Chapter 12
It doesn’t take long for us to find the bright-red, gargantuan, six-legged monster roaming the base of Rime Mountain.
Its many eyes lock onto us the moment we are within its sight, although, it doesn’t make a move.
Grandma wrote in her journals that the Orageist Giants were docile unless provoked, and I’m glad to see that that is still an accurate statement.
I hop off of the sandcycle, the space between my thighs shocked by the sudden cold. I’ve been spoiled by the pleasant vibrations and warmth of the cycle, accompanied by the delight of having my arms wrapped around Lowell’s waist.
I wish I could feel his bare scales again.
“Ay, you still with me?” Lowell snaps his fingers, the skin above his eyes raised.
I blink rapidly and nod, drawing a bolt into my crossbow to break eye-contact. “Yeah, I was just thinking about how I’ll be shooting. I should sit in front of you on the sandcycle with my body turned towards the rear. I can load and shoot freely from there.”
Lowell crosses his burly arms, watching me pull back the string. “How am I supposed to see or drive? You’d have to be standing on the seat to aim over my shoulders.”
The bolt and string click into place. I lift the crossbow up and over my shoulder to rest, the weight tilting my posture. “Yeah, and? You have a tail. Make it useful and hold me still.”
Squinting his eyes, he shakes his head in disbelief. “This is not what we talked about. You want to stand in the driver’s seat of the cycle while I drive from the backseat, holding you with my tail?”
I stare back at him, not understanding how my clear statement isn’t clicking. “Yeah. It’s not that complicated, even for you.”
“But you’ll be knocked off the cycle if we hit any bump.”
“Not if you hold me tightly enough.”
“My tail isn’t as strong as you seem to think it is.”
“It’s plenty strong. Unless your constant bragging is all lies?”
A vein throbs on Lowell’s forehead, his jaw clenching. “Okay, listen — If you fall, you’ll snap your neck. I don’t trust the grip strength of my tail alone.”
“Then I won’t fall,” I roll my eyes, staring him down defiantly. “And don’t act like you’re worried about me, it’s insulting. We’ll get the job done and you’ll get what you want out of me,” I say, mounting the driver’s seat.
Truthfully, if I were to sit in the backseat, the space between him and me would create a significant amount of drag.
The force would whip my body around like a rag-doll — during which I could still shoot, but it would aggravate my curse of motion sickness and make me vomit.
I refuse to tell Lowell this reasoning, since he would only laugh at me.
“The excess movement from behind would ruin my shot,” I lie.
Frustrated, he throws his hands up in defeat and mounts the cycle again. “Fine. Whatever. It’s your shot, so don’t fucking miss.”
I ignore him sourly, adjusting our positions to sit chest-to-chest. Our bodies radiate heat off of one another again, the scent of sweat mixing with the sun’s suffocating swelter.
My face reddens, the proximity revealing a deep tobacco and clove scent embedded into the collar of his leather jacket.
I expected that he would smell of must or decay at this point in our journey, but that is not the case. He smells heavenly.
A large, clawed hand slides underneath my bottom, lifting me with gentle care. I vocalize a scream of surprise, jolting with electricity. Lowell huffs out of his nostrils, the air wafting over my neck and chest.
“Calm down, I’m not trying to grope you. You need to be standing, right?” he asks, annoyed with my flailing.
My rigidity slowly softens as I accept his assistance, placing both feet on the driver’s seat. Lowell’s touch is warm and firm, spanning my entire backside without stretching a single finger.
Although I’m nearly melting from the temperature of the desert, I don’t mind. I even crave more of his touch.
When I stand, the arch of my boots cradled by the seat, I lean into Lowell’s body, propping my arms and crossbow on his right shoulder. His tail snakes around my waist, cinching it so tightly it anchors me in place.
The connection at both my waist and chest sends my heart into a frenzy, beating and stuttering with nerves. My stomach explodes with fluttering butterflies when Lowell revs the engine, his grip tightening protectively when I lose balance at the cycles lurch forward.
“Ready?” he calls, flashing me the hand signal for “go” that we decided on this morning.
I give him the hand signal for “yes.”
Lowell spins the bike position so that I face the Orageist Giant, its beady eyes focused on the leaves it’s plucking from a tall bush.
The sight on my crossbow drops the Orageist Giant into my reticle as I raise it to my eye-line. After our previous encounter, I’m thankful it’s a large target; however, I realize its weak points are much too small to hit accurately from this distance.
My first shot is a miss, bouncing off the Giant’s thick skin and into a bush.
Shit, I think, loading my crossbow with anxious haste.
I line up with the Giant again. Shoot. Miss.
“Dammit,” I curse under my breath, chewing on my lip.
Load, aim, miss, load, aim, miss, load, aim, miss. Again and again, until Lowell pries me from his body to prevent me from shooting another bolt.
I glare down at him, my jaw tight and mouth tilted down, ready to snap at whatever rude comment he has for me.
Instead, Lowell’s brows are drawn in worry. His snout puckers slightly in concern. “Hey,” he says softly over the engine’s roar. “Just take a deep breath, okay? I can feel your heart beating through my tail.”
I tense further from shame rather than anger. I’m embarrassing myself.
Lowell pats the small of my back with the tip of his tail, a gesture that makes the corners of my mouth twitch.
“Relax,” he whispers, faintly. “I’ve got you, so take your time.”
I load up the crossbow once more and aim.
I can do this, I assure myself, moving slower to aim than before.
When I finally pull the trigger, the Orageist Giant belts out a screech so shrieking it could shatter glass. Its eyes snap to Lowell and me, all six legs engaging to sprint directly at us.
“Get that bow loaded again. We gotta move!” Lowell shouts, darting us off in the opposite direction of the raging beast. I’m yanked back from the torque, the bolt in my hand falling to the ground.
Focus, I think. Remember what Grandma wrote. Giants’ movements are predictable. Use it to your advantage.
The bolt snaps into place, the string drawn. I lift the bow, keeping locked onto the Orageist Giant. It will lose interest and return to eating if I let up or miss. Giants are quick to anger and quick to forget, their intelligence and short-term memory lacking while favoring size and strength.
Lowell lifts his hand to signal that we’ve crossed marker one of five — the shortest distance from our goal. As if prompted by our first success, the Giant slows down, its attention caught on a nearby bush at the mountain base.
It lowers its two front legs when eating. Predictable.
I exhale, releasing a bolt that embeds between the Giant’s joints. With another scream, it shifts its attention back to us.
Lowell pats the small of my back with his hand. While it’s not a signal we discussed, I take it as “good job.” I’m grateful he can’t see the silly grin on my face at his approval.
We drive until we pass markers two and three, only four of my six shots missing.
Each time I hit the target successfully, Lowell rewards me with an excited-yet-gentle pat.
When I make a shot on the first try while rounding the bend of marker four, I audibly giggle as Lowell pats my back with such vigor, he almost knocks me off the sandcycle.
Marker five pokes out of the sand from a distance, a straight path leading us to our goal. Relief fills my chest at the sight, my hands trembling so badly I struggle to load the last bolt.
We’re going to do it. Thank the Goddess, I think, setting the Orageist Giant in my line of sight.
One more bolt, one last shot, will bring me closer to my life back in Nilsan. Back to a life of structure and sensible demands, far away from the anarchy of Gaia 4. Back to where I belong.
Almost there.
I lock the Giant in my crosshairs, ready to pull the trigger.
Suddenly, Lowell throws the “danger” hand-signal, my heart dropping into my stomach. Before I have a moment to observe the surroundings, sand kicks up around us, and my vision is obscured by wind and debris.
I twist at the hip to find the culprit, the Giant’s shadow the only visible shape in a sea of swirling sand. We are slowly becoming swallowed up in pitch darkness, sand pelting my eyes and mouth. I look over my shoulder at Lowell, whose hands have released the cycle’s handlebars.
“What are you doing?!” I scream, the sandcycle wobbling beneath us. I lose my footing quickly, my feet slipping out from underneath.
I’m falling.
My feet do not touch the ground. My head is beneath my body as I freefall with no sense of direction. I see and hear nothing other than the sound of the cycle’s treads spinning sand and the Orageist Giant’s thundering footsteps.
I’m hit by a sudden force — a punch, maybe — to the side of my waist that radiates pain through every muscle.
In a matter of seconds, I lose consciousness.