Chapter 5
HYDRATE OR DIE (MOSTLY DIE)
SARVEN
The cavern smells wrong.
Not the familiar sickness we know. Not the slow, heavy heat that seeps into the females’ bones, that makes their breathing sound like pushing through thick dust.
This is different.
Sharp. Sour. Fast. Like meat forgotten under Ain’s burning eye and left to rot in a still pocket of air.
I stand motionless before the partition where the sickest females lie. My claws dig into the stone, anchoring me in place. If I do not root myself, I will pace a trench into the floor.
Guard duty, Kol ordered. Watch the perimeter. Keep predators from entering the cave.
But the predator is already here.
I can smell it, even if I cannot yet see its shape.
Across the small alcove, Tee-nah shudders and curls tighter around herself, thin arms wrapped across her midsection as if she can hold the pain in. Mih-kay-lah kneels beside her, one hand resting lightly on Tee-nah’s shoulder, her thumb moving in small circles.
“You’re going to be okay,” Mih-kay-lah vocalizes softly to Loo-see on the next mat over, pushing damp strands of head-fur from her forehead. Her own face is drawn, the fine skin around her eyes tight with strain, but her voice is steady. “We’re right here, okay? You’re not alone.”
I watch the gentle way her hand moves, soothing Loo-see even as her own body trembles with the same heat. The sickness drags at her, painting gray shadows under her eyes, yet she does not curl in on herself. She pours her strength out for others, unselfish and endless.
She is perfect.
If the dust chooses me... if Ain sees fit to bind this incredible creature to my soul... I will be the luckiest Drakav to ever walk the Dust. I will spend every rotation proving I am worthy of the air she breathes.
She shifts then, a small change of her weight as she soothes the other female, her knee brushing the dusty floor. The movement is tiny, but it pulls my focus.
My gaze drops to the floor beside Loo-see’s mat. Her waterskin lies there, knocked over, the stopper loose. A small spill has darkened the dust, seeping into the rock.
The scent hits me in the same breath as the liquid sinks into the warm stone, the heat releasing it.
Faint. But there.
I narrow my eyes and lean in, careful not to disturb the hanging fibers that mark the edge of the females’ space. Crouching at the entrance, I inhale deeply.
The wrongness does not come from Tee-nah or Loo-see. It comes from the wet place on the stone.
Slowly, I extend one claw, dipping just the tip into the spilled liquid. A single drop clings there as I bring it to my nose.
Under the familiar, cool scent of the spring lurks something else. Sour, unnatural. A death-smell hiding beneath the surface.
My dra-kir stutters, then slams hard.
The females drink constantly. They are soft, thirsty creatures, their bodies demanding clear water in a way ours do not. To us, a long drink from the spring is a rare necessity, not a constant need.
To them, it is survival.
And it is… tainted.
I surge to my feet before I have fully formed the thought.
“Sarven?” Jus-teen’s mind brushes mine. Her physical voice follows a breath later from where she kneels by Pah-m. “What’s wrong?”
I do not answer.
Horror settles in my gut like a lump of cold stone. The spring that feeds the clan. The source for every waterskin. Something has corrupted it.
All of them are drinking from it.
Without explanation, I turn and stride out of the main chamber, the confused ripple in the mindspace scratching at the edges of my thoughts. I ignore it. I need to be certain.
The passage to the spring chamber is short. I take it at a near-run.
The room is cool, carved by time and patient water. The cistern glimmers faintly in the low light, a dark mirror in the hollowed stone. A simple scoop rests at the edge.
I take it and dip.
Water laps against the sides of the scoop as I lift it to my nose.
The smell is stronger here. Concentrated. The clean mineral scent of the spring is twisted, threaded through with that same sour rot.
Our enemy is not a beast. Not a claw or fang.
Our enemy is this.
And every human female in the cave holds a skin full of it close to her body.
My chest tightens, then explodes into movement.
Mih-kay-lah.
She will be tired. She will be hot. She will be thirsty.
She will drink.
The scoop hits the stone with a hollow clatter behind me as I run.
The main cavern opens up around me in a rush of light and sound as I skid into the open space.
For an instant, everything is too bright.
Then the details lock into place.
Mih-kay-lah stands near the central fire now, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, lips parted as if her next breath might be a sigh. In her hand, she holds a waterskin. The stopper is already out. She tips it toward her mouth.
There is no time for words.
My body moves before my mind can shape them.
I launch myself forward, claws digging into the floor as I drive off. The fire pit looms ahead; I push harder, muscles bunching. I leap, clearing the stone lip in a burst of heat and sparks, embers flaring as my momentum sends firestones spinning.
She turns toward me at the last instant, eyes widening. The mouth of the waterskin brushes her lower lip.
Too close.
I have to strike.
My claw lashes across, catching the waterskin and not her. The impact rips it from her grip. It spins away end over end, a wide arc of water spraying from its mouth, glittering briefly in the firelight before slamming into the far wall with a wet, heavy thud.
Silence falls like a dropped rock.
Mih-kay-lah gasps, stumbling back from the force of my movement. Her hand clamps to her chest, eyes huge, and dark, and shocked.
No one else moves.
The cavern holds its breath.
The only sound is the soft, steady drip… drip… drip of wasted water running down the stone.
Haroth is half up, hand on his weapon, caught between instincts to attack, defend, or demand. The other females stare with open mouths, mouths that were just drinking, just swallowing.
To them, it looks as if I have attacked a Daughter.
“What is the meaning of this?” Kol’s mental presence booms in the mindspace with such force, I wince. He rises from his seat, and his presence swells, heavy as a fast-approaching dust storm.
But somehow, I can’t even look at him.
I cannot.
Mih-kay-lah is trembling. The skin along her bare shoulder shivers. Even so, her chin tilts up, stubborn. She stands her ground.
“Sarven,” Kol commands again, the word cutting across all minds. For I have just done the unthinkable. One of the worst crimes on Xiraxis.
I have wasted water.
I plant myself between Mih-kay-lah and the spilled liquid, between her and the stone where it drips. My chest heaves. My dra-kir hammers against my ribs like a caged spine-striker, throwing itself at its prison.
I lift one shaking claw and point at the dark streak running down the wall.
“Death,” I project, the thought loud, raw. Then, I drag my gaze back to her. My mouth fumbles for the Een-gleesh. “Noh.”
The sound tears at my throat. It is too small for the urgency in me.
Mih-kay-lah flinches.
I realize I am roaring the word, not speaking it. My posture is full threat. Bared teeth, flared nostrils, every line of my body screaming attack to a female that does not hear mind-speech.
I force myself to breathe.
In. Out. Again.
I force myself to breathe, to unclench muscles that want to tear the waterskin to shreds.
“Noh,” I rasp again, quieter, taking a small step toward her. My eyes scan her face, her lips, her chin. Searching for any sign of a droplet. A shine. If even one drop slid past…
My Een-gleesh fails me. The phrases I practiced are useless.
“Mih-kay-lah…” I grind out, then give up on the complex human word for poison. “Bad,” I snarl, pointing. “Bad.”
“He’s projecting death!” Jus-teen’s voice slices through the heavy quiet. She bursts from the direction of the sick alcove, eyes wider than I have ever seen them. “The water. Don’t drink the water!”
Her mind has finally caught up to the storm I have been shoving into the shared space since I left the spring.
The shock in the cavern shatters.
The females’ mouth-sounds tumble over each other, loud enough to make some of my brothers wince.
Kol moves.
He does not argue. He needs no proof beyond what he feels from me and the burn in his own nose now that he knows where to look.
“Secure the spring,” he projects, his mindspeak sharp and clear. “Touch nothing wet unless you must. Check the females. All of them.”
My brothers explode into motion. Two sprint toward the spring passage. Two more move for the stacked waterskins. Others fan out, scanning the ground for more spills, more dark patches.
Still, I do not move.
I stay rooted, a living wall between Mih-kay-lah and the place where the poisoned water struck.
She has stopped shaking. Mostly. Her breaths still come fast, shallow, but there is steel returning to the set of her mouth.
“You… knocked it out of my hand,” she says, voice thin but steady. Her gaze flicks to Jus-teen, who supplies the translation. The meaning reaches me a heartbeat later through the mindspace.
I jerk my chin once in the human gesture of yes.
Her eyes shift past me to Kol, to the dark stain on the stone. I see the moment understanding lands. The crime of what I’ve done. On this planet, water is worth blood. We measure life in drops.
Her eyes widen again.
When she looks back at me, there is something new in her expression. Fear, yes. But also a question that doesn’t need language.
Why?
Why would I throw myself across the fire, risk Kol’s wrath, and commit a water-crime for her? One human female, when there are many. Why not do this for any of the others? All of them?
I have no words that will satisfy her. Even if my mouth could shape them, even if my Een-gleesh were perfect, they would not be enough.
But my soul knows what my body will not yet display.
So, I do the only thing left.
I hold her gaze.
I let her see what I have never shown so plainly. There is no distance here now.
Because you are mine.
The dust is late. The glow will come when it chooses—or it will not. I do not care.
You are mine.
And I will hunt this invisible enemy, this poison in the water itself, down to its source and tear it out of the world before I let it touch you.