Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
Having returned to Kaldarak only a few days ago, Rekosh had not intended to leave again so soon. Yet he was unsurprised by the eagerness that lightened his stride and carried him onward as Garahk led their group into the Tangle.
Because he strode alongside Ahmya.
He could feel her joy as clearly as he felt the breeze or the warm sunshine against his hide. Perhaps he should have chided her for looking upon the jungle with wonder rather than wariness, for not being appropriately solemn and alert, but how could he have done so?
The whole group was in a bright mood. The birth of Akalahn was the talk of Kaldarak, and the thornskulls were determined to celebrate with the fullness of their hearts, just as they had when Nalaki and Garahk’s first brood hatched more than a moon cycle ago. The hunters were invigorated and excited, chatting freely and jesting often. Rekosh was given no shortage of words to translate between the human females and the vrix.
When he wasn’t translating, he remained vigilant, studying their surroundings not only to watch for danger, but to learn the path—especially after they journeyed beyond familiar ground.
Once again, Rekosh was trekking into the unknown.
But his attention always found its way back to Ahmya. Often there was good reason for it—the rocky, uneven ground in this part of the jungle presented many obstacles to the humans, and Rekosh never hesitated to offer aid.
Any reason to touch Ahmya was too precious to ignore. The feel of her hand in his, of her soft, warm flesh against his rough hide, of her heartbeat fluttering beneath his fingertips on her wrist; it was all maddening, all blissful. And the way her cheeks pinkened almost every time he touched her only made him ache with longing and adoration.
Rekosh adjusted the strap of his bag. The movement of the yatin hide against his back was far more significant than it should’ve been.
He wasn’t sure why he’d packed the silk dress and its matching foot coverings. It had been a compulsion as he’d rushed into his den to gather his belongings, an instinct that had driven him to wrap the gifts in a secure bundle of cloth and leather and tuck them away in his bag. He’d done so knowing full well the nature of this journey.
They were out here to hunt and forage for food for Kaldarak. When did he expect to have time to give the gifts to Ahmya? When did he expect to have the privacy to do so?
Rekosh didn’t care who witnessed his declaration to her. He would’ve made it before every eye in Takarahl and Kaldarak alike; this group of rugged thornskull hunters would not deter him. He had no shame for his feelings for Ahmya.
But he didn’t want onlookers.
No, when he presented his gifts and spoke the words that had for so long thrummed along his heartsthread, it would be for Ahmya alone. He would not have her distracted by anyone or anything else .
Only he would see her don his gift.
And then he would claim her.
His stem stirred at the very thought, and he clenched his jaw, swallowing a growl. He willed his claspers tighter against his pelvis to ensure his slit didn’t bulge.
He’d never hungered for anything like he hungered for her. How would her body fit with his? How tight would her slit be around his stem, how deeply would her blunt claws rake his hide? What sounds would she make, what ways would she move?
Was her hunger as desperate and insatiable as his own?
He yearned to see fire in her eyes as their bodies moved in unison. Yearned to feel the blaze that threatened to consume him whenever he looked upon her echoed in her heart, in her core, radiating through her skin.
He yearned to taste her.
Rekosh’s eyes moved to her now, and he watched as she and Lacey steadied each other to climb to the top of a small but steep incline.
Hints of muscle moved beneath the skin of Ahmya’s bare legs, a subtle glimpse of her surprising strength and endurance. She was thinner than the other humans— petite was the word he’d heard them use—but he found limitless appeal in her form.
Of course, there remained the problem of her being dressed in another vrix’s inferior silk. His lower hands twitched back toward his bag as a primal urge flared inside him, pushing him to tear that fabric off her here and now so he could replace it with his own.
“We are to watch, weaver,” said one of the nearby thornskulls, a green-hided hunter named Okkor.
Rekosh clicked his mandibles. “I am watching.”
Okkor chittered. “Watch for danger, not for hyu-nanz .”
Rekosh waved him off with a huff and continued onward, making more of an effort to keep his eyes moving, to remain alert.
The sun crept steadily higher, and the air warmed, though the occasional breezes that swept through the jungle bore the slightest chill. Thick clouds drifted across the blue patches of sky overhead. The Tangle was fragrant and alive, and Ahmya was here.
The unexpected journey, the thornskulls all around, the unfamiliar land…none of it mattered because he was with her.
At midday, they reached a lush, relatively level area full of all manner of plants, where Garahk called a halt.
“The Rootsinger has left her blessing here,” Garahk said. “When the river swells, it makes this ground rich. All things grow fast. All things grow large and full of taste. It is true under sun and sky.”
When Rekosh translated for the humans, they said there had been places like that on their world, where their people had taken advantage of the furtle dirt to grow many plants to eat. Vrix in both Kaldarak and Takarahl did grow some of their food, but they still relied upon foraging and hunting in the bountiful jungle.
Given the humans’ efforts in Kaldarak thus far, Rekosh imagined that growing plants for food and other purposes would become far more commonplace in the moon cycles to come.
Garahk pressed his upper hands together and then spread them. “We will part. One vekir to stay and gather plants, one vekir to hunt. Our shar’thai will burn bright, and we will feast well in honor of the new broodling.”
The thornskulls thumped the blunt ends of their spears on the ground in response, creating a brief, rhythmic noise, before splitting into two groups. Eight of them joined Garahk, while the remaining four joined Rekosh and the humans.
“Here will be our wild den, weaver,” Garahk said to Rekosh. “ If our vekir does not return by next suncrest, go to Kaldarak. We will follow when we carry meat enough for all.”
Bowing his head, Rekosh tapped a knuckle to his headcrest. “I will watch over ours, Garahk.”
“You give many words, Rekosh. Yet the best are when you give words like a thornskull.”
Rekosh chittered. “It is true under sun and sky.”
The white thornskull trilled, extended a foreleg, and bumped it against Rekosh’s. “You must join the hunt another day. I would witness your shar’thai by my own eyes, weaver.”
“Another day, Garahk. I weave my words into a bond.”
Chittering, Garahk turned and strode away. The others in his group followed. Soon, they were all out of sight, though their cheerful voices carried back to Rekosh for a bit longer.
“They will find nothing while their voices are so big,” said Okkor, who was amongst the remaining thornskulls.
“Big voice, big shar’thai . Is it not so?” Rekosh asked.
A thoughtful hum rumbled from Okkor. “When giving war, yes.”
“But for a hunt it is big voice, empty belly,” added a yellow thornskull called Elharat.
“Ah, that is why the weaver does not hunt this day,” said another thornskull. “His voice is too big.”
Rekosh chittered along with the other vrix. “Not too big. Too tireless. Words fall out like rain from the sky, making a flood.”
“A flood that will make ours pray for dry season to come early.” Okkor sketched the sign of the Eight with his arms.
Mandibles lifting into a grin, Rekosh replied, “Perhaps I will make my voice big then, so the Eight cannot hear you.”
Okkor thumped a foreleg against Rekosh’s with a chitter. The thornskull’s scent—stone and wood with the merest hint of the mire—was at once familiar and foreign. He and the other thornskulls set down the baskets and bags they’d brought and quickly set up a camp.
Lacey stepped up beside Rekosh. “This the spot?”
Rekosh nodded, but whatever words he might have offered vanished from his mind when Ahmya appeared on his other side.
She was so close that her presence alone made his hide tingle with warmth and his fine hairs rise. Whenever they were so near to each other, Rekosh faced a desperate struggle to keep himself from reaching for her, and now was no different. His bag seemed to tug down on his shoulder, its contents feeling eightfold heavier than before.
“Did Garahk say we were staying here tonight?” Ahmya asked as she and Lacey each collected a basket.
Rekosh’s chest swelled. “You understand vrix words better each day, vi’keishi.”
She smiled at him. “You’re learning English pretty fast yourself.”
He trilled and sank into a bow, touching his knuckle to his headcrest. “I learn for you, Ahmya.”
“Rekosh…” She ducked her head, making her hair fall to partially shield her face, and clutched the basket in front of her. “You don’t have to do anything for me.”
“It is a need”—he extended a hand, hooked her dangling hair with a finger, and gently tucked the strands behind her ear—“and a want.”
Ahmya’s dark gaze met his. As he straightened, he trailed his finger along her jaw to her chin, tipping her face up to keep their eyes locked. “No hiding. Not from me. Never from me.”
Pink blossomed on her cheeks, but she did not look away. Instead, she licked her lips with her little tongue and curled her fingers around his wrist. Her skin was warm, and her hand trembled. “I don’t want to.”
She said those words so softly, so quietly, that Rekosh wondered if he’d imagined them. His hearts quickened, thumping louder than her voice had been.
Lacey coughed loudly. “Should I, uh, leave you two alone, or should we…”
Ahmya sucked in a sharp breath, and her eyes flared wide. She jerked away from Rekosh and hurried toward the other human. “No. No, sorry. Lots of work to do, right?”
Rekosh’s hand lingered in the air. More of that prickly warmth pulsed beneath his hide. His claspers pressed in around his slit as he battled the instinct to take hold of her, to prevent her escape.
To bind her.
He glared at Lacey as he loosely closed his fist and lowered his arm. “Yes. Much work.”
Lacey offered him a crooked smile, mirth dancing in her eyes. “Oh, did I interrupt? I’m so sorry!”
“You’re impossible,” Ahmya muttered as she shifted her hold on her basket and turned away, walking deeper into the jungle.
With a huff, Rekosh waved Lacey away. “Telok should have come.”
Expression blank, she lifted her hand, bending down all her fingers but the middle one. Then she followed Ahmya.
“Do you require aid, weaver?” Okkor called, catching Rekosh’s attention. The thornskulls, having established their small, simple camp, had already begun spreading out to forage.
“Help giving words, it seems,” said Elharat.
Rekosh clicked his fangs. “I have many, many words to give. Who would like to hear?”
Chittering, the thornskulls strode into the jungle, quickly vanishing amidst the foliage.
If only it had been that easy to get Lacey to run off.
Why was everything and everyone determined to prevent him from making his claim? Fate had brought him to Ahmya, and he would not allow fate to alter course now .
Growling, he snatched up a spare basket and hurried after the humans.
He caught up to them swiftly, and he was pleased to see Ahmya treading carefully, her head turning from side to side as she searched her surroundings.
Unlike you, you fool.
And yet he could not look away from her. He was fascinated by the sway of her hair as she walked, by those dark strands sweeping across the bare, tantalizing skin of her back. His fingers flexed with the desire, with the need, to touch her.
“You know what I’m thankful for?” Lacey asked.
Ahmya grazed her fingertip over a large, broad leaf, making dewdrops trickle down its smooth surface. “What?”
“That there seem to be no tiks .” Lacey turned and walked backward, sweeping her arms outward, dangling her basket from her forearm. “All this time we’ve spent in the jungle, and not a single tik delving its beady little head into my skin.”
Ahmya shuddered. “Ugh. I can be thankful for that. They were bad in kali fornyuh . I remember hiking in the woods as a teenayjur and coming home with three of them on my legs. I don’t remember ever screaming so loud in my life. My dad burst into my room with a gun thinking there was an introodur only to find me freaking out in my underwear.”
“Oh God. I bet that was embarrassing.”
“I didn’t even care. But my dad could barely look at me. All I could think about was that I had bugs in my skin, and he just awkwardly covered his eyes before leaving and closing the door behind him.”
Lacey laughed and faced forward.
“It’s not funny!”
“It’s not. Sorry. Well, maybe it is a little.”
Ahmya glared at Lacey. “I found no humor in it. I still don’t. I had bugs in my skin, Lacey. Bugs .”
Rekosh’s eyes widened, his mandibles flared, and his attention dragged once more over her skin—that thin, delicate skin, easily broken, easily damaged. The last thing he’d seen break her skin had been the firevine…and it could’ve been deadly.
Chuckling, Lacey stopped next to a tree, crouched, and started collecting the goldcrest mushrooms growing near its base. “I agree, it’s gross. I guess growing up in mayn and spending most of my time outdoors I was pretty used to tiks . Checking for them was routine.”
“These tiks … They do harm to you?” Rekosh asked. “They must, to go into your skin.”
Ahmya kicked at some foliage as she looked at the ground. “They carry dizeezes that can make people really sick, but we’ve developed medicines to cure them.”
At first glance, what vrix would have believed that these small, odd looking creatures called humans were capable of so much? Far beyond their strength of will and capacity for learning, humans demonstrated astounding cleverness and innovation.
Their descriptions of their home world, Earth, were beyond Rekosh’s imagination. They’d dwelt in structures taller than any tree in the Tangle, made entirely of metal and glass. They had traveled in things they called karz , playnz , and ships, which carried them all around their world and into the stars beyond.
Rekosh had seen enough of these human creations with his own eight eyes to believe even the wildest stories. He’d walked in their ship, had seen the pods that had kept them asleep but alive for one hundred and sixty-eight years. He’d witnessed their tools—a device that could instantly seal wounds, metal knives sharper than any blackrock blade, lights that shone without a flame. He himself had used human fire starters to ignite campfires with startling ease. And he’d watched Ivy use a gun, which had hurled fire into Zurvashi’s face.
The lives they’d described leaving behind surpassed Rekosh’s comprehension in many ways. But for all their advancements, for all their tools, these humans were here now. Without the human trappings, they were little different from the vrix—small creatures in a large world doing their best to survive.
He did not understand the lives the humans had led before, but he understood the humans. Their pain and sorrow, their contentment and joy. He understood that they had needs and wants, that they loved and hated, that they carried everything within their hearts. And that their will to push onward was just as strong and fierce as that of any vrix.
And he admired them for all of it. Admired all of them…but it was more with Ahmya. Much, much more. For even amongst these humans, she was different. She was special.
It was in the way she carried herself, in the way she spoke, in how quiet and unintrusive she so often behaved. In the way she observed through sharp eyes what others often missed. It was in her size, and in the way she didn’t let it hold her back.
He recognized something in her that he’d experienced himself—a silent strength forged by being dismissed, by being underestimated, by being ignored. By being seen as the smallest and the weakest.
Her heart and spirit were so much larger than her body belied. While she often seemed to prefer not being seen by the others, Rekosh saw her. And he needed to make her his so he could remind her every day that she was strong, she was fierce, she was worthy. She was…loved.
The three of them continued their search, talking as they gathered what herbs, fruit, mushrooms, and roots they came across. Occasionally, the thornskulls called out from nearby, ensuring that the groups did not stray too far from each other.
Rekosh kept watch and helped when the females found things they could not reach. Each time Ahmya requested such aid, he had the urge to put his hands on her flaring hips and lift her off the ground so she could gather the jungle’s bounty with her own hands. He didn’t succumb to those urges; he would not have Lacey ruin such moments.
The Tangle was hot, but the day remained pleasant despite the increasing dampness in the air. His fine hairs sensed coming rain on the breeze. When Ahmya took a moment to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her brow, Rekosh watched her, head tilted and mandibles twitching.
He’d been at her side through many of the hardships she’d faced since she’d awoken on the crashed ship. He’d seen her struggle and stumble, had seen her fall, had seen her shoulders sag and her lips turn down. He’d seen the sheen of tears in her eyes. But he’d never seen her give up, had never heard her complain.
When she stumbled, she righted herself. When she fell, she picked herself up. When the weight of despair crushed down on her, she clenched her jaw, drew in a deep breath, and lifted her head. If there was another step to be taken, Ahmya took it without fail.
The thornskulls spoke of shar’thai , the fiery spirit at the heart of every warrior. If shar’thai was real, Ahmya’s was blindingly bright.
The other vrix might not have seen it, but Rekosh did.
Ahmya set her near-full basket on the ground, straightened, and reached back to gather her hair in her hands. Parting the strands into sections, she started weaving them into a braid.
Rekosh glanced toward Lacey, who was currently occupied with digging up some whiteroot from the jungle floor. A low trill sounded in his chest as he set down his basket.
He strode up behind Ahmya, steps silent, and gently covered her hands with his. “I will help, vi’keishi .”
Ahmya started and turned her face slightly toward him to meet his gaze. Her lips curled into a smile as she slipped her hands out from beneath his, relinquishing her hair. “I’m sure your braid will hold up better than mine. ”
Lifting his mandibles, Rekosh chittered softly. He stood his spear in the ground beside himself. “Yes. You make good braids, I make the best.”
Ahmya laughed and faced forward. “You do. Thank you, Rekosh.”
“It is small thing.” He slipped his claws into her hair and combed them through the strands. Her hair was soft and silken against his fingers, but it was thick and strong despite its seeming delicacy.
Just like Ahmya herself.
Though he knew they were out in the middle of the jungle, he went slowly, carefully combing out any snags and tangles, smoothing her locks, grazing her scalp with the tips of his claws. She tilted her head back toward him with a pleased sigh and a small, contented smile upon her lips, closing her eyes.
Heat stirred behind Rekosh’s slit. He knew of kissing because of the humans—because of Ivy and Ketahn. Their lips were pliable, seemingly even softer than the rest of their skin, and he longed to feel hers against his hide. Longed to feel her kiss.
Longed to kiss her.