Chapter 26: The Escape

The urge to escape surged in his mind, making Joan's heart pound faster. With growing anxiety, he gazed into the distance, where Gray’s figure was already fading into a blur. Wasting no more time, he turned quietly and slipped into the reeds, sprinting in the direction he remembered. Only one thought filled his mind—he had to get out of the marsh before Gray returned!

Racing blindly, driven by fear and uncertainty, Joan had no idea how long he had been running. The endless marsh still stretched before him, with no sign of an exit. Exhaustion and terror mounted within him, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Each exhale burned in his throat, tinged with the taste of blood.

By now, the sun had dipped westward and the sky was growing dim. Joan realized with dismay that he was utterly lost, stranded deep within the boundless marsh. Strange noises echoed from afar, at once like the roar of a beast and the lowing of cattle, chilling him to the bone. Regret began to gnaw at him—had he known he’d lose his way, he might have stayed with Gray, where at least he would have been safe.

Just as his regret deepened, a dog’s bark suddenly rang out from across the grass.

Joan started, then realized the bark sounded familiar. Joy swiftly replaced his fear and confusion, and he ran, shouting toward the source of the barking.

“Jamie, Jamie, I’m here!”

The barking drew closer; the grass quivered violently. A pale shape burst forth, bounding toward him with excitement—it was Jamie, the half-blood winter wolf.

Joan threw his arms around Jamie, tears of relief welling in his eyes. Then footsteps rustled from across the grass, and two figures emerged, both clad in green-striped cloaks patterned for blending into the grasslands, and in long deerskin boots suited for the wetlands. Leading was a pretty young girl with flaxen hair, followed by a white-bearded, cane-bearing old man.

Joan instantly recognized Conti and his grandfather, and hurried forward with Jamie, so overcome with emotion that he couldn’t speak.

“Joan! We finally found you!” Conti seized his hand, giving him a thorough once-over, and only relaxed when she saw he was safe. With a hint of reproach, she demanded, “Where on earth have you been these past two days? You didn’t even come home!”

Joan opened his mouth, but words failed him. He had never so wished for pen and paper, to record the adventures and misfortunes of the past two days. To recount it all aloud seemed impossible.

Old Tyrell, knowing his grandson’s peculiarities better than Conti, said calmly, “It’s all right now. It’s getting late. Let’s head home first—everything else can wait until we’re back.”

Conti pursed her lips in frustration but suppressed her curiosity for the moment, whistling for Jamie, who was busy chasing dragonflies, to follow.

The three of them and the wolf retraced their steps, Old Tyrell leading the way with his cane. Despite his lame leg and unsteady gait, the old man stubbornly refused any support and moved no slower than the two youngsters. Joan was even more surprised by his grandfather’s familiarity with the marshlands—where Joan saw only endless sameness, the old man could distinguish subtle differences, always finding the safe, correct path and avoiding hidden bogs beneath the grass.

They walked in silence for two hours. By the time the sun had set and a crescent moon hung in the night sky, the marsh was shrouded in a mysterious dusk, more enigmatic and unpredictable than in daylight, with the distant cries of beasts and insects mingling in the air.

Perhaps out of optimism or the need for courage along the night road, Conti began to hum softly. Joan, focused on the darkening world around him, caught a fragment of her song—the words “beneath the violet moonlight” lingered in his mind. He glanced up; the new moon cast a pale blue sheen over the clouds, and the clear, gentle moonlight promised fair weather for tomorrow. The girl’s song echoed at his ear, and Joan felt his spirits gradually lift.

Just then, a roar sounded in the distance behind them, like a horn blaring at the marsh’s edge, rushing toward them.

Conti’s song halted abruptly, and a look of gravity crossed her face.

“It sounds like some monster is on our trail.” She listened intently, her expression growing more peculiar. “It’s coming straight for us. If I’m not mistaken, it can follow the tracks and scents we’ve left behind.”

Jamie growled low, his mane bristling, confirming Conti’s suspicion in his own way.

Old Tyrell halted, glancing back toward the source of the roar, and snorted, “Foolish creature—coming after us so quickly.” Then he turned to Joan and Conti, “You two, take Jamie and hide. Leave the rest to me.”

Joan was about to mention that the roar sounded familiar when a tall, slightly hunched figure appeared in the distance, sprinting through the mire with the speed of a galloping horse. Its silvery-gray skin gleamed in the moonlight, and six golden eyes, symmetrically arrayed, shone with an eerie light.

As the massive creature charged closer, Conti gasped sharply and tightened her grip on her oak staff. Old Tyrell frowned and softly chanted a spell, pointing his cane forward. From the mud surged a green magic circle of interwoven geometric shapes, which rose and coalesced into four beams of magical light—transforming into four gigantic crocodiles, each ten feet long, clad in thick scaly armor from head to tail.

Summoned by the power of nature, the giant crocodiles shared a spiritual bond with Old Tyrell. They immediately retreated in front of Joan and Conti, forming a defensive line, eyes fixed warily on the onrushing gray giant.

Guillaume Tyrell chanted another hymn in praise of nature’s source, tapping his staff forward. The mass of ferns and algae floating atop the marsh glowed emerald in the magical energy, mutating rapidly and merging into a colossal, bizarre humanoid vine, twelve feet tall from head to foot, like a verdant giant. It lumbered forward, its legs a tangled knot of roots, barring the gray monster’s path.

“Gray!” Joan couldn’t help but shout.

The gray giant turned toward him at once, all six eyes alight with joy, and ran to Joan, cheering.

But the vine creature, obeying its master’s will, lashed out with two long, snaking arms—each a mass of intertwining tendrils—wrapping the gray giant tightly, stopping it from getting any closer to Joan.