Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
For the second time that day, Rekosh’s gut lurched, and he fell, now amidst a torrent of water rather than dirt and stone.
Foolish as it was, he couldn’t help wondering if this was how flying felt. Was this the sensation Ahmya and the other humans experienced during their journey across the stars?
His back struck the water, which felt much more like solid ground than liquid, and his left foreleg slammed into something hard and unyielding. The bursts of pain jolted him, body and mind. All went black and silent, as though a spinewood fire had been snuffed out in one of Takarahl’s deepest, darkest caverns. Despite all that pain, he felt…nothing. He was nothing.
No. Not nothing. Need to protect her…
My mate.
Sound and feeling rushed back. His chest burned from a lack of air, and the pressure within it was overwhelming. Churning water had closed in around him, the waterfall was forcing him down, down, down, and his arms…were empty.
His arms were empty .
No!
Fighting to right himself, he sought the silk tether. Everything was dark, tumultuous, murky, so much so that he could not see. But his grasping fingers found that line, and he pulled. It went taut. He tugged harder.
Rekosh found Ahmya on the other end, and he drew her into his arms.
But something wasn’t right. Why did she not grasp him? Why was she so still, so limp?
Every oath he knew in vrix rattled through his head, accompanied by every human curse he’d been taught. He held Ahmya against his chest, ignoring the fire in his lungs and the pain radiating from every part of his body, and swam toward what he hoped was the surface.
Each beat of his hearts was harder and louder than the last, until they were all he could hear. More thoughts must’ve been raging through his mind, powerful emotions must’ve been thrumming in his chest, but he perceived none of them. He was aware only of Ahmya’s unmoving form and the impossible expanse of water separating him from the air they both desperately needed.
He broke the surface with a ragged inhalation that felt like a thousand bone needles stabbing his throat and chest from within. Raising Ahmya’s head above the waterline, he pushed toward the shore.
The instant his legs touched the bottom, he ran.
His left foreleg buckled when he put weight on it, breaking his stride. Agony pulsed along the limb, emanating from his bones. Rekosh growled, lifted the leg higher, and hobbled onward, water sloshing around him. Every step met a little less resistance from the increasingly shallow water.
Ahmya’s head lolled on the crook of his elbow, and her dangling limbs bumped his hide as he moved.
Hungry mud grasped at his legs when he finally neared land. Rain fell relentlessly, creating countless ripples on the water’s surface that were swept away by his passage .
As soon as he was out of the river, his legs folded, dropping him onto their joints in the mud. The pain in his left foreleg drew a breathless snarl from him, but it was quickly forgotten. He cradled Ahmya in his lower arms as he smoothed her wet hair out of her face.
Her skin had lost its color, and the usual pink tinge of her lips had been replaced by faint blue. When he cupped her cheek in his palm, it was cold, and she did not react to his touch.
“Ahmya,” he rasped. “You must wake.”
She did not open her eyes.
With the pad of his thumb, he eased her eyelid open. Her brown eye was dull, unfocused, nearly…lifeless. Lowering his head and battling back an onslaught of chilling thoughts, he took hold of her jaw and angled her face toward his.
No breath escaped her lips, no air flowed from her nose.
His fine hairs stood, and tension rippled across his hide. Shivers coursed through him that had nothing to do with the cold. Everything was unraveling—Rekosh, the world, the whole universe beyond. Every fiber of his mind and spirit fought to hold it all together. Fought to tie off those threads.
He slid his hand down her neck and settled it over her chest.
Please. Please…
Her heart beat under his palm, a faint, weak thump-thump that echoed through him like a peal of thunder.
“Ahmya, please.” He patted her cheek. “Please, vi’keishi .”
Nothing.
Heat and cold raced through Rekosh in waves, shredding him from within with scorching, stinging thorns and frigid lashing tendrils that spared no part of him.
No, she will not—cannot ? —
All the anger and fear he’d felt during the kuzahks’ attack returned eightfold. It was strong enough to rival the fury of the storm, intense enough to challenge the river’s rage. But it had not been enough to protect her .
Rekosh lowered her legs onto the ground, braced a hand on the back of her neck, and shook her. His words came out in a jumble of English and vrix. “Ahmya, do not leave me. Wake! Breathe!”
But she would not move, would not rouse, would not breathe.
Again he peeled open one of her eyes. She did not look at him; she didn’t look at anything.
“That fire in your heart must burn. Burn for me, Ahmya. You are mine, and I will not let you go.”
Rekosh halted himself before he shook her again, and his limbs trembled with the exertion of that restraint. Any more force would only do her further harm.
He had woven too many death shrouds in his time. He would not weave another this day. Could not. Not for her.
He curled over her, shielding her from the rain, and drew her chest against his. Body shuddering, he whispered her name again. Whispered it with sorrow and guilt, with fury and longing, with desperation and need.
“Broodmother,” he whispered, “Rootsinger, Protector…whichever of you may listen. Do not take her from me. I will not allow it. You cannot have her. She is mine and mine alone.”
All existence pressed in around him. The raindrops, the air, the clouds, the moisture on his hide, the entire Tangle. The pain wracking him, dull but insistent, added to the weight. And his spirit was collapsing on itself as he did all he could to deny the possibility that… That she…
Ahmya coughed. It was a small sound, insignificant against the roaring of the waterfall and the storm, but it stilled and silenced everything within Rekosh. She jerked, and that cough built into a hoarse, wet hacking from the depths of her chest. Her entire body spasmed, and her fingers raked his hide. She twisted in his grasp, bent over his arm, and vomited water onto the muddy ground .
He gathered her hair and pulled it out of her face as she clutched at him and coughed up more water. She was shaking as fiercely as a lone leaf clinging to a branch through a raging storm, drawing in one ragged, rasping breath after another between wet coughs.
But she was moving. She was alive.
Despite everything they’d just endured, everything they’d just suffered, a tiny, relieved spark of warmth ignited in his chest. A flicker of happiness.
Even if everything else was shit, as the humans might’ve said, Rekosh and Ahmya were alive .
Rekosh gently rubbed her back. His voice was barely steady when he said, “Breathe, Ahmya. Take many breaths. I am here.”
A sob burst from her. It was followed by another and another, broken by more wretched coughs. Helpless, Rekosh crooned softly and held her, continuing to run his hand up and down her back. The small bumps of her spine reminded him just how fragile his little human mate was.
Reminded him that he’d nearly lost her.
Again.
Rain continued falling upon them, mingling with Ahmya’s tears. Would that he could’ve cried with her. Would that he could’ve produced even a single tear to fall alongside hers. Closing his eyes, he lowered his head and nuzzled the back of her neck.
She shook with her sobs, with the cold, with the strain of the ordeal she’d just survived. As much as Rekosh hated those tremors coursing through her, they were far better than the feel of her unmoving, lifeless body in his arms.
A soft, trembling touch upon the side of his face coaxed his eyes open.
“I’m…okay,” Ahmya said quietly. “I’m okay.”
He trilled and drew in a deep breath. Her scent was diminished by the rain, but it was still there, still sweet, still comforting, still Ahmya.
“You are not hurt?” he asked.
She laughed. The sound eased his hearts, even though it was interrupted by another bout of coughing.
“I hurt. A lot.” She leaned her head against his jaw and cupped his face with her palm. Her words and breathing were short and shallow. “My chest feels like it’s on fire and I feel so weak, but…but we’re alive.”
Rekosh glared out at the jungle, where leaves and branches whipped violently in the wind, where danger lurked in every shadow, where every moment presented new threats to everything he cared about.
The world around them lit up with a flash of lightning, which was followed swiftly by booming thunder.
“As we will remain.” He pushed himself up. His left foreleg throbbed even without bearing any of his weight, and he could not count the other wounds now adding their aches to the agonizing maelstrom encompassing him.
But he could not rest, could not stop.
Not until they were safe.
Rekosh helped Ahmya stand. “We must find shelter.”
Keeping hold of one of his hands, she slitted her eyes against the rain and nodded. “I guess we’re lost?”
“No.” He guided Ahmya closer, hooked his arms behind her, and lifted her off her feet, cradling her against him. “We know we are here. Just…not where here is.”
“Which is another way of saying we’re lost.” Ahmya wrapped her arms around his neck, letting out another cough.
Rekosh’s mandibles drooped, and a fresh shudder rippled across his hide. Though it didn’t sound nearly as bad as it had before, her cough was unsettling, and she was still trembling. He needed to get her out of the rain. Needed to get her dry and warm .
“Yes. Lost, but alive.” He lifted his mandibles in a smile. “We will find home, Ahmya.”
Lightning arced across the sky again. Rekosh set into motion as rumbling thunder vibrated the ground beneath him.
He strode as swiftly as his stilted gait allowed, keeping his eyes in constant motion to watch for danger and scout out a shelter. The river lay behind him. To one side, rocky cliffs stretched onward; to the other side and ahead, the jungle loomed, as dense and dark as ever.
“Rekosh?”
“Yes?” He shifted his gaze to Ahmya.
Her features were strained with concern as she stared down. “What’s wrong with your leg?”
He grunted, shifting his foreleg a little more to the side. “Small hurt. It will heal soon.”
“But you can’t walk on it!”
Rekosh chittered. “Urkot is good with three arms. I will walk with five legs. Still more than you, vi’keishi .”
The concern remained in her eyes. “You can put me down. I can walk. I don’t want you hurting.”
“The hurt is small if I carry you, small if I do not.” Rekosh cupped his hand over the back of her head and drew her closer, shielding her from the rain. “So I will carry kir’ani vi’keishi .”
He continued onward, keeping close to the cliffside. They would have to find a way back up eventually to return to Kaldarak, but in this weather, the climb wouldn’t have been safe for even the most capable vrix.
And Rekosh wasn’t exactly in peak condition at the moment.
The silk strand still connecting him to Ahmya brushed against his hide as he moved. Its purpose had been served, but he could not bring himself to remove it yet. It was part of his physical connection to her, a tether that bound their bodies, that offered him some comfort, some security. Yet it was nothing compared to the other connection he felt with her.
His heartsthread had been interwoven with hers, bound tighter than he could ever have imagined possible. It was stronger than any thread, than any rope, than any wood, stone, or metal, and he would protect it—would protect her—with all his being.
But that dedication could not fend off the agony of his wounds. Each step came with fresh pain, and his limbs became stiffer, his aches deeper. An unfathomable weariness crept into his spirit, growing and growing. It was Ahmya who kept him going, Ahmya who kept him strong, who stoked the flame in his core.
The sky had darkened when he finally spotted a place to rest. His legs nearly gave out in relief. The rocky overhang wasn’t ideal, but it would at least provide shelter from the wind and rain.
Rekosh hunched down under the stone ceiling. Cutting away the silk tether, he set Ahmya on her feet in the shelter, keeping his hands upon her until she gained her balance.
He could not help but find himself again bewildered by the human form. That they stood and walked on two legs remained so strange to him. So unlikely. Yet despite their seeming limitations, they were surprisingly agile. And in Ahmya’s case, quite…graceful.
Ahmya took a wobbly step back.
Well, not graceful now …but neither was Rekosh currently.
She wrapped her arms around herself and looked around. Even in this gloom, her skin was far too pale, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. Her lips retained a blue tint that he did not like.
“At least it’s dry, right?” she asked with a small smile. When she turned her face back to Rekosh, her smile disappeared, and her eyes widened. “Oh Rekosh... ”
Brow creasing, Ahmya closed the distance between them and brushed her fingers beneath the bite wounds on his arm. Tears gathered in her eyes.
Gently, Rekosh covered her cheek with his hand and wiped away an escaped tear with his thumb. “No crying. We must keep it dry in here, Ahmya.”
She shook her head. “Even now you’re trying to make me feel better when you’re so wounded. Look at all of them. There are just so…so many.”
“You will not like if I look more like Telok?”
“I don’t care what you look like, Rekosh, only that you are hurt .”
“Ah, vi’keishi .” He bent lower, resting his headcrest against her forehead, and closed his eyes. The pain receded. There was only her, her scent and warmth, her concern for him. In vrix, he said, “I would gladly suffer eightfold the wounds to shield you from the slightest harm.”
Ahmya cradled his jaw with her hand just beneath his mandibles and pressed her head more firmly against his. She sniffled. “I didn’t entirely understand what you said, but…but I like it when you call me vi’keishi .”
He trilled and rubbed his uninjured foreleg against her calf, just above her boot. Her skin was soft and smooth, but it still bore a chill, and her trembling had not yet subsided. The slight rasp in her breathing offered him no ease.
She pulled away from him far too soon, and her watery eyes met his. “We should get your wounds taken care of. I lost my bag in the river. Do you have anything in yours? Or…” Her lips curled into a smile. “We could use your butt silk?”
Rekosh huffed. “Why butt silk ? It is just silk.”
Ahmya chuckled, but it swiftly turned into a cough that she stifled with her arm.
Rekosh’s mandibles fell. Not all wounds were apparent on the surface, and she was clearly still suffering the effects of nearly drowning. “You must rest, Ahmya.”
“I’ll be okay,” she said once the coughing subsided. “I’m okay. But you’re still bleeding. Let me help you for once.”
“For once? You always help, Ahmya.” Rekosh lifted off his bag, then his sash, both of which were still dripping, and set them against the wall. The gift had been wrapped in both cloth and leather; it would be fine.
It had to be fine.
Mindful of his injured leg, he lowered himself to the floor of their shelter. With the immediate danger past, his wounds screamed, each one declaring itself the direst. Yet the most persistent pain, the deepest, was the throbbing ache in his left foreleg, which had taken on a sharpness that made it impossible to ignore.
He reached back to gather sticky silk from his spinnerets, letting out a low hiss at the discomfort caused by his movements.
Ahmya withdrew the metal knife from his sash, grasped the hem of her skirt, and cut the fabric, tearing two strips from it. Rekosh delighted in the damage done to silk spun by another vrix, but that pleasure died when he realized she had nothing else to wear.
Not that the short skirt would’ve kept her very warm, especially with it being soaked through.
Setting the knife on a large, flat rock, she stepped between his legs and leaned close, using the wet cloth to wipe away the blood from the puncture wounds on his arm. Her ministrations were tender, careful, as though she feared hurting him further. Warmth bloomed in Rekosh’s chest.
His mate was tending to him.
It mattered not that he hadn’t declared himself, that he hadn’t yet claimed her. She was simply his.
Ahmya held her hand out to him, palm up .
He handed her a wad of his silk. She applied it to the deep bite marks, smoothing out the edges and making sure the sticky substance was firmly in place.
Her bottom lip quivered, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Rekosh’s chest tightened. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and moved on to the next wounds, taking great care in cleaning them. Her hands trembled, her body shivered, and her breath shook, but she worked diligently, seeing to every injury she could find.
Rekosh handed her more silk as she required, but with each passing moment, his shame grew.
As much as he craved her touch and attention, he could not bear for her to continue like this. Ahmya was cold and exhausted, pushing her body beyond its limits. She needed rest and warmth.
The only thing he needed was for her to be all right.
Rekosh curled his fingers around her wrist. She looked at him. There was such sorrow in her eyes, but he much rather would’ve seen sorrow in them than the nothingness they’d held as she had lain limp in his arms.
He plucked the cloth from Ahmya’s hand, pulled her closer, and drew her down in front of him, curling his uninjured foreleg on the ground beneath her. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her against his chest. “You must rest.”
Ahmya tensed, placing a hand on his leg, and attempted to rise again. “Rekosh, your leg needs?—”
Keeping his hold on her firm but gentle, Rekosh caught her chin and tipped her face back, forcing her gaze to meet his. “I will heal, Ahmya.” He brushed his fingers along her jaw, following the delicate shell of her ear, until he reached her damp hair, through which he combed his claws, carefully working out any snags they encountered. “Vrix heal in a small time. ”
“You promise you’ll be okay?” The tension was already leaving her body as she relaxed against him.
“Yes. We will be okay, vi’keishi .”
As he continued to comb his claws through her hair, Ahmya’s lashes fluttered, and her eyes closed. She slumped against his chest, and though her breathing was still ragged, still shallow, it was steady and unbroken.
Rekosh leaned his shoulder against the cool, hard stone wall of their shelter. He felt impossibly heavy. Impossibly weary. She deserved fluffed silk to rest upon, a cushion to cradle her in her sleep, but he knew that such was beyond him now.
Getting this far would have to be enough.
My mate slumbers in my arms .
His mandibles ticked upward. Despite everything, he could find joy in something so small as this. For the first time, Ahmya was sleeping not merely near him, but with him. She was comfortable enough in his embrace to fall asleep.
It made no difference to him that she had simply succumbed to exhaustion.
She cares for me. She has shown it, and I have seen it with all eight eyes.
“Would that this day had gone differently, my little flower,” he whispered in vrix.
The jungle flashed outside the shelter, but only a little of the lightning’s harsh illumination reached inside, reflected in the moisture still clinging to Rekosh and Ahmya. Thunder crackled over the trees, vibrating in the stone, and the rain fell as hard as ever.
Rekosh rested his head against the rough wall, and his eyelids slowly fell. He did not know where they were, did not know how they would get back home, but he knew one thing without a single shred of doubt.
He would never be lost so long as he had Ahmya.