With each labored step I take, drawing me closer to the mound, a sense of horror fills me because it’s clear that thesplash of color is the shape of a person, and that person is a female figure, her golden hair splayed out around her head.
And then, also becoming clear, is the shape of a golden snake resting around her waist.
She’s a Fury.
29. PEYTON PRICE
No wonder Vanguard fought so desperately to get into the maze. The danger he was willing to risk.
I recognize this woman from his memories of the battle with Typhon.
She must be the one who gave her life to cage Typhon.
She must be what he left behind.
Up ahead, Vanguard is visibly struggling, his steps becoming slower and slower as he tries to reach the Fury, his body bent nearly double.
I, too, am finding it harder to push ahead, conscious of both the pressure pushing me away from the rocky mound as well as the dire threat of passing time.
I’m also suddenly aware of Striker surging ahead beside me, his beastly features appearing as his chest expands and his muscles thicken.
Seeming to defy the pressure around us, he quickens his pace, reaching Vanguard within seconds and ramming his shoulder against Vanguard’s back, helping to shove him faster forward.
I pause where I am, digging my heels into the ash so I will remain standing, uncertain if it’s best for me to stop here and watch their backs or to continue onward.
A moment later, a thud against my back propels me forward, and I make out Jonah’s form behind me.
“She needs you!” he cries. “You can speak with her in ways we can’t.”
Onward then.
Step by painstaking step, we push until we reach the mound.
The woman’s body is embedded so deeply in the rock that the stone curves around the sides of her limbs, trapping her while leaving much of her body visible.
Up close, I can see that her eyes are closed, and her face is deathly pale, but her chest rises and falls.
Somehow, impossibly, she’s still alive.
The snake curled around her waist stretches up to her shoulder, its head nestling against her neck. It, too, appears to be unconscious.
I don’t need Jonah to tell me twice. I’m already trying to communicate with her, casting my thoughts toward her mind.
Fury, I call quietly.Can you hear me?
A deep silence comes back at me.
Recalling that her name is Rebella, I try again.
Rebella? You need to wake up.
As I attempt to speak with her, Jonah presses his palms to the rock on one side of her body, flames licking around his hands. I’m certain he’s trying to soften the stone, but I’m also worried about him burning her.
I shouldn’t have been concerned. The rock merely warms—I can barely feel its heat from where I’m standing—and quickly softens.
Without being asked, Striker rams his claws into the softened stone, pulling large chunks away from Rebella’s body.
They work without speaking, but somehow, they seem to know what they each need to do. At no time does Striker put down the box, swapping it from one arm to the next as needed and managing just as well despite it.
