatiently.

  “How can I go?” Lowen cried. “Grandmother is dead.” She stiffened at the sound of her own words, so real and final.

  Jenifer reached for Lowen’s shoulders, holding her in place. “I do not understand this. I do not know what is happening. All I know is Mother has said you must go. She said if you do not leave now, Grandmother’s sacrifice will have been for nothing.”

  Lowen watched the Scrat gathering across the clearing. Already, a few faces were turned towards her, eyes dark as they regarded the open cage, the satyr at her side. Kerra was on her knees before her mother, cradling her head as Talwyn and several of Jenifer’s string-sisters worked to lift the monster’s heavy arm from the old woman’s crumpled body. Their eyes met briefly and Kerra nodded at her, encouraging her daughter to follow her instructions. Lowen bit down on a sob.

  “I wish we had time to talk,” Jenifer said. She glanced at Nicanor. “I wish I had time to ask you how this happened.” He lowered his head. “But we have no time. Lowen, I—” Jenifer broke off and shook her head, all words escaping her.

  “I will miss you,” Lowen said for her. “Please look after Mother.”

  “Of course. And look after yourself, little sister. We will meet again, I am sure.”

  Lowen tried to smile, unable to tell her sister she had no plans to ever return to Kree. Kerra would explain everything once she was gone. Once the nightmare had begun to fade.

  Jenifer looked again to Nicanor, drawing herself up to her full height as she faced him. “Do not give me reason to hunt you down, satyr. The care of my sister is now in your hands.”

  “I think it is Lowen who will take care of us all,” Nicanor replied.

  “Yes, you’re probably right. Now go, fly before they all realise you have escaped Cade’s cage.”

  Lowen reached to briefly hold her sister. She breathed in the scent of her skin, the woodsmoke on her hair, then took Nicanor’s hand and slipped away into the trees. At their backs, torches were being lit and a funeral song had begun, rising beneath the canopy before being snatched away on the night breeze. They ran without looking back, keeping a brisk pace as their feet flew over the forest floor. Above their heads, Lowen could hear the distant caw of Odelin, letting her know he was keeping a watchful eye on their path.