Chapter 21
- Riley -
The wind isn’t blowing straight toward where I’m going, so I have to veer to the side to stay on track. Still, it gives me a lot of help, so I’m basically jogging along, and the hardest part is not being blown too far forward with each gust so that I lose my balance.
It’s pretty dark, but after a while my eyes have adapted to it and I can see where to go. There’s really only one option, and it’s not even that good.
I don’t notice how close I am before I almost step right into one of the pools at the hot springs.
This is as far as I will follow the storm.
Beyond there’s only icy wastes and steep mountains.
I can probably jump into a hot spring and it will keep me warm and mostly out of the storm.
But I can fold the fur over the back of my head so my face is away from the storm and snow. It might actually turn out okay—
I freeze. There’s the flicker of a fire next to the big pool, the one Nator’ax and I bathed in last time. The fire is built so that it’s out of the wind, but the flames are reflected in the surface. That must mean there’s someone here. And—my heart skips a beat—maybe that someone is Nator’ax.
I move closer. There’s a man sitting on the edge of the pool, his legs in the water and the rest of him clad in fur. He’s built a slanted screen from rocks and tough stoka skin, so that the pool and the fire are shielded from the storm.
He raises his hand. “Good evening, Riley. Come here, it’s out of the storm!” He has to raise his voice to make sure I hear him over the storm.
Disappointment settles in me as I walk into the shelter from the wind. The air is definitely warmer here. “Prak’ox. Why are you here and not in the village?”
“I always come here for Blood Storms. All that’s needed is to build a wall. It didn’t take me long.”
That wall was definitely not there a couple of days ago, and there was no sign there had ever been one. But perhaps the tribe prefers this place tidy and flat otherwise. “Is it safer here?”
“When you’re in the water, it’s safer. But you’ll see why. The reason we call it a Blood Storm hasn’t arrived yet. Come sit down. The water is perfect.” He scoots to the side as if making room. “And I have frit.” He pats a leather pack by his side.
I gaze back the way I came, into the storm.
There’s just a wall of white coming against me, each snowflake like a slap on exposed skin.
But the snow that falls on the hot rock melts on impact, and on the leeward side of the pool, no snow reaches—it melts in the steam above the water and turns to rain.
A big, dark flake comes fluttering wildly through the storm and hits the side of my head. Except it’s not a snowflake—it’s a living thing. I squeal, and in a panicked instinct, I grab it and rip it off the fur and throw it away. It had already bitten itself firmly into the fur.
“Get down!” Prak’ox urges. “That’s the Blood Storm!”
I drop to all fours to get out of the wind and crawl over to him. Behind the screen, the snow whirls above our heads instead of around us. Dark shapes flicker through it, small and fast.
The chirping sound clicks into place in my memory: a swarm of locusts. This isn’t the same as the eerie sound from old documentaries from Africa, but close enough to make my skin crawl.
I sit down beside him, legs tucked under me. “I thought it would only be a blizzard.”
“It is a blizzard,” he says. “And the bloodwings ride it.” He nudges the fire, sending sparks up into the sheltered air. “They eat what they find. Meat first.”
“A stoka wouldn’t stand a chance,” I exclaim, shocked. “No shelter. Nowhere to go.”
“No,” he agrees. “Not if it’s already hurt.
” He glances up as another shadow passes overhead.
“Their hides can turn them aside if the beast is whole and can produce the sticky oil to keep the bloodwings at bay. But a wound…” He shakes his head.
“That’s enough. The swarm gets inside. After that, it’s finished. ”
More shapes dart past, and I duck without thinking. “That’s why you fear a Blood Storm.”
“That’s why.” His voice is steady. “A man caught out there won’t last long.”
“But the caves…” I glance toward the storm beyond the screen. “The hangings are thick.”
“Sometimes not thick enough,” he says. “Or there’s a crack. A weak patch.” He looks at me for just a moment. “The bloodwings find those. You’ll be more comfortable if you put your legs in like me.” He taps his knee.
It does look comfortable, having a warm foot bath in the middle of a storm.
And I notice that the bloodwings fly over the screen and the hot springs without slowing down, as if they abhor the warmth.
This place is almost like an oasis from the ice desert around it, a sanctuary from the deadly storm.
I ease one foot out of my fur boot and lower it cautiously into the water. Heat wraps around my skin at once, almost painfully warm at first, then soothing. I slide the other foot in.
“See?” Prak’ox says. “Better than the caves.”
“Maybe,” I reply, though my eyes keep drifting upward. The dark shapes are multiplying. What had been scattered flickers are becoming a steady stream.
He shifts closer, just enough that his shoulder brushes mine. “You were brave to come out here alone.”
“I didn’t have much choice.”
“You chose well.” His voice softens. “You came to me.”
That makes me glance at him. “I came to the springs. The wind pushed me.”
He smiles faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And you found me. I thought you would.”
Another gust drives a thick band of snow across the opening above us. For a moment, the world beyond the screen disappears completely.
When it clears, the sky is darker than before. And it seems to move.
The chirping grows louder, no longer scattered but layered, building into something dense and continuous. My stomach tightens.
“That’s more of them,” I say.
Prak’ox nods, but he doesn’t look concerned. “The main swarm is coming.”
He reaches for my arm, fingers closing around my wrist. “Stay close to the water. Don’t go out there again.” His grip lingers a moment longer than it needs to.
“I wasn’t planning to,” I say, easing my hand free.
Above us, the first edge of the swarm arrives.
It was a scattering of creatures, but now it’s a mass.
A flowing, shifting body of wings and dark shapes, so thick it dims what little light the storm allows.
The sound surges with it, a deafening, layered shriek that fills the air and presses into my skull.
It moves like a river in the sky. A living river of flying, alien piranhas.
I stare up at it, transfixed. “Oh damn…”
“They’ll pass,” Prak’ox says, leaning closer so I can hear him over the noise. His hand settles on my shoulder now, heavy and warm. “As long as we stay here, we’re safe.”
The swarm thickens, pouring overhead in a continuous torrent. Some strike the invisible edge above the hot water and veer away sharply, as if repelled. Others spiral down too low and jerk back upward again.
But I don’t feel safe anymore.
Prak’ox’s hand slides from my shoulder down my arm, slow, deliberate.
“You were right to leave him,” he says.
My attention snaps from the swarm back to him. “What?”
“Nator’ax.” His grip tightens slightly. “He’s not one of us. He was never going to survive the fifth day. The council was determined that he should die, despite the talk of the dragon.”
“That’s not—” I pull my arm free. “How do you know?”
“I know what was decided.” His tone remains calm, almost gentle. “We all know. Now you need to be with someone who can keep you safe.”
“I am safe,” I say, sharper now. “Here. That’s all.”
“With me,” he corrects.
Another wave of bloodwings roars overhead, the sound rising to a pitch that makes me flinch. The air vibrates with it.
Prak’ox leans in closer. Too close. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Not of the storm. Not of the tribe.” His hand comes up again, this time settling at my waist. “I’ll take care of you.”
I push against his chest, trying to create space. “Don’t.”
His other hand closes over mine, firm and unyielding. “You can imagine what happens to men out there,” he says, nodding toward the storm, toward the endless river of wings. “And he will not be allowed in any cave. Was he in yours?”
Shit. Is that what happened back there? Nator’ax was denied shelter because the tribe knew what was coming, but he didn’t, so he didn’t care?
Prak’ox leans in close. “He’s gone, Riley. You know that.”
“No,” I say, more forcefully now. “Let go.”
His grip tightens. “You came here,” he insists, voice low under the shriek of the swarm. “You came to me. You know I’m the only man for you.”
“No! It didn’t come to you!” I try to pull away, but he’s already shifting his weight, turning toward me, closing the space completely. His arm slides around my back, locking me in place.
“Don’t fight,” he says. “You’ll only make it harder.”
Above us, the bloodwings pour past in a deafening torrent, a living river that drowns out everything else.
I twist, trying to break his hold. “Get off me!”
He doesn’t. His grip only tightens. With one hard yank, he snaps the twine of my fur and drags it open. Cold air hits my skin. Then his icy hand follows, shoving inside, rough and clumsy, grabbing through the thin dinosaur skin beneath.
“No!” I seize his wrist, trying to tear it away, but it’s like pulling at iron.
He forces me back against the rock. My shoulders slam into it, breath jolting out of me as he pins me there. One arm wrenches mine behind me, trapping it. The other stays inside my clothing, groping, claiming.
“Stop,” he says, low and insistent. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
“Let go of me!” I slam my head back. It cracks against his face hard enough to make him grunt. But he only snarls and tightens his grip, dragging me closer, locking my arms tighter behind me.
The swarm thickens overhead. The sound builds until it presses into my skull, a grinding, endless shriek.