14
Jeryn
She would not catch me first. If I knew one fucking thing, it was this: The little beast was alive. Not even a shipwreck would break that spirit.
And she was here. Somewhere close.
At the forest’s border, I eased myself through the wall of foliage, my shoulder knocking offshoots out of the way. I’d had reservations about the hedges’ penetrability, however I managed to shove myself through and emerged onto a path where the terrain expanded into a wilderness. The humidity intensified, drenching the atmosphere like a sauna. My body turned into a porous thing, with perspiration leaking from every inch of skin.
My tattered shirt and threadbare pants clung to my frame like adhesives. At least, the garments had survived the storm, including my belt, boots, and scalpel knife.
I felt around my chest for the vial, which rested near my pulse. Thanks to the stamina of Winter glass, the pendant and its contents had withstood the shipwreck. Back in Autumn’s dungeon, that little beast had done the object more damage than Summer’s tempest.
Reassured, I eased my grip on the pendant. If I didn’t know better, I would conclude I’d walked into a mirage. Except mirages receded upon one’s approach, whereas this environment became more tangible with each step.
Bloody hell. The infernal symptoms of a shipwreck assaulted me, not least of which included a depleted stomach—I’d vomited a gallon of seawater upon regaining consciousness—and a physical constitution that left me sweaty on the outside and dry on the inside.
The forest’s canopy blotted out the sun. Though the darkness failed to reduce the heat, it did soothe my flesh. If I had languished unconscious on that beach for another hour, I would have roasted.
After leaning against a tree trunk and relieving my bladder of what little fluid remained inside it, I kept walking. My cranium pounded, a laceration stretched along my jaw, and welts had formed across my thighs, courtesy of the beast who’d flung that steering lever against me.
Technically, I should be worse off. A puncture wound. A severed extremity. A crushed skull. Yet improbably, I’d gotten rather fucking lucky.
My boots brushed a cluster of wet leaves, the contact cutting off my analysis. The slick underbrush glistened from a downpour that must have occurred while I’d lain comatose. Because of that fugitive, I had washed ashore on some cursed land mass.
Leaves swished in my periphery, as if something had dashed through. Awareness crawled across my shoulder blades. Without turning my head, I diced my eyes toward the commotion, to where a silhouette flashed in and out of sight.
Ah. Not a mammal or reptile. This source was human, female, and about to pay dearly for the past twenty-four hours.
Fury pulsed through my veins. Stalking sideways, I set my fingers on the scalpel knife’s hilt and edged through the bushes. Pacing. Caution. Otherwise, she would hear me coming.
But when I broke into motion and lunged in the direction she’d raced, a hedge stalled my progress. My lips twitched. So the beast meant to slip around me, to initiate another cat and mouse chase. Hunting her through this forsaken climate should not trigger my pulse, yet the illicit rush of it propelled me forward like an unhealthy impulse.
Phosphorescent undergrowth shone in the dark. I tracked every shiver of leaves, each sprinting noise. Around tree trunks. Abreast of unidentified nests. My head twisted, trailing glimpses of feminine limbs and the swish of her chemise.
A mile into the hunt, I grimaced. The wall of hedges standing before me made it clear. She’d led me in a circle, to confuse my sense of direction.
The fool was toying with me. Already, she knew this terrain better than I did.
I choked the knife. My thumb traced the hilt, where multiple silts embedded into its facade. Armed with this cache of blades, I could pick which one I’d use on her.
Another tremor of vegetation resounded like a taunt. With renewed anger, I prowled ahead. Swerving into what should have been her direct path, I hissed at the empty route. After another half hour, I lost all trace of the beast.
Perhaps she had gone astray as well. Perhaps now she would take her predicament seriously.
As should I. This landscape was scarcely a playground. Developing a fetish for this chase was hardly wise while trapped in a sweltering forest teeming with fauna.
I lacked nourishment and energy. Therefore, I lacked sense.
A critical solution existed for this. The presence of greenery meant fresh drink had to be nearby, after which I’d recover the stamina to snatch that little beast once and for all.
Maintaining a hold on my weapon, I pursued an adjacent route while auditing the wild. The canopy towered one hundred feet in the air and exhibited a variety of unrecorded tree species. Or so it appeared from this vantage point, with limited visibility and nausea compromising my senses. Yet nothing about this wilderness seemed recognizable, from the leaf shapes, to the circumference of every exposed root, to the texture of each tree trunk.
An unrecognizable avian—a bird of prey?—with a long shag of plumage perched on a branch. Ants hauled a chunk of feces past my feet. Trees glinted with shades reminiscent of malachite, among countless others.
Come to think of it, color should not be this visible here. Yet its vibrancy pushed through the limited light.
Comprehension dawned. I knew what tropic environment this was—which type of fresh hell we’d landed in.
The climate. The flora and fauna. The evidence of rain.
This indicated one landscape. Over history, Summer had preserved a legend originating from some asinine song about a rainforest. Be that as it may, no one had ever set foot upon its shore. And why? Because Summer did not have rainforests.
Or rather, it was not supposed to. But how else to justify this unpopulated expanse and its sudden appearance in the ocean? Ludicrous. This may be an uncharted rainforest, but it wasn’t that rainforest. A legendary realm that had gone uncharted for centuries wouldn’t have been this easy to access—a feasibly short distance from the wharf.
There had to be an explanation. Possibly, Summer kept this wild a secret for other reasons.
In any event, Winter and Summer’s fleets would find us. Giselle and Rhys’s armada was more equipped than any other naval force.
The tear in my jaw throbbed. Although I’d cleaned it with saltwater earlier, it continued to ooze blood. Without a needle and thread, stitches were impossible. Moreover in this stifling climate, the likelihood of infection would increase.
Yet the corner of my lip curled. A fucking rainforest.
Despite my parched mouth, the rest of my frame dripped with perspiration. While I’d spewed ocean water from my gut, the precipitation would wring me out as my body continued its futile attempt to cool off. If confusion or dizziness arose, if my head kept hammering, or if my vision blurred …
My free hand located the vial. I thought of hallucinations, of spending my final hour in a spiral of dehydrated lunacy.
Whether or not this place experienced frequent rainfall, there must be a stable body of water nearby. Bred in a court replete with trackers, I consulted Winter’s knowledge. Find a downhill slope or follow the animals. Hunters checked for sundered or distorted branches, or other signs of a trail made by fauna.
My mental faculties must be wavering on a precipice, if it had taken me this long to remember such elementary trivia. I scrubbed my eyelids to clear my vision. If it came down to it, I might have to slap the shit out of myself.
Would that beast know her way around here, through some primal instinct? Or would the raptors, reptiles, or mammals get to her first?
I hastened, stalking down the lane. The sooner I fueled myself, the sooner I would find her.
With every few steps, the mist forced me to pause and catch my breath. From somewhere in the canopy, a disconcerting hiss vibrated.
I proceeded with caution. Where fauna lived, water would flow.
Ahead, a sliver of blue sparkled through the foliage. I pushed my way into an enclosed copse of fig trees and halted before a small, glistening pool. On the opposite side, vegetation offered glimpses of an abutting shoreline, though not the cove I’d washed up on, since that expanse had been barren. At this alternate beach, detritus from the tidefarer had been lumped under a fern tree, creating a disorderly pile, as though the tide had ejected it there.
Water first. Logic second.
I located an errant stick and thrust its length into the pool. Not shallow, since the tip failed to hit the ground. Also, compared with any other water body, these eddies were cast in a strange kind of blue. I could not place the exact shade.
More hissing slithered from the treetops, their boughs shifting under the bulk of a moving creature. The sound brought serpents to mind. If the reptile kept a habitat in the trees, that meant it knew how to camouflage itself.
I considered other vital facts like prehensile tails, crushed bones, and asphyxiation. Either that, or venom.
Idling near an unknown dweller could mean death. Whereas dehydration guaranteed it.
I sank to my knees while keeping a vigilant eye on the canopy. When no other activity occurred from above, I glimpsed the water and noticed my reflection. A drop of blood swelled from the cut on my face, slid across my jaw, and plunked into the water. My weather-beaten features peered back, the sight unrecognizable—a Royal with uncertainty clouding his eyes.
I shook off the impression, then dipped a finger into the pool. The surface tensed, the ripples exerting a downward pressure. An evident misinterpretation on my part, a symptom of intense thirst. Or the product of delusional thinking.
Anything but that. Anything but forfeiting sanity.
First thing. Purify the water. Boil it with the fermented petals of a Winter violet and drink. Simple.
Not fucking simple. With what flame or saucepot? I could use saliva to enact fermentation, but I would need time. And I would need a Winter violet.
The water attached itself to my finger like a leach, the pressure so great it took effort to withdraw my hand. As if weighed down by bricks, my eyelids grew heavy.
Refusing to acknowledge such absurdity, I tested a droplet. It soaked into my tongue, fresh and pure, whereas lagoons would have contained saltwater.
I waited. No effects.
Another dose. Nothing.
I swallowed more each time, however this tentative approach would take me only so far. I formed my hands into a bowl and submerged them. The water pressure grew stronger. Toward what might be the bottom, the pool’s depth appeared to be swirling.
Withdrawing my hands, I lifted them to my mouth and quenched my thirst. Liquid gushed down my throat, alleviating the bone-dry sensation. Hopefully, this would rinse my mind of delirium. Matter of fact, I could drain this pool, so great was my craving.
My hands sank back into the water, down to my elbows. I had never partaken of anything so stimulating. So …
“Alive,” I muttered.
Silence. No hissing reptile. It had left, cleared the area.
I narrowed my eyes at the whirling surface. What the fu—
The pool seized my arms and yanked me under.