45
Jeryn
She lay in a pile on the ground, with the vines scattered around her like severed arteries. The sight dug a trench in my stomach. I tossed our satchels aside and plummeted next to her.
“Flare,” I said.
“Flare?” I hissed.
“Flare!” I growled.
Beaming up at me, she uttered something indecipherable, her words slurring and her teeth chattering. Her head slumped as if she’d been drugged. She passed out, the deep olive leaching from her complexion, the skin glazed in a frosted pallor. It resembled the sort of cold I hadn’t encountered in months.
Numb. Chilled.
After getting caught in the web of vines, she must have fought against them, thus exacerbating the problem. The plants had cut off her circulation, which accounted for the rawness around her wrists and ankles. And based on the mottled skin, Flare’s neck had been assaulted as well, which must have terrified her. Still, the discoloration was fading quickly and would leave no scars.
With the machete, she had clearly liberated herself from the snares. Indeed, she saved herself.
Then she had damned herself, these vines somehow causing a decrease in body temperature and a loss of consciousness. But if that were the case, I’d have experienced those symptoms in the past, back when my own wrist had been trapped.
I went to work. She needed me to be calm, brisk, precise. My little beast needed me to be right.
Clasping Flare’s face, I tipped it toward a beam of forest light. I checked her pupils as best as I could, those gilded eyes having lost their luster. Bereft of heat, fury, spirit.
Fuck. My pulse rate tripled. I checked her heartbeat, which had waned.
Flare’s hands started to bloat, a cast of pale blue creeping across them. From there, the color swiftly progressed to her lips, as if her blood had turned to ice.
No. No!
Not her. Never her!
My finger skated across her mouth. Frantically pulling away, I held my digits aloft and rubbed the pads together, a cool fluid coating my skin.
Swearing under my breath, I peered at one of the limp vines. Leakage dripped from its stub, the edge crusted as if someone had bitten into it.
Flare and her incisors. From circulation to contamination. One that mimicked hypothermia.
My hands tore through the satchels. Pointless, I remembered a second later. We hadn’t gathered anything to treat this.
I scooped Flare against my torso and wrenched her off the ground, packing her tightly into my arms. Gradual body heat was paramount, but by the time the embrace should have had an effect, the symptoms hadn’t abated. That fucking blue tinge still assaulted her flesh.
Disregarding the bags and hauling Flare from the dirt, I crushed her against my chest and vaulted into a run. Speeding her to the wellspring, I wavered for a crucial moment. I might not be thinking straight. Thermal water could shock a hypothermic body and seize the heart.
It could in Winter or any other Season. But in this rainforest? In this wellspring?
I waded into the water with Flare. Splashing liquid over her welts dissolved them, but that was all. When I submerged us, the temperature did nothing to warm her.
“Flare,” I urged.
In that name, I professed too much, admitted too many things. Like an avalanche, the words poured out.
“Don’t do this to me,” I warned, rubbing Flare’s arms to imbue her with body heat. “Don’t test me this way.” But when that didn’t suffice, I coaxed desperately, “The forest needs you, remember? Don’t abandon it. And what of the key? Who else will carry out your mission?”
Her lips parted but emitted no sound. I spoke quicker while dousing fluid over every inch of her flesh. “Flare … please,” I stressed, my throat congesting. “Don’t fucking leave me.”
That rebellious mouth hung open, depriving me of a response. Nothing in my medical chamber would solve this. When it came to venom and poison, the rainforest knew how to mask itself, and developing treatments in that regard had been elusive. Aside from that berry incident with Flare, other redresses had slipped from my grasp, lost to me.
Slipped. Lost.
My free fingers sought the hollow of my chest. Winter wore the perils of ice on its shoulders. Within certain forests, one might encounter a poison derived from a translucent nut. Eating it produced a rapid, frost-bitten state. I had devised an antidote that worked against multiple poisonous and venomous infestations, including that one. I knew the remedy’s bitter, herbal taste well. I’d administered it to myself countless times over the years, although I hadn’t needed it. Not for that reason.
I’d been taking it to calm myself, to ward off the contrived portents of madness. Until arriving here, I’d been wearing that restorative around my neck.
The vial and its contents, sunken at the bottom of a whirlpool. Engulfed in what might be a sandy floor.
Seething, I launched from the wellspring with Flare clutched in my arms. On the way back down the path, I swiped her sand net from the discarded satchel. Thankfully, she often insisted on traveling with that net.
Drenched and out of my fucking mind with fear, I cut my way out of the jungle and shot through the rainforest. Yet within seconds, my limbs hesitated on the safest direction. I knew how such ailments affected their victims. Charging to the ruins where she’d be protected required a longer trip, which would deplete Flare of critical time.
The echo of rushing water reached my ears. My gaze cut south toward a clearing where waterfalls poured over rocky projections and converged in a pond. As opaque steam clouds launched from the surface, I remembered this place. We’d been here before, when Flare slayed me by dancing in a small funnel of sand.
Two options broke me in half. To squander precious minutes racing to the ruins. Or to preserve those minutes and trust this realm, as Flare would say.
With haste, I lay her gently on the bank. I moved quickly, peeling off the sodden clothes and grimacing because I lacked a blanket in which to bundle her.
I could not leave my beast here alone. But if I didn’t, she would not survive.
A purr rumbled from behind. Knife in hand, I whipped toward the disturbance. The jaguar from Flare’s pack approached, its marbled fur saturated in red and black. I stiffened, ready to block Flare from the creature but halted at the tender noises coming from its throat. Something protective kindled in the feline’s eyes as she came nearer, her expression cautious on me.
I stared, calculated, assessed. The animal wanted to help.
Carefully, I watched. Prepared to attack, I observed as the sabertooth padded over to Flare, slumped to the bank, and curled beside her limp form, the fur certain to keep her comfortable.
So be it. Cupping Flare’s frigid cheek, I leaned down and whispered against her mouth, “Wait for me, sweet beast.”
Tearing to my feet, I snatched her sand net and raced from the waterfalls. From the ruin caves, the route to the whirlpool would be direct, but it would also be longer. If I could squeeze or climb my way past the boulders separating this side of the island from where we’d originally set up camp, I would reach my destination faster.
I broke through the forest and catapulted onto the southwest cove. Waves smashed into the cluster of rocks, breaking apart with a shout, spraying my face and torso. In this setting, navigating the crags would be destructive. But at high tide, swimming around it was out of the question.
Affixing the sand net’s handle to my belt, I contemplated the slick, uneven surfaces that could shred me to ribbons. My size. My unshod feet. The fact that I couldn’t see a fucking thing, forcing me to feel my way through.
Madness. Foolishness.
Flare. Cold. Dying.
In seconds, I reached the boulders. My palm skimmed the partition for an opening, only to locate a channel too narrow for a damn eel to slip through. I would gut myself open on the jagged facade or get consumed by the tide.
Flare.
I dropped to the ground and crawled into the artery. Let this ocean try and rip me apart.
My limbs raked through drenched clumps of sand, the ocean plowed into my frame, and saltwater doused my eyes. Gritting my teeth, I whisked my face sideways, avoiding another onslaught. I dragged myself to the right, then left as the enclosure swallowed me, its razor-sharp walls chafing on all sides. A wave shoved itself down my ear canal and flooded my throat until I vomited, and something carved into my lower back.
The conduit expanded. Finally, I sucked in a mouthful of air and spilled onto the southeast shore. Blood from a wound I couldn’t see painted the sand red.
Staggering upright, I shot back into the forest, offshoots scraping me raw like the edges of a thousand swords. It would have been unfeasible to forget this place, even if I hadn’t chronicled the terrain with Flare. The pool swirled near the rainforest border, abreast of the cove.
I heard the eddying water before I found it. Pausing at the maw of the abyss, I felt the surface towing me into the memory.
The seething tug of the water. The absence of breath. The vial, stolen from me.
Was there a bottom? Unknown.
Might the vial be down there? Hopefully.
Could Winter innovation have produced such a durable piece? Potentially.
I’d told Flare about the pendant’s contents. She knew it had been lost, but I hadn’t mentioned the source. She might have assumed it happened during the shipwreck. A fortunate thing, for if I’d told her after we became friends, the reckless female would have plunged into the depths and attempted to retrieve the necklace. In her efforts, she might have gotten sucked under.
In all this time, I hadn’t endeavored to recover the vial. Afraid to try. Afraid to fail. Afraid to succeed. To rely on that liquid again.
That wasn’t all. I glared at the vortex, my nostrils flaring with shallow exhales, panic crawling under my skin. Siren sharks could make a home down there.
Flare’s eyes. Flare’s smile.
I fisted the net, filled my lungs with oxygen, and dove in. The whirlpool clamped on, yanking me down its throat, the water circuiting and swallowing me whole.
Rotating, I opened my eyes. Phosphorescent light from above illuminated the void. Pumping my arms increased the pool’s hold, plunging me into its bowels.
I remembered this. As I thrashed and encouraged the water, its grip drew on my weight, wheeling me in.
My ribcage ached. My limbs smarted.
More. Then farther.
At this subterranean level, I could no longer see a fucking thing. Reaching out, I grappled for a foundation. At length, my fingers shaved the liquid and hit sand. I leveled my palms and felt around, letting the whirlpool tow me along the floor. Its speed helped to scout the area quickly.
Yet nothing. Everywhere, nothing.
The sand net, then. Which I had no idea how the fuck to use.
Withdrawing the handle from my belt, I took an educated guess and thrust the bristling apparatus against the ground, sweeping in a side-to-side motion. The longer I combed the bottom, the deeper the net burrowed. But each time it snatched something, the entity turned out to be a stone or reed stalk.
Careening back and forth, I kicked to ensure the pool kept me down. My chest burned, and my throat compressed. The water was choking me, the passing seconds tenderizing my flesh for the inevitable shark attack.
The net jerked and tightened like a fist, hooking itself to an object. I felt around the mesh with my free hand, my fingers making contact with a piece of glass, its fang shape affixed to a chain.
Yanking up the net, I caught the item. All the while, her words cycled in my mind.
All you needed to do was let go and stop moving … when you stopped, the water let you go.
Seizing the vessel, I let my body slump and felt the whirlpool’s hold loosen.
Overhead, swirls of black, blue, and green rippled from beyond the surface.
Yet I would freeze this world to see gold.