24
Jeryn
I stalked out of the grotto before I did something rash like prowl to her side of the pool, snatch her by the arms, haul her naked body out of the water, and fu—
A hiss sliced from my mouth. I would not go there. Never could I go there again.
Damnation. I should have known to take precautions. Not an opportunist? Bullshit. She had certainly seized the opportunity to lob that rock at my head. As of this moment, my fucking cranium could have been porridge on the cavern floor.
Granted, born fools had done nothing to me. No abusive memories shaped my ideologies. Instead, my mind conjured images of a striped fin and a maw of teeth.
Regardless. How I would love to make the beast pay for her insolence. The problem was, a physician did not get personal—a violation I’d been predisposed to enact since Autumn’s dungeon. That, among a dozen other impulsive fuck-ups I could not justify.
I flicked those thoughts away. Done and over.
Where the hell was I?
I paused, my eyes scrolling across a series of cave tunnels. Absently, I had ventured farther beneath the ruins. My spine tightened as I regarded the configuration of illuminated labradorite cavities. Paying attention to where I was going would bloody help.
The breeze pushing through did wonders for my calf, relieving me enough that I conducted a search, heeding landmarks to retrace my steps. Pointless. Useless. The frustration amounted to a pathetic conclusion. I was lost.
Out of nowhere, a perky finger tapped my shoulder. My lips thinned. I did not, did not, did not turn around.
Not immediately. But when I did, my gaze landed on the beast leaning casually against the wall. “Aww,” she cooed. “Need help?”
“No,” I grumbled.
“So you didn’t go astray? Fall between the cracks?” She gave my frame a once-over. “Not that you’d fit.”
“This may come as a surprise, but when you fired that rock, you missed. My brain is intact.”
“If you say so.” She crooked her middle digit, in a beckoning gesture. “Want to see what else I found?”
Bragger. Sand drifter.
I made sure to walk beside the woman instead of trailing the fluttering hemline of that goddamn chemise. We ascended to the ground level, then crossed into one of the colonnade halls off the vestibule. Up a flight of crisscrossing steps, we hiked seven levels to an uppermost point and emerged onto the ruins’ peak.
A cupola umbrellaed above the roof, the structure enmeshed in hibiscus flowers and ensconced in the treetops. Despite the surrounding canopy, this strategic location provided a three-hundred and sixty degree view, including panoramic fragments of the ocean and its numerous coves.
Like a watch tower, the cupola overlooked any incoming ships. Yet the platform remained shielded from intruders. Whoever built this monument had known how to stay hidden.
The beast had left the grotto to explore. She had located this perk.
I smothered my pride and gave her a quick nod. Her lips crooked, relishing the moment. Though, at least she didn’t rub it in.
Over the next two hours, we investigated the ruins. The dining hall consisted of vaulted ceilings, a mammoth fireplace, a chipped stone table, and twelve chairs covered in greenery that resembled coriander leaves. Numerous sleeping quarters contained twine-constructed beds and pillows speckled with mildew. One room housed a single-tiered fountain that shifted colors for no discernible reason. Yet the water was chilled and drinkable, fresher than a glacier stream, and easily accessible compared to the grotto, which must have been a communal bathing room.
The beast discovered a cellar containing textiles—vestments, pants, shirts, and dresses tailored from silk, linen, muslin, and elements such as water itself. Boots, sandals, beads, ropes, and feather sacks appeared to be in pristine condition.
Another crypt had been used as an armory. Saws, blades, arrows, pickaxes. Their archaic shapes could have been featured in a Winter museum exhibit. Many were dull, though a whetstone would resolve that.
“Enchantment,” the beast marveled, drawing her fingers over the walls, which emitted a subtle glint. “History tells us how the Summer ancients built their chambers and cellars and crypts out of a rare type of sand that hardened like stone.”
I nodded while running my thumb along the curved edge of a sickle. “That allowed them to preserve objects. I have read of such practices from historic times, though I’ve never seen the like.”
“No one living today would. Tragically, that special sand no longer exists. Over the ages, it was carried away by the wind, maybe because the wind decided it was time for other types of sand to thrive.”
Unable to resist, I engrossed myself in her flushed profile and sparkling irises. Worship did attractive things to those eyes. “You believe nature has a soul.”
“Everyone does.” The beast glanced sideways at me, her fingers lingering on the wall. “It’s not exactly a new discovery, what with Spring’s Wildflower Forest being notorious for inspiring recklessness in its visitors. Not to mention Autumn’s Lost Treehouses being the birthplace of fairytales, in all their dark and alluring ways. People saying that particular enclave chooses who it welcomes past its borders, just like The Phantom Wild. Nature has spirit and a will. Isn’t that why we keep faith in the Seasons? They’re the deities of this world.”
“Technically.”
“Technically?” She swerved my way. “What do you believe then, Prince of Science?”
“I believe the Seasons have power, but they do not have a mind,” I answered. “Neither a will, nor a conscience. They’re an omnipotent system—a complex network of laws. That said, I’m aware my theology doesn’t align with the majority.”
“What about all these tales of nature welcoming only select visitors into their realms or affecting certain people in special ways?”
“Chemical, biological, and physiological reactions,” I defended. “Nature isn’t a fucking circus act. As for the rest, just because scientific reasons haven’t been discovered yet, that hardly means they don’t exist.”
The beast grimaced as if she’d ingested a mouthful of excrement. “Yet you see born souls as so-called abominations.”
“Apart from progressive Autumn, the bulk of this continent sees them as abominations. Whereas I see them as an epidemic. Viruses. Diseases. In my estimation, nature has agency, but it’s not infallible. What almighty force would consciously create deformities on purpose?”
“Maybe the divine Seasons don’t see us as deformities. Maybe they see us as they do this rainforest, its inhabitants, and the rest of the elemental world. Maybe they see us as diverse, which is how it used to be in society.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I repeat. I don’t believe the Seasons have a will.”
Yet her speculation had not occurred to me. When one disregarded nature possessing a soul, the notion had merit. From a clinical standpoint, diversity had numerous advantages, the ability to produce medicine being one of them. However, societal diversification had not been attempted since these ancients had been alive.
The gnawing prospect refused to vacate my mind as we continued our search. We could benefit from tweezers, shears, needles, and thread. But notwithstanding the lack of surgical tools, the ruins provided other essentials.
In another chamber, decrepit columns lined one wall overlooking the wild. A hearth recessed into the opposite end must have been used for cooking, and a table fronted an adjacent facade. Small alcoves housed weathered glass jars and cracked marble pots with lids, likely for food conservation.
The conveyor hovered overhead. So this had been its destination.
Tassels of vegetation protruded from the masonry. Clusters of undergrowth sprouted between the floor cracks, flourishing without direct rays. Potential treatments. Undiscovered cures. To have a tropical climate like this one, a landscape denser than any other in this Season, the opportunities were endless.
While the beast peeked into the vessels, I knelt and swept aside a pile of dead leaves. Fungi sprouted from the surface, each cluster indistinguishable.
In one corner, the perforated leaves of a plant fanned out. I tested them with my finger, heedful of a rash. Suffering no irritation, I rubbed my thumb and forefinger over the surface, noting a chill to the touch.
The leaf’s scent emitted the crispness of mint. It reminded me of pine cress, a Winter aid for respiration.
The columns provided ventilation, and the edifice filtered out the humidity, but the open prospect rendered it vulnerable to rainfall and unwelcome fauna guests. Given the lack of nests though, this wasn’t a great concern. With a bit of sterilization, this space could function as a medical chamber.
The beast rubbed her arms. “It’s chilly.”
I rose. “It’s the stone. Parts of this fortress are protected from the climate.”
“No.” She glanced toward a spot on the floor. “I mean, yes. But the breeze is coming from there.”
Padding across the chamber, she exited the threshold. I trailed after her, rounded a hallway corner, and entered an alcove. The beast raced her palm along the wall, her fingers tracing a delineation that most could not have detected among the shadows.
After a moment, she froze. Twisting my way, she gave me a meaningful look.
Together, we gripped the crack’s edge and pushed. A large panel skated across the ground, revealing a passage with steps leading to an abyss.
Gripping my scalpel knife, I descended first. The beast followed, also grasping her dagger. More mineral rocks cast over the area. But unlike the grotto, this void reeked of something putrid. And familiar.
I halted at the landing, jerking my arm behind to stop the female. Awareness crept up my nape as I stepped into a subterranean vault. My gaze scoured the region, where troughs dug into the walls, their contents providing the answer to a pertinent question.
An intake of breath sounded beside me. The woman’s profile absorbed the scene, her irises flaring like torches, wonder clashing with sorrow. “What is this?”
My frown deepened. “A catacomb.”
Webs encrusted the tombs, where skeletal remains lay. Chalky white skulls rested amid scapulas, clavicles, breast bones, shin bones, and fishlike scales. Tapered and rounded ears, the outlines of wings, and teeth that ranged from molars to fangs.
Humans. Faeries. Satyrs. Nymphs. Merfolk.
And more. Too many to process.
These ancients had to be the ones who’d discovered this forest. Some wore jeweled circlets, others leather vests and shingled armor. Based on the designs, they must have lived during the war between cultures, when each society except humans had either faded or killed themselves off.
Presumably, these settlers had stayed out of the historic conflict by isolating themselves here. Yet as I examined their remains, I found no evidence of accidents, starvation, or household scrimmages. So what had eventually happened to them?
My companion sucked in a breath as she caressed the cheek of a corpse. “This one was a sand drifter,” she realized, admiring the frail satchel of rope tangled in the figure’s digits. “Our kin are buried with these nets.”
We turned to face one another. “The rainforest welcomed these people, yet none of them survived,” she uttered.
“No, they did not.” And from my brief inspection, I finally surmised why. “It was a virus.”
Something contagious must have infested their blood. Considering our environment, this conclusion made irrefutable sense.
The beast glanced around with sympathy. “The wild decided it was their time.”
Not how I would have put it, yet the distinction hardly mattered. This might be a rainforest castle, but its walls would only do so much to protect us. All the more reason to work together, to survive for as long necessary before getting the fuck out of here.