"Yes."
"That's a rabbit."
"I'm aware."
"Should we help him?"
"I don't think he wants help."
Raskel swings back around, the rabbit's eyes wide and glassy with what I can only describe as an existential crisis, and takes out another sunflower on the return pass. The gnome's hat is askew, his beard is flying, and he looks absolutely unhinged. I have never respected anyone more.
"The house!" Sarah shouts from the porch, holding the back door open. "Everyone inside! Now!"
She's right. We can't hold the garden. More plants are surging up every second—the corrupted growth feeding off the fractured Rootline, pulling itself through from wherever the boundary is thinnest.
"Mora, go!" I fire a pulse at a vine reaching for her leg, and she breaks for the porch. Leo covers her with the broom, batting aside a sunflower that snaps at her heels. Kevin buzzes ahead, scouting the doorway.
"Raskel!" I yell. "We're falling back!"
The rabbit, clearly done with its career as a war mount, makes a hard right turn and dumps Raskel into a hydrangea bush. The gnome bounces once, rolls, and pops up on his feet with his stick still in hand.
"Tactical dismount!" he announces, straightening his hat.
"That rabbit threw you off."
"Tactical. Dismount."
I scoop him up, noticing he weighs about as much as a sack of flour with an attitude problem, and sprint for the house. Mora holds the door. Leo is last through, slamming it shut behind us. Something hits the door from the outside, hard, and we hear the muffled snap of teeth on wood.
Then the sounds settle into the scratching of vines against the walls, the occasional thud of something throwing itself at the siding. Inside, we're safe. For now.
I set Raskel down. He immediately whacks my shin with his stick.
"I didn't ask to be carried."
"You're welcome."
We stand in Jo’s kitchen, breathing hard, covered in dirt, plant debris, and what I’m fairly sure is sunflower saliva. Kevin settles on my shoulder, buzzing at that uneven pitch that means he’s tired.
Mora wipes her knife on her pants. Leo leans the broom against the counter, then plants both hands on the surface, head down, catching his breath.
"So," Sarah says, because someone has to. "What now?"
We all look at Raskel.
The gnome pulls himself onto a kitchen chair—a process that involves climbing the leg, using the crossbar as a step, and hauling himself up by the edge of the seat. He refuses help.
Once seated, he plants his stick across his lap and looks at each of us.
"Now," he says, "we do what we can, which is not much, but it's what we have."
"Inspiring," I mutter.
"I'm not here to inspire you, bug boy. I'm here to keep this garden from tearing a permanent hole in the fabric of reality." He smooths his beard. "Kaelren is gone. The beetle is gone. The locket is gone with them. That means the only anchor we had to the bond, the only tool we had to pull Elle back through, is somewhere in the iterations, probably being misused as we speak."
"So we're helpless," Leo says, and his voice is the quietest I've ever heard it.
Raskel's tone shifts, still gruff, still impatient, but underneath it there's something that might be kindness if you squint. "We're the other half of the equation. The gate exists in this garden because the Rootline runs through that elm. If we let the corruption take the anchor point, then it doesn't matter if Kaelren finds Elle, because there'll be nothing left to come home to."
