Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I lose myself in the relentless patter of raindrops and crunching foliage as we traverse through the forest, dodging the occasional fallen limb and thorny shrubs.
Shivers chase the water streaming down my spine.
With every step, splashes of mud assault the fringes of my leathery suit before being washed away by the torrent.
The aimless trudging stirs the bubbling cynicism among the group to the surface.
Though the beating rain across my helmet drowns out most of the conversations, I recognize Gabe shouting toward Kalden.
“Where are you taking us? I can’t tell which way is northeast, but I don’t think this is the right way! ”
Kalden yells back over his shoulder. “We should be going in any direction but northeast right now, and we shouldn’t be drawing attention to ourselves! Let’s keep well within the tree line and head back towards the dunes once visibility returns and everyone has had a chance to dry off!”
His voice resembles the thunder cracking through the wind, carrying with it a charged command. The chaotic whispers cease as we all hear the order and obey.
For a while, the false night moves with us, concealing the true sky from view and making it difficult to know how much time has passed since we left the Sol’s steaming carcass. Eventually, the black-tinted raindrops taper to a clear mist as we reach the edge of the nightstone cloud.
Now that we’re free of the unnatural darkness, I stand a little straighter.
Stay present. Stay alert. I repeat Kalden’s advice like an anthem. His delivery was tactless, per usual, but the advice itself is sound.
Everywhere I look, there are trees, animals, and insects I’ve yet to learn the names of.
Birds with bright red feathers dive for cover beneath the green canopy.
A furry four-legged rodent, whose gray-and-copper tail is longer than its body, scuttles past our group with its foraged fruit in hand.
The movement stirs a fresh waft of bittersweet fragrance.
There’s so much life here. So much sound. I’d thought Caligo’s melody of echoing footsteps and muffled conversations was noisy, but this . . . It’s entirely overstimulating. Still, I press on, refusing to be the first to request a break.
Mercifully, Gem folds a few minutes later. “Sun’s pits, I’m starving. Can we pause to eat? There’s enough cover beneath the canopy here that we should be safe from direct exposure.”
Gabe, who’s hovered persistently at my side since our trek began, pulls out a yellow-orange fruit from his pocket before tossing it over to me. “I plucked this from that tree we passed a bit ago.”
“Do you even know what it is?”
“Not sure.” Gabe shrugs. “But it looks like a cross between an orange and a pepper, so I’m guessing it’s good.”
“Those are two completely different flavor profiles,” I scoff, but consider the fruit anyway. It seems edible. No discoloration or strange sap. My mouth waters, ready to risk it.
Without warning, Kalden plucks it from my hand.
“Excuse me?” I toss up my arms. “Why’d you steal my snack? Is it poisonous or something?”
Kalden shakes his head, tossing the fruit back and forth between his palms. “It isn’t ripe yet. The skin should be softer and a deeper orange. If you eat it now, it’ll fill your mouth with a fuzzy bitterness.”
The description dries my salivating tongue. “How do you know?”
He pauses his juggling. “We had a few persimmon trees back home.”
“You know, I’ve heard that Scuros is stingy with their greenhouse,” I say, stealing back the fruit from Kalden’s palm. “They keep the good stuff for themselves and send us Southerners the scraps.”
One of the Huntresses snorts. “Fairly sure us Tier Threes get the scraps no matter which city we’re in.”
“You’re from Scuros, then?” Gabe pivots the conversation back to Kalden, and I swear he’s actively flexing his crossed arms beneath the slightly too-tight guardsman uniform. “I suppose that’s why my father is unfamiliar with your surname.”
I lean against a low-hanging branch. “Let’s not act like Chancellor Bren devotes his time to memorizing all the surnames of Caligans.”
Gabe falls quiet.
Kalden takes a moment to scan our surroundings. “We shouldn’t stop for long. Let’s limit it to a quick snack. If you need to relieve yourself, now’s the time. No more breaks until sunset.”
“I brought crackers,” the woman to my right says before digging through her knapsack. Meridna, probably, judging by the rich timbre of her tone.
I toss the persimmon into a thorned bush before pulling out a small bag of hazelnuts. “I’m happy to share.”
After bartering for a handful of Meridna’s salty crackers and Faron’s raisins, I grip onto my helmet, eager to yank it off.
It doesn’t give.
“Gem, could you give me a hand? I think my helmet’s caught on something.”
“Sure.” She trails a finger around the base that’s suctioned to the skin around my neck, then mutters through her own mask, “There’s no wiggle room here. It’s like this thing is glued on.”
“What do you mean? Can you try pulling harder?” The questions come out high-pitched and rushed. I kneel so Gem can get a better grip. She wraps an arm around the helmet and tugs, lifting me off my knees. The material cuts into my throat. “Ow, ow, ow!”
Gem releases me instantly. “Sorry!”
“It’s fine,” I hiss. “It really won’t budge.”
“Mine’s stuck, too,” someone groans.
“Same,” says the woman beside Gem. Demi, maybe? Or Blair. It’s tricky to tell on voice and stature alone.
Even Kalden fails to remove his.
“Mine’s fine,” Gabe remarks, helmet resting at his side.
Gem’s shoulders deflate. “Looks like yours is the only one.”
Through quickened breaths, I point out to Gabe, “Your gear is different from ours.”
Unlike the neck-to-feet bodysuits that cling to our bodies like a thick second skin, Gabe isn’t sewn into his borrowed uniform.
The Guards of the Gate get to wear standard-issue black clothing—long sleeves, high-necked vest, and cargo pants tucked into combat boots.
The shape of his helmet is more spacious, too.
“I wonder,” Gabe mumbles to himself, his light auburn brows pulling together as he studies my helmet.
Seconds into the inspection, he taps on the crown of my head.
“There’s a solar sensor here. I think . .
. I think the wardrobe team might’ve upgraded the helmet design to automatically keep the helmet sealed if it senses enough sunlight.
Likely as a preventative measure to avoid exposure. ”
My hands twitch as I refrain from fidgeting. “Can you cover the sensor with your hand? Trick it into thinking it’s night?”
Gabe gives it a try, palm splaying out on the top of my helmet. He waits several seconds before pulling at the suctioned base, but it doesn’t relent.
“Sorry, Elle,” Gabe says, removing his hand. “The sensor must detect more than just light. Perhaps it reads the solar radiation levels, too.”
The woman standing on Gabe’s opposite side curses under her breath. “We can’t take it off until the sun sets?”
“How are we supposed to eat?” Gem asks.
Gabe frowns. “I don’t think you can. At least, not until later this evening.”
I throw my hands up. “So, we’re expected to fight the Sols while we’re dehydrated, starved, and sleep-deprived?”
It makes me wonder if they truly want us to succeed, to survive, or if this is all a punishment for our nonconformity.
I’ve always suspected that Chancellor Bren and his chosen cabinet members, like Commander Guffian, valued the Hunt first and foremost as a source of entertainment and tradition more than a viable path to victory.
The lack of sufficient training suggests as much.
Yet I’d interpreted their carelessness as a lack of faith in our abilities, not as malicious intent.
What if I presumed wrong?
We don’t stop again until the sky’s overcast silver light bleeds to a natural black. The cursed sun couldn’t be bothered to make an appearance today, though perhaps that was the only thing that kept us alive.
Tall grass grazes my shoulders, smearing leftover droplets of rain against my leather suit as we set up camp in a meadow. Though it offers minimal cover, the break in the tree canopy should allow us to waken tomorrow morning at the first sight of the brightening sky.
Gem and Gabe continue hovering at my sides near the back of the pack.
Between Gem’s frequent side glances and Gabe’s insistence on holding out his arm anytime I trip, their actions do nothing to staunch the fear that I’m too weak to hack it on my own, that I’ll bring them down with me.
But I refuse to be the reason Gem or Gabe don’t make it through this.
I square my jaw, tamping down the growing urge to collapse into the dampened earth while setting my mind on doing exactly what my parents instructed.
Whatever it takes.
Even if it means ignoring every slicing ache as I push my body further than it’s ever had to go.
“Thank the shadows.” Gem sighs as she tugs off the helmet.
Gabe, who’d immediately put his own headgear back on as a sign of solidarity after discovering the solar sensor, removes his, too.
The night’s steady breeze is quick to caress my cheeks as I follow suit, then take a deep inhale. My ill-fed lungs welcome the abundance of fresh air. When my eyes blink open, I glare at the round lump of anodized aluminum and tempered glass.
“You look like you’re debating whether to toss that in the creek,” Gem remarks.