The Last Revolution
an excerpt

From Day One:
But how many of them had heard the voice of the Great Tree? He finished the layer of manure, smoothing it with the shovel, and tried to remember, again, the moment that had sustained him through the past shameful year. It had happened the evening he had first arrived at the castle, when he had gone straight to the garden even before presenting himself to Hawk. He had not known then what was expected in the castle; he had not known of the taboo that prevented anyone from entering the garden without Hawk’s permission. All he had known, that night, was the silver liquid of the moon on the trees, the bright promise of the stones in the garden wall, and the whispering voices of the trees, calling to him. He had responded without thinking, entering the garden like one who belonged there. Hawk had been angry, later, and the boys had been jealous and resentful, but the trees had made way for him.

He closed his eyes and saw it again in his mind: the graceful parting of the trees in the moonlight, opening a path for him to the eternally-singing fountain, and the Great Tree. He had approached her without hesitation, going right up to the very trunk, and even laid his hand gently, like a caress, on the living wood. It was not boldness on his part; it was her voice drawing him, a low humming of song, and he could not have resisted had he wanted to. In the moment when he touched the tree, her voice had shaped into words that still echoed in his mind: I welcome the man who will be my savior.

From Day Two:
Hawk leaned back against the wall behind him, and his face fell back into shadow. "You never believed any of it." It wasn’t a question.

Ian answered anyway. “I did believe it.” And with those words, memory rose up against the wall he kept it hidden behind, and in his mind he saw his father’s face, and the jewels glinting in that terrible sword, and the hope he’d felt then, the hope that somehow the Keepers would know, and would come and help them…he felt tears burning his eyes, and he blinked them back fiercely. There were no Keepers, and there was no help for his father. And no wishing or believing would make it otherwise.

From Day Six:
With the sun invisible, Ian had no way of knowing which way was north, but Hawk had said left. So he lined himself up with his feet beside the boulder and faced directly left, perpendicular to the path. Then he hesitated. Hawk had said he’d be safe as long as he stayed on the path, and so far it seemed he’d been right. But the sense of foreboding, of danger closing in, was growing on him more than ever, and the forest beyond the path looked very dark. He took a deep breath, and, like a diver plunging into water, he plunged into the forest.

Twenty paces, directly away from the white stone, he walked firmly, counting silently, not allowing himself to feel fear. Then he stopped. The trees seemed to hang lower, here, close and oppressive over his head. He had not had to go around any trees, but vines and bushes were thick around his feet. He had a sudden sensation of vertigo, standing there, as though the world were tipping around him, as though the world revolved around that point. It passed, and then he heard a scream from somewhere high overhead, an inhuman voice, and something large and dark was rushing down on him like a stone.

Instinctively he reached for the knife he in his boot, for he had no other weapon, but it felt absurdly light and fragile in his hand. It was a dueling knife, really, but he’d never used it as such. He used it for cutting firewood, for carving, for skinning meat. He saw, in a strange slowing of time, that the blade looked dull. Whatever it was he had to defend himself against—he doubted the knife would help at all.

And then time sped up horribly to ordinary speed, and the thing rushing down on him had claws the size of his shoulders that were stretching toward him, sharp and glistening even in the darkness, and its beak was curved and cruel.

From Day Nine:
Evron’s whole body was tense, like a spring, and his face was intent, listening for sounds of pursuit. Ian felt a sudden surge of unexpected respect for him. For an instant, he could glimpse the man who had defeated the dragon in the slim boy beside him.

And then Evron’s face twisted, and he swung back to face the path behind them, drawing his sword in a swift motion. Ian didn’t need to ask why. He had heard it too: the soft slithering, a crackling like a footstep in the leaves, and then a low, mournful howl, like no creature he’d ever heard.

Ian pulled out his knife, though it seemed short and useless in his hand. He could feel his heart beating very fast. He waited, holding his breath, gazing into the darkness under the trees, expecting something to happen at any moment.

Nothing did happen. They stood there side by side, motionless, their eyes scanning the forest, but there was nothing. No movement, and silence. It felt like a long time passed, and gradually Ian relaxed, lowering his knife gradually, his attention wandering. There was nothing there. Or maybe it had gone. He glanced at Evron, but the other was still tense, expectant, watchful.

“I think it’s gone,” Ian said. His voice sounded high and hoarse, and it came out barely above a whisper. But Evron shook his head, still gazing into the forest, and gestured with his left hand for silence.

For once, Ian was not unwilling to obey. For at the same moment he heard it again, louder than ever: a quick crackling and slithering, as though the creature was no longer trying to hide its noise, and a whine. It was joined by several other voices, and it seemed to be coming from several directions at once. Ian looked around, trying to identify the source, and suddenly he realized there was more than one of the creatures.

Evron did not turn, and he seemed to be listening more than looking. He closed his eyes for a moment, his face tense with concentration, and then he turned to Ian. His voice, too, was barely above a whisper. “I know what it is,” he said. “Tree-serpents. A flock of them.” He grinned suddenly, but there was no humor in his face; his eyes were grim. “It sounds like they have us surrounded.”