Dreamweaver - Chapter 16

"Forrest!"

Forrest's heart soared in his chest when he turned and saw his cousin, bloody but alive, hurrying towards him, dropping the katana he'd picked up to the ground. Brynhildr soared above him, scales bright and pink against the dreary background.

Forrest ran to them, feeling tears run down his face as he reached his cousin and threw his arms around him. Siegbert was bloody and dirty and smelled like decay and death, and Forrest breathed in, sure that he'd never smelled anything so wonderful in his life. In time, Siegbert dropped to his knees, hugging Forrest tight to him with his good arm — it took Forrest a moment to realize that he'd dissolved into another round of crippling sobs; they throbbed in his chest so hard that it hurt.

"It all right, Forrest," Siegbert murmured, rubbing his back. "It's okay now. It's okay now. It's okay." He kept repeating those words, voice soothing, until Forrest's tears finally stopped. Then Siegbert said, "Where's Leo?"

"G-gone." Forrest's voice was scratchy.

"What happened?"

Clearing his throat, Forrest told him, told him how Leo had tricked him, how that monster had killed something that was supposed to be Siegbert and had shattered Forrest's resolve, made him yearn for the same speedy death. Siegbert's arm tightened around Forrest when he heard that.

"How did you know?" he asked, looking up at Brynhildr.

"I couldn't see through the clouds," Brynhildr explained, "but I could sense the deathstroke magic down below growing thicker, more powerful and concentrated. I knew that the witches were doing something to trick Forrest, something that would result in his death. I thank the Gods that I was able to warn him in time."

"I would have died if you hadn't," Forrest said. "I owe you my life, Brynhildr." He meant every word. If not for the tome dragon, he would have died a pathetic, meaningless death, and then it would have been Siegbert down there bending over him, despairing and praying that Leo would take him too. He squeezed his cousin's hand and then reached up and kissed his cheek.

"And you too," he said. "You saved me, too."

"I don't see how," Siegbert said with a frown. "While you were over here being tricked by Lord Leo, I was miles away, lost in the stacks, trying to find you. If that storm hadn't dissipated and let Brynhildr come down, I might not have found you at all."

"No, that's not it." Forrest shook his head. "After your illusion died, Leo attacked me, nearly killed me. He stabbed me in the chest," he said to Siegbert's shocked expression. "The pain was so severe that I began to wake up. And when I did, I was lying in bed, on top of your chest. And that's when I realized that you were alive."

Siegbert and Brynhildr exchanged a look. "But what did that do?" she asked. "What did it have to do with defeating Leo?"

"Everything," Forrest said, wiping the last of his tears away. "And besides that..." He smiled. "It showed me how to leave the dreamweave."

--

The deathstroke sea was still behind them, but it wasn't moving fast enough to be a problem — it had slowed after reaching the higher stacks of dead, taking its time breaking down the bodies into deposits of molten bone marrow and pus, making its way uphill at a steady crawl.

That gave them plenty of time to stop and care for Siegbert's wounds — amazingly, now that Leo was gone, the one in Siegbert's back was slowly healing, the nasty red laceration thinning into a narrower claw-scratch. Forrest staunched the bleeding as best he could with Siegbert's undershirt before they set off again.

"It makes perfect sense, now that I think about it," Forrest said as they moved up through the battlefield of dead. Brynhildr was leading the way again, sailing above their heads as Forrest and Siegbert slowly made their way uphill, along a thin, winding path that twisted up between the two biggest piles of bodies. Even though the tiny foot path forced the two boys to walk single file, Forrest refused to let go of Siegbert's hand — minutes ago he feared that he'd never have the luxury to do such a thing again.

"The spider," he said to Siegbert. "You in the underground river. Our landing on this island. Father. All the times we've ever accidentally or intentionally manipulated the dreamweave, there's been one common factor."

"Which is?" Brynhildr asked, glancing downward.

Forrest smiled up at the dragon. "Fear. But not just fear. Bravery, valor, and hope, too."

Siegbert's eyebrows knitted. "I don't understand."

"I didn't either, until my fight with Father," Forrest said. "After we split up, I thought that he'd gone after you, but I think he did that intentionally, to trick me. He must've circled around in front of me somehow, and when I happened upon him, he created that illusion where he impaled you, which made me lose my wits. He was prepared to behead me, but then I heard Brynhildr's voice again, and the blade had no effect on me. But a minute later, it did, when he stabbed me with it."

Siegbert went rigid, forcing Forrest to stop. "What? The sword didn't hurt you?"

"No," Forrest said. "And so I wondered: why did his attack not work one minute, but it did the next? Well, after he stabbed me, when I began to wake up and felt you breathing underneath me, Siegbert, when I realized that you were still alive..." He squeezed Siegbert's hand. "You have no idea what kind of effect that had on me. It galvanized me like nothing else. My despair and my fear faded. I felt like I could take on Anankos one handed."

Siegbert's cheeks turned pink. "I think you're exaggerating a bit," he grunted.

Forrest turned to face him, face hard. "No, I'm dead serious. That knowledge made me fearless, Siegbert. And don't you see? That's the answer! Fearlessness! Father was unable to hurt me after that, and I willed him away like I would a fly."

"Fearlessness?" Brynhildr sounded skeptical.

Siegbert shook his head. "It's that simple?"

"Yes! It's not our willpower that allows us to control the dreamweave — it's our courage. Our bravery. Our confidence that this is a dream and that we, not the witches, are in control of it." When his two companions still looked doubtful, he said, "The spider. When I realized I was in a dream, I realized that I had nothing to fear from the beast, and it disappeared. Siegbert, when you were in the underground river, you almost woke up, and that reminded you that you were in a dream — when you came back, you didn't fear the water, and found that you could breathe. When we fell down to the island, you found the courage to bend the dreamweave to your will and soften your landing. And Father..." He swallowed, still a little shaky over the memory of that beast. "Before he tried to behead me, I heard Brynhildr's voice, and my fear vanished, if only for a second, at the realization that she was close and that she would do anything in her power to help us. Of course, it faded a few minutes later, when I truly began fighting Father..."

A glow of understanding lit up Brynhildr's eyes. "I see...so when you display bravery in the face of danger, you become untouchable. But the dangers become real and concrete whenever fear takes over."

"Exactly," Forrest said, pleased at her understanding.

"Okay, sure," Siegbert said, not quite convinced. "But how do we use this to leave the dreamweave?"

Forrest put his head on one side. "Well, I have a theory about that..."

"But?" Siegbert prompted.

"But you aren't going to like it."

"More than the prospect of being stuck in this dreamweave forever?"

Good point, Forrest thought. "We have to die," he said.

Siegbert noticeably straightened. "Die?" he repeated incredulously, glancing up at Brynhildr.

"Not just that," said Forrest. "We have to die...bravely."

Brynhildr looked bewildered; Siegbert frowned. "That's...not what I was expecting. Explain."

"I think I understand this magic better now," Forrest said. "Pain connects us to the real world — it makes us want to wake up. So does anything short of death — stress, shock, trauma. It's the same with the deathstroke spell. And because they are tied to reality, they're the only ways to get back to reality. Understand?"

"So far," Siegbert said.

"So if we want to return there," Forrest said, "we have to use one of those tethers to do so."

"Get to the part about us dying," Siegbert said.

"Well, I think we can use the deathstroke spell to get back," Forrest explained. "But the way out isn't to run away from the deathstroke spell — it's to embrace it. To let it consume us and take us back to reality. And if we let it take us — if we die — bravely, we'll negate the magic of the deathstroke, make our own path out of this hellish place. And maybe we'll destroy the deathstroke spell in the process."

Siegbert shifted from foot to foot, trying to wrap his head around Forrest's idea. What he was saying made a weird sort of sense, based on what had happened so far, but a lot of it still sounded like conjecture. "How can you be so sure?" he asked.

Forrest shook his head. "I'm not," he said. "But it makes sense, doesn't it?"

Siegbert looked up at Brynhildr. "What do you think?"

Brynhildr twisted rapidly in the air like a water snake, but didn't reply; the boys were showered in a mountain-lily-scented mist. "Maybe," she said finally. "I can't be entirely sure that it will work...but it's feasible, and it's the best we have right now."

Forrest let out an excited breath. Adrenaline washed through his head and circulated through his extremities, making his temples pulse. Suddenly, with Brynhildr's consent, the end was really and truly in sight — his stomach twisted in apprehension at the thought of finally leaving this huge, empty, alien place, where the rules didn't make sense and every encounter was more unpredictable than the last. He exchanged a look with Siegbert, whose eyes were glowing with the same anticipation he felt.

"Okay," Siegbert said. "So what do we do now? Do we just wait here and let the deathstroke spell catch up to us?"

"I don't believe that Forrest's theory would work in just any place," the tome dragon said. "From what I know, every dreamweave has a back door, and if we are to test out your claim, it must be done in that exact location."

"Is it someplace creepier than this?" Siegbert asked.

Forrest paused to glance around — he was surprised to find that they'd left the field of dead behind and had hiked up into a dense swath of dark trees. A flattish, rocky shelf lay at the top — they paused there for breath, then glanced over their shoulders and found that, even from up here, they could only see a small part of that horrible battlefield — the fog had thickened again, and had obscured most of the plain, hiding the mounds of bodies from sight. But up here in the still and quiet, they could hear all too clearly the oppressive hiss of the deathstroke spell as it worked its way up towards them — if Forrest squinted enough, he swore that he could see the first black waves eking out of the fog.

"No," Forrest said, "I think we have a ways to go yet."

--

The three companions continued into the trees, and after a while, Forrest knew that it wasn't his eyes playing tricks on him: the deeper they went in, the darker the forest got — the intensity of the shadows was compounded two-fold with every step they took, growing heavier and more oppressive with every footfall. Forrest felt Siegbert's hand begin to tremble, and his breaths, heavy with anxiety, seemed to echo around them — Forrest was no longer sure if they were in the trees, and could see absolutely nothing save for Brynhildr's pink mist floating above him unobstructed. The scent of mountain lilies comforted him.

"It's okay," he said to Siegbert, squeezing his cousin's hand. "We're going to be fine."

The almighty shriek of Anankos suddenly rent the air, ten times more intense than when they'd last heard it. Siegbert sucked in a gasp, and Forrest struggled to wrangle a hold of the fear making his heart pound into overtime. He's not real, he thought, trying to be confident in this knowledge. Siegbert's real. Brynhildr's real. Anankos is not. He's dead. This is a foolish illusion.

But as Anankos's keening cry rang out again in the darkness, it grew harder and harder to feel brave in the face of such feral, wild ferocity. It was impossible to tell where the figment beast was in the darkness; his shriek seemed to come from every direction at once and echoed weirdly, so that Forrest imagined that the monster could be miles away or feet away.

Brynhildr's voice brought him back into focus: "We're close," she hissed as another dragon cry faded into the darkness. "Nearly there. I can feel it — the deathstroke magic is strongest just ahead."

Forrest summoned his grit and marched forward, pulling Siegbert behind him. Almost there. We're almost there. We're almost out of here. Just a few more steps and we can wake up. Wake up and live. Almost...

The soil disappeared, yielding to cold stone — the hairs on the back of Forrest's neck tingled at the instinctual realization that he now, truly, was no longer in the woods. He sensed a yawning space opening up before him, more vast than the sky. He did not comprehend just how vast it was until Brynhildr suddenly screeched, "STOP!"

Forrest and Siegbert stopped immediately, and the dark sky above seemed to lighten to the slightest degree, set aglow by a bank of cold stars that separated the earth from the sky. The surrounding geography came into focus, and they found themselves on the narrow edge of a precipice, one yielding to a sheer and incomprehensibly massive drop that plunged into a yawning void below them. But the term "void" did not do the canyon justice — it was a bottomless pit of darkness, blacker and deeper than the darkest corners of hell. And it was not empty, either — the silence was shattered by a barrage of sound, the keening and shrieking and screaming of demons, crying up to them from below. Forrest and Siegbert saw their red eyes, heard the scratch of their claws against stone and flap of their wings beating the air.

But the scream of the Silent Dragon silenced the rest, a blast of terrifying sound that rattled the boys from the crowns of their heads to the very tips of their toes, making them want to fall to their knees and give in to despair. Below, two ragged hinges of darkness seemed to part, releasing another screech — a dragon's maw, ten times bigger than the grand hall of a castle, beckoning them downward.

Oh Gods! There it was, the fear, the terror — it washed up through Forrest in a chilling wave, weakening his knees, turning his brain to mush. He could not tame it, or reign it in — it flooded through him in continual waves, making him shudder as though stricken with palsy. How could I have thought...? No. No, no. I can't... No! I can't...

"Forrest. Forrest." It took him a minute to realize that Siegbert was calling his name — he turned to see his cousin's eyes as wide as his, wide and filled with terror. And yet, his voice only held a slight tremble as he said, "Forrest, step back from the edge. Step back. Come on. Step back with me."

Forrest's feet felt glued to the stone, but slowly, he coaxed them into action, taking one step, then two, then three, until three yards separated him and his cousin from the edge of the abyss. Shivering, he sank into a rattled heap, and Siegbert crumpled down beside him. Brynhildr twisted down from above.

"Is...?" Forrest's throat was drier than bone. He struggled to meet Brynhildr's gaze. "Is that...?"

"Yes." Brynhildr's voice was clipped. "This is the way out. This is where we must make our final stand against the deathstroke spell."

--

It was now past high noon, and the witches were growing restless. Fear at being discovered had many of them pacing the floor, their cloaks sweeping behind them. Others pressed against the door, listening for eavesdroppers, jumping every time footsteps came and went past their room. Others stared silently at the back of Griselda's head, wishing that she would see reason and abandon this increasingly risky mission before it was too late. They were all, more or less, thinking the same thing: We've been here too long. It's time to go. Every second more we stay here is another chance for us to be discovered.

Griselda sensed their unrest, their anxiety, and summarily ignored it. She was their ultimate superior — they would obey her orders and do exactly as she told them to, or else they would see exactly how nasty she could get when she was at her wits' end.

And at her wits' end she was, more and more every minute. She, unlike the others, stood away from the wall, as close to the Edon Stone corona as the poisonous magic allowed, staring into the light. The dreamweave magic, burning red, surrounded the boy and the girl in the middle of the bed, casting their faces into shadow. But Griselda had no trouble seeing their chests, sensing their bodily functions through her magic — they were alive and well, save for a tight bundle of clenched muscles and knotted nerves in their bellies. Something was frightening them. But not enough to push them over the edge.

Curse it. Why isn't it working? Why weren't they dying? She had strengthened the dreamweave to maximum, drawn all the power she could out of her Noseferatu tome and transferred it to the sleeping magic — anymore, and she'd be using her own life energy, and wind up burning herself to ashes. Essentially, she could do no more — nothing except wait, wait and hope that the magic would finally, hopefully, do its work.

Someone appeared at her side: Annette. Griselda did not have to look at her apprentice's face to feel her apprehension: it radiated from her like a fireplace, warming Griselda's cheeks, begging to be addressed. She also didn't need telepathy to read Annette's mind: she wants to go. She agrees with the rest of them. We're risking too much to recover the Edon Stones.

This angered Griselda, and what's more, it insulted her: these girls were more spineless than she'd thought if they were so willing to give up on something so incredibly precious to them, their ancestors, and their history. And, quite obviously, they were losing their faith in Griselda — after seeing her might in battle, the young girls had always expected their elder to take what was hers, do what needed to be done, and conquer and destroy quickly and efficiently. If it took this long, this shamefully long, for Griselda to subdue a pair of hapless children, then perhaps she couldn't get the job done after all. Perhaps it would be in their best interest to simply abandon the Edon Stones, versus the alternative — discovery, and then a summary execution.

Cowards! Griselda wanted to spit the word at them.

"Milady." Annette's words were soft, soft and hesitant.  She was trying to figure out a way to broach the topic. "Milady...has there been any progress?"

"No. Not yet." Griselda did not look away from the corona.

"They're still resisting?" Annette asked.

"Obviously."

"And the dreamweave is at maximum strength? There isn't a way to make it even more powerful?"

"Yes, and no. Say what you have to say, Annette. I have a very low tolerance for cowards."

Annette flinched. "I...I-I'm not suggesting cowardice, milady. Just—"

"What?" Now Griselda turned to her apprentice, striking her with the full force of her displeasure. And yes, according to many of her students, rabid wolves were preferable. "A tactical retreat? A regroup?"

Annette struggled to meet the elder witch's eye. "Y-yes, milady," she said.

Griselda sneered. "Annette, my most promising student, a craven. Who would've thought?"

Annette's lip began to curl. "I am not a craven, milady. I am a witch who cares for her sisters, for her superior, and would rather keep them safe than risk their lives for the recovery of a dusty relic."

"A dusty relic gifted to us by one of the Twelve hundreds of years ago," Griselda snapped. "A relic worth more to our village, our community, our ancestors, our history, than you or I are, dead or alive. Perhaps you do not truly understand their value, but I do, and my word is law. None of us go anywhere until those Stones are back in my hand and those children are dead, for good. Is that understood, Annette?"

Annette's jaw worked, and Griselda saw anger smolder in the depths of her eyes. Griselda turned fully to her apprentice, rising to her full height.

"I asked you a question, witch. It would be in your best interest to respond."

The room was silent — the witches pacing by the door had stopped, and all eyes were now on Annette and Griselda and the tension crackling between them.

"Your retribution may get us all killed, milady," Annette hissed. "Very soon, someone is going to realize that this room has been magicked by repulsion magic, and—"

Griselda took another step forward, now close enough to kiss her disciple. Instead, she snarled in her face: "Do you mean to disobey me, Annette?"

The witch's fists clenched. "What if I do?"

Griselda was not prepared for that. She and Annette usually got along so beautifully that she had forgotten about the young witch's stark independence, her boldness, and the fact that she well knew her own mind — qualities that Griselda had greatly admired now frustrated her, because she now remembered that Annette, once angry, could not easily be beaten into submission.

So she took every witch's greatest fear and threw it in Annette's face: "Then consider yourself ex-communicated from the community."

It worked — Annette stepped back, looking as though she'd been struck in the face. "Milady, you can't meant that—"

"Did I stutter, witch? You know full well what I said, and know full well that I meant it. Look into my eyes and ask me if I'm joking if you're unsure."

Annette met Griselda's gaze and trembled a little. "I'm just trying to protect us," she protested. "I'm trying to keep us from—"

"What you're doing is disobeying orders. You have no idea of what's at stake — one of the greatest magical artifacts in the cosmos, gift of the Twelve Dragons, and you propose to leave it in the hands of thieves. In all honesty, ex-communication would be too good for you, Annette. Your suggestion is blasphemy itself, an insult to the Dragons that have supported and protected our kind for eons. I would smite you where you stand, had you not an intelligent head on your shoulders. Apologize and admit your mistake, and perhaps all will be forgiven."

She pressed one hand against her Noseferatu tome and opened the other, letting the book's power flow to her fingertips and illuminate her face in pale, violet light. Annette took another step back — the young witch was realizing that Griselda truly meant to smite her. And Griselda would, without blinking, if that's what it took to assert her authority. Normally, she wouldn't go so far, but today she was angry, angry and tired, tired of being wrong, of being tricked, of being outwitted. She was in no mood, no mood, for her will to be usurped.

Suddenly, a witch from the door hissed, "Quiet!"

Immediately, Griselda dissolved her magic — she and Annette glanced towards the door, towards the other witches, who had very suddenly pressed themselves against the cobblestoned walls, stopping any and all movement and going whisper silent. The quiet amplified the sound of light footsteps coming outside the door. A shadow appeared underneath as someone stopped before it. The doorknob turned, rattled. And then, the repulsion magic did its work: abruptly, the visitor moved away, footsteps quick with anxiety. They soon faded down the hall.

After a moment, a witch nodded at Griselda. Safe to talk now.

Annette turned to the elder witch, her face creased grimly. "I'm sorry, milady," she muttered. "The things I said...I know they're out of line. But please, just...please. Please reconsider how long you're willing to stay. Our time is running out." With that, she returned to her sisters.

Griselda turned back to the corona, angrier than ever. Not because of Annette and the corona and the Edon Stones and the resistant children...but because, now, she had the sneaking, growing suspicion that Annette may have been right.

--

Leo pushed from the wall when Nyx arrived. The petite sorceress looked disoriented and a little nauseous, and Leo had to grab her by the shoulder to prevent her from walking by.

"Nyx?" he asked, making her focus on him. "Nyx, it's me. Are you all right? I told you it would befuddle you."

"Yes, I..." She shook her head twice, her mass of dark hair sweeping across her shoulders like a curtain. "I apologize, milord. You warned me, but I wasn't expecting for it to be so powerful."

"What happened?" Odin asked from Leo's other shoulder.

"Exactly as Lord Leo postulated," Nyx said, her eyes narrowing. "As soon as I touched the doorknob to Siegbert's room, I was overcome by panic. I thought that something was happening, something terrible and far, far away, something that needed my immediate attention. I almost didn't even notice that the two of you were here when I came back."

Odin grinned and cracked his knuckles. "Haha! How exciting! Repulsion magic! Seems they don't want to be disturbed. What do you think's going on in there, Lord Leo?"

Leo went red-faced with fury. "What the devil are you implying?"

Odin paled. "What? N-nothing. I'm not implying anything."

"I should hope not! This is an emergency, not a time for you to pander out those filthy jokes Niles teaches you. My son could very well be in danger." He returned his attention to Nyx. "Nyx, what do you reckon?"

"Black magic," she said.

Odin's eyes went wide with awe. "Really? I didn't think Forrest was at that level, yet."

"He isn't, idiot," Nyx snapped. "As far as our studies are concerned, he's worse than a novice. Half the time, he can't even pronounce the invocations correctly. No offense, milord."

"I'm not offended," Leo scoffed. "So you're implying that someone else cast the repulsion magic. Someone else that wants to keep anyone concerned about Forrest away from the room."

"Exactly," Nyx said. "And it's quite obvious that it isn't Siegbert. So a third party. A malevolent third party that doesn't want to be disturbed. And a powerful one at that, one capable of casting powerful black magic."

"Two questions," Odin said, holding up two fingers. "First, how can you tell it's black magic? And second, how can you tell it's powerful?"

"Gods, are you that daft?" Nyx said in annoyance. "It's black magic because it tastes sour. It's powerful because it ate through both me and Lord Leo's resistance."

"Wait, sour?" Odin glanced at Leo, looking puzzled.

"All magic has a particular tang on the tongue," Leo said, surprised that his retainer, a fellow magic-caster, didn't know this. "Fire magic tastes like smoke. Thunder magic tastes like ozone. Wind magic tastes like wind-swept rock."

Odin was scratching his head. "Seriously? I never noticed any of that."

"Well, apparently only the sorcerers with brains in their skulls can taste it," Nyx said. "But more to the point, the repulsion spell cast onto the doorknob left residual magic in the air, and it tasted tangy and sour. So, black magic. And because it affected me, as well as Lord Leo, so quickly, we can assume that whoever cast the spell is very powerful. So I'd say that we have a fight on our hands, Lord Leo. One that needs to be fought immediately. There's no telling how long this spell-caster has been around, and what they've done with Forrest and Siegbert."

Leo turned to Odin. "Get Niles immediately, and contact the castle guard. I want this entire side of the castle cleared, and a contingent of Dark Knights and paladins in this hallway in the time it takes me to turn my collar inside out. Have you got all that, soldier?"

"Yes, milord!" When Leo started calling his trusted retainers "soldier", you knew things were getting serious.

Two minutes later, soldiers were slinking stealthily down the hall leading to Siegbert's room: Dark Knights up one end, paladins on the other, everyone meeting in the middle, armed and ready to kill. Niles had even wrangled together a small crew of outlaws, armed with bows and crossbows, along.

Still, Leo couldn't help but wish that he had a team of Hoshidan ninja with him — the Nohrian soldiers strived to be quiet, but you could only be so silent when decked out in plate armor that rattled at every step. By the time everyone was in position, there was no question as to whether or not the enemy knew that they were there.

Difference is, they're stuck in the room, and we're out here, ready to push in. Ready or not, none of them are leaving this castle alive if they've harmed my son, or my nephew.

Niles crouched in the middle of the formation, an arrow loaded into his bow. He glanced at where Leo stood beside him, eye twinkling with mischief. "On your command, Lord Leo," he said.

He was obviously looking for a good fight, as Niles generally did, but the only thing Leo wanted to see was his son whole and unharmed, hopefully doing something as stupid as playing chess with his cousin or fooling around with those frilly clothes he loved so much. But with the black magic, the long absence...he couldn't be sure of anything. For all he knew, his son was being held hostage by a powerful enemy, or worse...

No. Leo refused to consider a more dire alternative. He clenched his Thunder tome, wishing that it was Brynhildr's bulky, reassuring weight in his palm instead. But it wasn't, and he had to make do. He opened his palm, allowing streams of electricity to snake around his fingers.

Forrest is fine. He will be fine, or there'll be hell to pay.

"GO!" he roared.