A HENRY STORY 3: Covenants Of The Fallen Prince

IX. Vow to the Dead

The entire area was bathed in Zap's light, yet it was the most lightless place Henry had ever seen. The tunnel had abruptly ended in a sheer drop of around forty feet, and it seemed that the mice had been driven straight over the edge. Some, from their flattened and damaged appearance, had evidently broken the fall for others. Several pups were completely crushed.

Henry intook the scape and fought back a retch. Fragments of memories shoved their way into the front of his mind . . . A pile of bodies, a pool of blood. He stared down into one that bore a striking resemblance to the very puddle Thanatos had pushed him into when they had first met.

"There are no gnawers among the dead here," said Thanatos, evidently attempting to sound soothing. Yet his voice betrayed his own despair.

Henry could not tell for how long he stood there, staring at the consequences of his failure, doing his best not to weep. Nothing would be gained if he wept, he told himself over and over. Zap continuously wailed that it was all a waste, and . . . it was. A waste of so many young, strong, irreplaceable lives. So much light that may have shone brightly for so much longer, extinguished for . . . what reason? None, thought Henry. None of this had any sense or reason.

When he had finally gathered enough composure to return to reality, he picked up on Luxa's and Gregor's conversation further ahead. This was all the gnawers' doing, they said. And . . . there was nothing they could do. This part ached the most.

Henry staggered almost randomly through the heaps of bodies, attempting to not succumb to the nightmarish images that . . . had attempted to warn him? Was his dream warning him? Was this it—what it warned him of? Or was it not enough yet?

His mouth opened, yet he could not scream. Why could he not do anything? He . . . did things. He solved problems. He tackled challenges. One after another, he had sworn to himself that he would tackle any challenge in his way. Yet here, he could do nothing. Not save, and not protect. He could not save anyone. With an anguished scream, Henry reeled into the wall, smashing his fist into it until his knuckles bled.

"Please don't." Thanatos appeared beside him, and Henry could no longer fight back the sob.

"I cannot save them," he whispered. "I cannot save anyone. Perhaps Tonguetwist was right, and I am no hero. I could not save them!" he yelled. Before his fist could connect with the wall again, a pair of arms wrapped around his torso and pulled him back.

"Forget not that you have saved so many. And we will save the others," said Luxa, without releasing him. Despite her hopeful words, her voice was overflowing with dread. "Is that not what you said? That we must believe in our mission to succeed?"

Henry heaved. "We will save them," he repeated in the same moment as his last inhibitions drained and he embraced her back. "Save the others. We will save the others."

He could not tell for how long they stood there, holding each other. Eventually, Luxa released him and led the way back over to Gregor, who sat hunched over an uncovered part of the wall, his drawn sword in hand. Henry intook the scythe he had left there and thought there was hardly a more suitable place for it.

For one more moment, Luxa held her arm around him, inhaling as though to gather courage. "We will save the others," she said, then she let go . . . and in front of the mark, she dropped to one knee. She tore the cloth away from her mouth and nose, then reached for her crown.

Henry observed her kneeling there and discerned immediately what she meant to do. There was but one ritual that required someone of royal descent to take off their crown. Drawing closer, he gazed down at her wrists, crossed over the golden band, and felt an inexplicable rush of newfound strength.