Chapter 11
- Callie -
Something is wrong.
I come awake all at once, heart already racing, breath snagged halfway in my chest. The dark feels thicker than it should, pressed close to my face. For a disoriented second, I think I’m still dreaming.
Then a hand clamps over my mouth.
It’s firm and practiced, not gentle or cautious. The heel of a palm crushes my lips closed while fingers dig into my cheek. Another weight pins my shoulder, and I make a sharp, panicked sound that never makes it out of my throat.
My body reacts before my mind does. I thrash, knees coming up, nails scraping wildly at skin and leather. The sleeping platform creaks beneath us.
Someone hisses something low and urgent in a language I know too well now. “Keep her quiet.”
It’s not Crat'ax. He’s not even in here.
Fear detonates in my chest, hot and blinding. I bite down hard, teeth scraping skin. The hand jerks. Someone swears under his breath, then clamps tighter. My head is yanked back, exposing my throat, and the cool night air hits sweat-slick skin.
Shapes resolve in the dark. Cavemen. But not from this tribe.
Yellow stripes ghost pale in the low light, smeared across arms and chests. Adropo tribe.
My stomach drops through the floor before I actually see the floor move and a man puts his head up through a hole that looks like it was part of the design of the hut.
No, no, no—
I twist harder, fighting like an animal, heels striking wood, elbows flailing. Fingers grab fistfuls of my hair. Pain flares bright and sharp along my scalp. I scream into the hand over my mouth, the sound muffled and useless.
Someone leans close to my ear.
“Be still,” a voice whispers. It’s rough, and it’s familiar. And somehow scarred.
Sprub’ex.
The betrayal hits harder than the fear. My vision tunnels, red at the edges. He was here. He helped build this hut. He stood beside us yesterday, watched Crat'ax work, watched me smile, watched me eat.
All the time, he was planning this.
My body is tipped, feet lifting, the world turning sideways. Cold air rushes up from below as the hidden opening yawns wider. Hands slide under my arms, lowering me down through the floor like cargo.
I kick blindly and connect with nothing but air.
Then I’m outside the hut, hanging between platform and water, the bay a black void beneath me. Iodine and algae sting my nose. I hear the soft slap of water against wood.
There are two canoes waiting.
I’m passed down into one of them, my weight jolting the narrow hull. Paddles dip immediately, smooth and silent. Someone wedges themselves behind me. Long legs bracket mine, and an arm locks across my chest. I spot faint purple stripes.
Sprub’ex again. I can smell him. Old oil, old blood, something sour beneath it.
I fight again. There’s no thinking now, only instinct. I thrash, arching, trying to twist free, clawing at the arm across me. Fingers dig into my throat. He’s not squeezing there yet, but close enough that I feel the promise of it.
“Don’t,” he breathes, almost pleading. “Don’t make this worse.”
Worse than what? I don’t stop, but there are limits to how much I can thrash around with no effect before it starts to feel useless.
The canoe glides away from the platform, faster now. Another Adropo man hisses a warning as the hull bumps lightly against the other canoe, keeping pace.
My heart pounds so hard I’m dizzy. The platform looms above us, dark and silent. Crat'ax’s hut. Our hut.
He’s not here. He doesn’t know what’s happening. And these guys are paddling right for the shadows.
Panic sharpens into something fierce and focused. If I don’t do something now, I won’t get another chance. I draw my knees up and slam my heel backward with everything I have. There’s a solid, unmistakable impact.
“Oof!”
The sound is involuntary and ugly, ripped straight from the gut. The canoe wobbles violently. Someone swears. A paddle splashes.
For one terrible second, everything freezes.
Then, finally, there are footsteps—heavy and fast, from someone running on the walkways.
A door slams open above us.
“Callie!”
My name tears through the night, raw and furious. Relief and terror crash together so hard my vision blurs.
I twist, straining to see. Crat'ax stands on the platform, a dark shape against torchlight, head snapping left and right as he searches.
We’re already moving, paddles digging deep now. And I know we must be hard to make out in the dark.
“Hold her,” someone hisses.
I lunge again, wild and desperate, but my kick goes wide this time, striking only air. I don’t stop. I throw my head back as hard as I can.
I hit something hard with a sickening crack. The back of my head stings for a moment.
Sprub’ex grunts, a wet sound, and his grip loosens just enough for me to suck in a breath as I throw my head back again, using it as a club. Warm liquid splashes my neck and shoulder. He howls, clutching his face.
“Idiot!” one of the others snaps.
Crat'ax sees us. I know he does because he stops searching. His body goes utterly still for half a heartbeat.
Then he dives with no hesitation. I don’t see his spear, just a massive shape plunging into the bay, water exploding around him. He surfaces already moving, arms cutting through the water with terrifying speed.
The canoe jerks as panic ripples through the men.
“He’s coming!” the men paddle harder.
I’m pressed down as the hull rocks. Spray hits my face. My heart hammers so hard it hurts.
Crat'ax reaches us in seconds. A hand clamps onto the side of the canoe, fingers like iron. The whole vessel tilts violently as he hauls himself up. One Adropo man lunges at him, and Crat'ax catches him mid-motion and simply throws him.
The man hits the water with a scream. Crat'ax uses his body as a step, rising fully into the canoe. There’s a knife in his hand now, and his face is something I’ve never seen before: absolute fury.
The blade flashes once. An Adropo man collapses with a choking sound, blood dark against the wood. Another is kicked over the side, vanishing into the water with a splash.
The canoe rocks violently, threatening to tip. I cling to the edge, gasping.
Only Sprub’ex remains.
He yanks me back against him, his arm crushing tight around my throat now, cutting off my air. Black spots bloom in my vision.
“Stay back!” he screams, voice cracked and wild. “She’s mine! She was promised!”
Crat'ax freezes.
Sprub’ex laughs, a broken, hysterical sound, blood pouring down his chin. “The Woman,” he babbles. “The Ancestors spoke of her. The Woman! She is! She’s mine! Not the Deep. Never the Deep. It lies! It cages! It—”
“Let her go,” Crat'ax says, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Sprub’ex shakes his head violently. “You don’t understand. None of you do. She changes everything! I will not give her to the sea. I will not—”
The canoe lurches.
What happens next is fast and brutal and final, and later I can’t even visualize it—except for Crat'ax’s hand shooting past me.
Sprub’ex’s grip breaks. I stumble forward, coughing, collapsing into Crat'ax’s arms as the world tilts and spins.
Behind me, there’s a splash.
Then only the sound of water, slapping gently against wood. And the splashes of someone swimming messily away. The water must have cooled Sprub’ex down.
And Crat'ax’s arms around me, solid and shaking, as the night closes back in while he paddles us back to the village.
He gets me out of the canoe and into his arms in one continuous motion. My feet barely touch the platform before he’s lifting me, hauling us both up onto the planks. My legs shake so badly I can’t tell if they’ll hold my weight at all.
The bay is quiet again, looking innocent and dark.
I cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, my breath coming in sharp, ugly gasps. My throat burns where Sprub’ex’s arm had been. When I swallow, it hurts.
“Crat'ax,” I manage, though it comes out thin and broken.
“I have you,” he says immediately, voice low and rough. “You are here. You are safe. We are safe.”
He sets me down carefully, keeping one arm around my back as if I might fall apart if he lets go. My knees buckle anyway, and I end up crouched on the planks, palms flat against the wood, head spinning.
That’s when I hear it.
At first, I think it’s just the blood pounding in my ears, the ocean sloshing against the stilts, the distant creak of ropes. But then it sharpens into something else. Something wrong.
A sound that doesn’t come from any one place. It’s beyond cold, just blank and mirthless. It ripples across the bay like a breath across the back of my neck. It’s not fully a sound. An icy, scraping cackle that I feel in my bones more than I hear with my ears.
I freeze. Did you hear that? I almost ask.
But Crat'ax has already stiffened. His head snaps up, eyes sweeping the dark water beyond the torches. His grip on me tightens for half a heartbeat as he stares at a certain point in the night. “That—”
Footsteps thunder across the platforms. Men pour in from every direction, bare feet slapping wood, voices raised in confusion and alarm. Torches flare. Someone shouts a question. Someone else calls Crat'ax’s name.
Before anyone can get close, Crat'ax straightens.
“Stop!” he roars. The sound is huge. It rolls across the platforms like a wave breaking against stone. “Get off my platform. Now.”
The men falter, skidding to a halt. They look from him to me. They note my disheveled hair, my scraped throat, the blood smeared across my shoulder, and whatever questions they have die in their mouths.
Crat'ax reaches into the hut and grabs his spear. He lifts it in one smooth, violent motion.
“Go,” he snarls. “Before I decide I need answers from you all.”
No one argues. They retreat, backing away along the walkways, glancing over their shoulders until the darkness swallows them and the torches thin out again. The night closes in, quiet and heavy.
Crat'ax turns back to me. The fury drains from his face all at once, leaving something raw and shaken behind. He drops the spear just inside the doorway and kneels in front of me, hands hovering as if he’s afraid to touch me too roughly.
“You are hurt,” he says.
“I’m…” My voice cracks. I clear my throat, wince. “I’m alive.”
He exhales hard, a sound that might be a laugh if it didn’t hurt so much to hear.
He helps me inside the hut, guiding me to the sleeping platform.
The leather sheet is tangled and half torn where they grabbed me.
He pushes it aside and sits close, too close to be proper, one hand braced on the planks beside my hip.
“I left,” he says, staring at where the hole in the floor has been only partly covered by the kidnapper after their attempt.
“I should not have left.” He walks over, kneels, and yanks the removable square up, revealing the hole.
He puts his whole head down the hole, looking for enemies.
Not finding any, he replaces the lid and wedges it shut with angry movements.
“Sprub’ex,” I whisper.
His jaw tightens. “He asked me to walk. Said the chief wished to speak with me. I believed him.” His voice drops. “I was a fool. The chief always wants to speak with me.”
“No,” I say immediately, surprising both of us with the force of it. “You trusted someone from your tribe. That’s not foolish.”
His hands curl into fists. “He made the hole when he built this. He suggested this hut. I put you here.” He looks up at me, eyes dark and blazing. “I put you in danger.”
I reach out before I can think better of it and touch his wrist.
“Crat'ax,” I say. “Listen to me.”
He stills instantly, like a beast going quiet at a sound it recognizes.
“I not survive that because of luck,” I continue. “I survived because of you. Because you came. Because you always come.”
His breath stutters.
The silence between us thickens, heavy with everything that almost happened and everything that still could. My body is still buzzing with leftover fear, but beneath it something else is waking up. Something hot and insistent. Because now that the fear is gone, there’s room for something better.
I’m painfully aware of how close he is. Of the strength in his arms, the solidity of him, the way the air seems to bend differently around his body. And of the care, how he hasn’t taken anything from me without asking, even now.
Well, he took me. We’ll have to talk about that someday. But not tonight.
Tonight, I don’t want to wait anymore.
I don’t want to lie here wondering if tomorrow I’ll be dragged screaming into the dark again, if safety is something that can evaporate in the space of a breath. I want something real. Something anchored. Something that belongs to me because I chose it.
And I choose Crat'ax.