I see torches and fires being lit outside as I tell my long, pointless story. Hushed conversations start. A man coughs, another chuckles, and I sense the crowd outside the hut thinning.
I could try to get out of here myself. With enough time, I might be able to make a hole that I’ll fit through. But now, my main task is to give Dorie time to get away. I must tell stories and talk as if she’s still in here.
“There was a kronk, as big as a mountain. Teeth as long as your arm, claws as long as your legs…”
The tribe outside wants me dead. And here I am, without my sword. If they kill me… will Dorie care for little Aker’iz? Will she give the baby back to this tribe? Will she take her to the Borok tribe? Oh, why did I tell those idiots that she was dead? It was such a bad omen, and now the Ancestors may make me pay for it.
“The kronk was looking the other way,” I go on with the fake story I’m ‘telling’ Dorie. “So I took a branch and tickled his tail…”
Will she even get to the Plood ship? It’s not far, and she should be able to get there by morning. But the jungle is deadly at any time, and every warrior dreads being out of the village in the dark. And she has no weapon—she wasn’t holding her spear when she came into the hut.
Will she be able to find the way in the dark? Will she be attacked by Bigs? Will she walk into a trap? Will she walk into some deadly Small or Tiny?
“The kronk ran into a tree, breaking the trunk halfway up, and then he saw me. He looked just like Chief Smirt’ax, ugly and red…”
Oh, Holy Ancestors, let Dorie and Aker’iz survive this night!
“…but I laughed, and then I simply threw a rock at him.” My voice is steady, but my hands are shaking. “He grunted, just like Smirt’ax when he thinks he’s being funny. Then he tripped over a root…”
26
–Theodora–
My breath is ragged in my throat. I’ve abandoned the whole quiet-escape idea. Now it’s justdon’t fall off a cliffanddon’t stroll straight into the mouth of something with too many teeth.
The jungle isn’t as dark as I expected. A few plants emit this weird, ghostly light, like someone scattered glow sticks everywhere, and the blue moon flashes at me between the leaves like it’s trying to help but can’t commit. If I keep moving toward where it’ll set, I should hit the beach eventually.IfI get there. And if a certain tribe isn’t already fanning out after me. Kenz’ox will stall them as long as he can, but it’s been hours. I’d be stupid to assume they’re not on the move.
Damn, that kiss he gave me… like he knew it was the last one. Tender and intense, the kind of kiss that says everything you don’t have time to spell out. Not helpful right now, brain.
Branches whip my arms and slap my ears, but at least I’m not barefoot. The moon boots are champs. I’m not struggling with blisters yet.
I round a massive, mossy trunk and freeze. There’s light. Firelight. Torches. Men’s voices drift through the brush in a too-familiar cadence.
And stripes. Blue stripes.
Oh hell. The Tratena tribe. I amfeetfrom their camp.
I’ve literally run myself in a circle.
Hopelessness punches my lungs harder than the running did. I duck back behind the tree and lean against it, trembling. Hours of stumbling, scrambling, and panicking… for this.
But I can’t stop?—
The camp goes silent. Instantly. Like someone muted them.
They’re listening.
I risk a peek. Dark shapes detach from the firelight and start moving toward me, cutting off the glow with their bulk.
They’ve spotted me.
I bolt again, trying to be quiet, because sure, stealthnowwill help. But I know it’s pointless.
A harsh yell rips through the air behind me. I’ve been seen.
Fear turns my legs light, and I sprint, dodging foliage like a deranged pinball. But those guys are enormous. Just by walking fast, they’re three times as fast as me, running for my life. They know how to move in the jungle, and they can step over obstacles that I have to run around. Meanwhile, I’m tripping over leaves.
My mind spirals. If they catch me, can I still pull off the wholethe Womanact? Or have they figured out the joke yet? Most ofthem desperately want me to be her. Wishful thinking is a hell of a drug. It even kept me stuck at the damn saucer.
