Chapter 26 - Bea
“Thanks,” is all I say as soon as we land at Zarriko’s before I’m leaping down from the random Trixikka I’d forced to bring me here.
“Wait-” the guy - he did tell me his name but my head’s not screwed on right now - says. “We cannot just run around another tribe without-”
“You can go back now,” I throw over my shoulder as I start to pick up my pace, heading toward where I see a small gathering of Trixikka.
“But-”
I don’t know if he carries on talking, or if some of Zarriko’s guys come to ask him what the hell is going on. I don’t care. I need Zyntarr, and I need him now.
One of Zarriko’s males that I’m headed for notices me and stands from his seated position. He suddenly wears the smile of a guy who’s being approached by a woman at a bar, but that very smile slides right off as soon as I open my mouth. “Where is Zyntarr?”
“Uhh…” he looks around at his clueless buddies.
“We know not of this male,” another is faster to respond, “but perhaps we can take you to the cookfires and feed you after your flight?”
“Have you come for the exchange?”
“Can I show you around the village?”
“Do I have permission to gift you an offering this day, beautiful female?”
I’m not getting anywhere here.
From the corner of my eye, I spot movement. More people. Without a word, I turn and march off in that direction instead, not caring that I probably now have a string of Trixikka following along behind me.
My heartbeat is loud in my ears, and my throat feels like it might close up entirely.
Rounding the edge of a store hut, I almost run right into a broad, sparkly chest.
Zarriko grips my arms to stop me from falling backward. “Female,” he says, his brows furrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to find Zyntarr.”
He shakes his head back at me. “You were not with our flight party when we left Rynn’s village either,” he says, looking right over my head, searching for the Trixikka’s whose wings I’d demanded to bring me here.
“Is every member of that tribe to come visit us as they please?” His eyes turn skyward, making him squint at the two suns.
“Why are my Protector’s not on proper patrols? ”
“Where is Zyntarr?”
I’m getting annoyed now. My chest feels like it might cave in any moment now. I feel like I don’t have time to stand here and talk - like I’m trapped inside an hourglass getting buried by grains of sand.
Zarriko gives me a stern look. He doesn’t appreciate my tone.
Normally, I would care about this kind of thing. Normally, I make sure to be polite and respectful.
But screw polite and respectful. I need to tell Zyntarr how I feel.
“He’s my mate,” I say, the words coming out of me in a breath as my eyes fall to the High Spear’s chest, his heart-stars twinkling brightly for his Sophia. When I glance back up to his face, he looks skeptical. “He is.”
The High Spear regards me for a moment or two, before grunting to himself with a nod. “You will find him on the eastern edge of the village gutting and skinning frizikki for us this day,” he tells me, pointing a large, black wing in the direction I need to go.
* * *
I run past a few other people, barely registering if they’re Trixikka or human. I don’t know if anyone looked my way.
I reach an area set back from the rest of the village.
A small stream behind it, and there are several large, flat rocks laid out as surfaces to work on.
They’re stained dark with years of blood.
Several wooden frames stand around the area, some with empty hooks, some with strung up kills waiting their turn to be butchered.
Blades of all sizes glint from a clean stone, and a different type of frame houses skins, stretched tight to dry out in the twin suns.
The air here smells too sweet, and there’s a small, smoking fire nearby, burning herbs that I’ve learned deter bugs from buzzing around the meat.
And there, beside the fire, I see a little leather pouch. I know that pouch. It’s the one Zyntarr carries with him - the one with the careful blend of spices he made just for me.
But Zyntarr isn’t here.
Panic rises like bile.
Frantically, I look around. There’s no one else here. Why isn’t there anyone here? I need to ask someone where-
My thoughts are cut sharp by the sound of loud cawing - a flock of bright purple birds launching themselves into the skies from the tree-line behind the stream.
“Zyntarr?” I ask the empty space, my voice quiet enough to get carried away by a breeze.
It’s then that I hear it - a violent crack followed by a harsh, broken huff that does not belong in the jungle.