Chapter 23
- Morgan -
The little group of Plood follow me, and I follow Clyde through the jungle.
The woods feel dangerous, but perhaps all these Plood will confuse the dinos so much that they won’t attack.
It’s a weird feeling not having that big, dark back in front of me. Now I have to bend branches away myself, I have to pick the way to go because Clyde doesn’t choose so well, I have to look around for dangers, I have to make sure to be quiet so the tribesmen don’t hear me.
With Vyrathion, it was a different thing altogether. He cleared the path in more ways than I really knew at the time, and he removed the worry of a sudden attack by dinosaurs.
“Such a stubborn creature,” I mutter as I walk. “Can’t he see this is much smarter? Get the girls, maybe see if they have jewelry, and if not, well, then maybe they know where he can get some.”
Clyde glances back at me, his huge black eyes unblinking.
“I know,” I say. “You agree. Or maybe you don’t. You’re very hard to read.” I have no idea what goes on inside that strange little head.
The Plood weave through the jungle in near silence.
Every now and then one disappears into the undergrowth while another emerges from somewhere else and joins us.
It makes me wonder how many there really are.
Hundreds, perhaps. Thousands. There may actually be millions of them, if those white mushrooms grew into these things.
I step over a fallen trunk and immediately think of Vyrathion.
Not because I miss him, I tell myself. Because he would have stepped over it without even noticing it existed.
He would have pushed straight through the undergrowth without slowing down, and every branch would somehow have ended up bent out of my way as well.
The distinction feels important for about five seconds. Then I admit that I do miss him.
I miss not having to think about every little obstacle.
I miss having somebody who could smell danger before it arrived.
I miss knowing that if a dinosaur burst from the trees, something much worse would burst out to meet it.
Even when he was grumpy, arrogant or impossible, there was something comforting about having a dragon between me and the rest of Xren.
“Crazy dragon,” I mutter.
Clyde looks back again.
“I’m not talking to you. Keep going.”
The Plood continues staring at me as he walks, as if he’s expecting a command. Eventually I sigh. “Fine. I’m talking about Vyrathion.”
For some reason saying his name out loud makes my chest tighten. I duck beneath a low branch and continue after Clyde while the argument replays itself for what must be the hundredth time.
Maybe I should have handled it differently. Maybe I should have agreed to visit the village first. The moment the thought forms, though, I reject it. Five girls. Five. If they really are trapped between tribes, every day matters. Every hour might matter.
I wasn't wrong. The certainty helps for a little while. Then another thought arrives. Vyrathion wasn't wrong either.
I hate that realization. The little gold-covered cup wasn't much.
A decoration. Barely enough paper-thin gold to cover a fingernail.
But the effect it had on him was impossible to ignore.
For a moment he had looked almost happy.
Not triumphant or greedy, the way I would have expected.
No, he looked relieved. Like somebody dying of thirst who suddenly discovers that water might exist after all.
I push through a wall of broad leaves and find myself slowing. The jungle presses in around us, green and endless. Somewhere overhead, unseen creatures call to one another through the canopy.
“I know what happened to you was terrible,” I say quietly, even though he's miles away and can't hear me. “The cage. The jungle. Getting weaker. All of it.”
Clyde tilts his head.
“I still had to go.” The words sound weak when I say them aloud. Not because they're untrue. Because they don't solve anything. I had to go. He had to go.
And somehow that was enough to pull us apart.
The jungle grows warmer as the morning wears on. The air hangs heavy beneath the canopy, and sweat slowly dampens my dress as I follow Clyde through a maze of roots and hanging vines.
The Plood move with their usual strange certainty. They never seem to hurry, yet they never seem to get lost either. Every so often one vanishes into the undergrowth, only for another to appear somewhere else a few minutes later.
I still have no idea how many of them there are.
“Do you even know where you're going?” I ask Clyde.
He glances back at me with those enormous black eyes and keeps walking. I sigh and step over a root. “I'm choosing to take that as a yes.”
At least one thing is clear. The Plood haven't forgotten the girls.
They delivered the message. Somehow they found me.
Somehow they found Vyrathion. And now they're leading me toward whoever carved those words into a piece of bark.
That means somebody is alive. Somebody is waiting.
The thought keeps me moving whenever the jungle seems determined to trip me, scratch me or cook me alive.
We cross a narrow stream and climb a muddy bank on the far side. The Plood spread out as they walk, forming a loose cloud around me. After a while I realize something has changed. The jungle has gone quiet.
I stop. A few nearby Plood stop as well.
The silence isn't complete. Water still trickles somewhere behind us. Leaves still move in the breeze high above. But all the living sounds have vanished. No insects. No distant calls. No rustling in the undergrowth.
My stomach tightens. “What is it?” I ask quietly.
Nobody answers. A branch snaps somewhere ahead. Another follows a second later. Something large is moving through the vegetation.
I feel my pulse jump. For one ridiculous instant I expect Vyrathion to emerge from the jungle. The thought appears so suddenly that it almost makes me laugh. Of course it isn't him.
The bushes part. A dinosaur steps into view.
It stands nearly twice my height at the shoulder. Mottled green and brown skin blend almost perfectly with the jungle around it, and its heavy jaws are lined with enough teeth to make every instinct in my body scream at me to run.
I don't run. Partly because I know that's a terrible idea. Partly because my legs have suddenly forgotten how.
The animal sees me immediately. Its head rises and our eyes meet. Around me, the Plood go completely still. Not one of them moves. Not one of them tries to flee.
The dinosaur takes a step forward. Then another.
I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.
The creature lowers its head slightly as if considering me with its yellow eyes. For several awful seconds I'm convinced this is the moment it charges. Instead its gaze slides past me and settles on the crowd of Plood surrounding us.
Its nostrils flare. The dinosaur studies them. One of the nearby Plood slowly turns its head toward the predator.
That is all. No threat display, no sound, no movement. The dinosaur simply stares back with its dead, reptilian eyes.
Several long seconds pass. Then, to my astonishment, the creature stays like that. It seems almost to have forgotten all about me.
Clyde and the Plood walk in a wide circle around the dino, and I follow, ready to bolt the moment that thing moves.
But it doesn’t. The jungle closes behind me and there are no sounds from behind me as I half-jog ahead.
Slowly the world resumes. Leaves rustle softly in the canopy. Small creatures move in the bushes and there’s the distant call of a different kind of dinosaur.
I finally remember to breathe. “What the hell was that?”
Clyde blinks at me.
I look from him to the other Plood and back again. A possibility occurs to me, and the more I think about it, the more sense it makes.
“Wait. Do dinosaurs not like you?”
Nobody answers. The Plood simply stare at me.
I point toward the place where the predator may still be standing. “Because if that's true, that would have been extremely useful information to know earlier.”
Clyde turns and waddles away. The others immediately follow.
I hurry after them, pushing aside a curtain of vines. “Seriously, Clyde. That's the sort of thing you should mention.”
The Plood offers no reply. For some reason, that feels like a reply anyway.
The jungle is still the jungle. That is somehow the worst part.
Nothing has changed. The trees are still enormous.
The vines still hang everywhere, trying to snag my arms and ankles.
The air is still hot enough to make my dress stick to my skin, and every few steps some root seems determined to trip me.
The world keeps going exactly as it did yesterday.
Only now Vyrathion isn't here.
I notice the absence constantly. When the path narrows, I find myself waiting for branches to be shoved aside before remembering that nobody is walking ahead of me.
When something rustles in the undergrowth, my eyes automatically search for a tall figure shot through with gold who can dismiss the danger with a glance.
Even crossing obstacles feels different.
At one fallen log, I pause for a moment before realizing that nobody is going to reach back and steady me.
I climb over it myself and nearly slip on the far side.
"Great," I mutter.
The Plood continue onward without reacting.
Clyde glances back once, then resumes leading the way through the jungle.
I follow him, trying to ignore the growing ache in my legs.
We have been walking for hours. At least I think we have.
Time feels strange beneath the canopy. Everything looks the same, and the only measure of progress is the steady accumulation of exhaustion.
After a while I find myself speaking aloud simply because the silence has become oppressive.
"He'll come after me eventually."
Clyde looks back.
The words sound weak the moment they leave my mouth, so I clear my throat and try again. "He will."