The Great Escape

And a great escape it was.

Only because Verne was there, of course.

Do not even think they would have made it out without him.

What, you want the full story? All the action? No soft, soppy, gushy feelings?

Fine.

I will tell you how truly awesome the escape was.

Verne was still trying to think of the coolest possible way to flee when Marra simply picked him up and yelled, “Move!”

Now, he did not entirely appreciate being manhandled.

But, you know.

Whatever.

They hurled down the spire in complete chaos.

Morrowax led the way, shoulder-checking debris aside.

Marra half ran, half slid down the cracked steps, all while making sure not to drop Verne from the hand currently holding him by the collar.

Verne, meanwhile, was being half-choked and flung around so violently that he became somewhat disoriented.

I would not say he passed out from shock or breath deprivation, or some combination of the two.

I would say, however, that he did not remain conscious because of shock or breath deprivation, or some combination of the two.

On the way down, Marra spotted Alder Voss still hanging from the scarf tied to the wall.

“Morrowax!”

She did not even need to say more.

Morrowax scooped Alder up and kept barreling forward.

Alder yelped, “I knew you’d come back for me!”

What a sight it must have been.

Two heroic, powerful wizards leading the way to victory.

Basically carrying the others to victory.

They made it into the courtyard just as the top third of the spire collapsed inward with a roar of stone and sparks.

The bees inside were already long gone.

The night went still.

Then the town erupted into shouting, bells, and astonished cheers as the bees all across Tallbarrow circled overhead—not attacking, not conquering, just passing like a blessing before joining the others in the dark fields and beyond.

The crisis was over.

The shouting seemed to wake Verne just enough for him to become aware of what was happening.

“Did we make it?”

Marra dropped him the instant she realized he was awake.

“If you had stopped gawking, maybe I would not have had to carry you out.”

Verne stood, then resumed hovering. Just as easily as he had folded away his robe and hat, he now unfolded them and put them back on.

“What, did you think they were going to stay gone?”

Alder stepped forward, brushing rubble from his beard.

He looked at the tiny crown Verne had taken off his head, then at the broken spire, then back at him.

“The Measureless Crown is gone,” he said. “Its promise died with it.”

Verne looked at him, faintly smug.

“The crown is not gone. It was changed.”

Then, after a beat, he added, “I think I am starting to get used to this changed thing.”

Alder smiled a little.

“I heard what happened in there. I am glad to see you realized you are not lesser. Just different.”

Marra cut in before the moment could become too sincere.

“Also, for what it’s worth, you are still alarming.”

Morrowax rumbled, “And well-named.”

From the village below, festival lanterns began to rise again.

People started gathering back together.

It looked as though the festival was continuing right where it had left off.

They would want answers.

They would want stories.

Some of them would obviously want to thank Verne for his epic hero-ness.

Which was, of course, not dangerous at all for someone as humble as Verne.

He looked down at his tiny handmade crown.

It no longer glowed.

But it was still whole.

And somehow, so was he.