Then he saw what was in the eye of the storm—Caspian, the little boy. He stood at the squall’s heart, screaming. Or laughing. Francis wasn’t sure. Flames circled him too, but they didn’t seem to devour him like they had Clyde and Roy. These flames appeared to be dancing with joy.
A powerful wind lifted Francis off his feet. He gripped the pillar, digging into the old carvings to keep from getting dragged away and swallowed by the sand.
There was a flash in the air, not green light but gold. A woman.
Not a woman. An angel, with wings of pure radiance.
An angel come to save him.
He blinked, and she was gone. But now the woman Anya was in front of the boy, a hand shielding her eyes as she took deliberate steps toward him.
“Get away,” the boy cried, panic lacing his words, then slower, softer, “The world belongs to the Green Flame.”
“That is not what you desire, Caspian,” Anya said, kneeling before him. “That is not your heart talking.”
The wind picked up, so strong, Francis could barely hold on to the pillar. It pulled in great waves from the surrounding dunes, sliding sand down into the entrance of the tomb, burying it.At least I won’t have to climb back down all those stairs.
“You are kind and loving and brave.” Anya grasped Caspian’s hands.
“I can’t stop this,” the boy wailed. “He’s in my head.”
Green flames crawled up her arms too, just like Clyde. Just like Roy.
And it must have been hurting her real bad, because she grimaced and let out a pained groan. But she didn’t let go of the boy’s hands.
“Remember who you are, Caspian.” She dropped her forehead to his, and the flames curled in her beautiful hair. “Trust yourself to find the way and…”
He was crying, Francis realized.
“I c-can’t.”
“Say the words, Caspian. You know them,” Anya gritted out. She sounded in a lot of pain.
Sand sank faster, gathering around Francis’s feet. He gripped the pillar and climbed.
“Yes, you can. I know you can,” Anya yelled. “You control your own destiny.”
The little boy screamed, and the sandstorm got worse. Lightning flashed within it, green lightning, and Francis couldn’t see the sky anymore. But he couldn’t focus on any of that. The sand kept rising, and he wasn’t a very good climber.
“Trust yourself to find the way,” Anya cried. “When the path is lost…”
“When the path is lost,” Caspian repeated slowly, as if each word was difficult, “the journey…”
“You can do this,” Anya said.
Francis took her words as his own encouragement, kicking, trying to get out of the rising sand. But his legs became trapped. He tried to kick free, couldn’t.
The desert was going to swallow him whole.
Sand rose around Anya and the boy too, the flames trying to consume her, but she didn’t let go of his hands.
“The journey begins…” the boy said and released a long breath. And when he blinked his eyes, they weren’t green anymore. The flames were gone. Caspian shook his head. “I can’t stop this storm!”
“Then we’ll find our way out,” George cried. He rode atop the camel, breaking through the haze. “Together!”
“George!” Anya said, standing. “You brilliant fool!”
“We’ll never make it out of this!” Caspian yelled. “The sand is going to bury us.”
