“We both were,”says one of the men, tossing his chin at the other. “I ran to wake the others as soon as we heard the screams—”
The other man cuts in, “But it leapt immediately. There wasn’t any time.”
Rune looks to the trees. “What do you mean it leapt?”
“It jumped, Captain. Two bounds brought it to us. We hardly had time to arm ourselves.”
Elio sidles up to Rune. “No casualties,” he murmures.
Rune nods. “Was there sign of any others?”
The watchman shakes his head. “No, Captain.”
Rune looks to me, and I can only say what we’re all thinking. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”
WHAT WORDS DON’T SAY
16
ODELIA
Rune doubles the watch but no one can sleep, so we head out the next morning as the sun breaks the horizon. The stout trees claw towards us, snagging on whatever they can reach. When the game trail ends, the ground starts to squish under each step, and there’s no way forwards but through. Elio and Rune take turns cutting away the underbrush, but progress is slow, and eventually we resort to simply pulling up what’s in the way.
“They barely have roots,” I say, tossing the long, thin foliage to the side.
Sweat has only just started to trail down Rune’s temple. We’ve both pulled our hair up high to avoid getting it caught, and the blue tendrils haven’t yet started to stick to his face. “All the better for us.”
We take turns eating while we walk. The anemic shade of the thin leaves is welcome when the sun rises high, but the heat brings an impossible humidity, one that stinks like fermenting earth. Behind me, some cough, complaining that the sour burns their lungs. I keep my own breaths shallow, but seem toescape the worst of it, suffering little beyond the stench. This island doesn’t offer the same invitation as Serpent’s Tooth. There’s no call to run, no familiar playfulness in the wave of leaves or dappled light. The soil is soaked. Suffocating.
Thankfully, the rot eases as the sun begins to sink and we search for a dryer place to camp for the night. My legs ache as much as my shoulders, which have never had to carry a pack like this before. After an hour searching with no luck, Elio starts to mutter, leaning his head to Rune. “It’s like there’s a half inch of water over the entire island.”
Rune presses a toe into the ground, watching as a puddle rises around it. “Maybe the edges are higher elevation, so the water pools towards the centre?”
Tavi’s voice feels muffled by the damp air. “Or there’s ocean caves below. They might leak to the top if the island slopes in, or if there’s enough pressure.”
My chest clenches tight, and I have to push down the dread that rises at the thought of dark, drowned caves. The nervousness stays, clinging to my spine, ratcheting up with every snapped branch. There’s a good chance we won’t find anywhere to camp tonight, and if we keep moving we’ll draw unwanted attention.
Rune is worried too. His brow pinches deeper the longer we walk, and I have the truly absurd urge to take his hand, as if it might ease the instinctual need to run that shoots through my legs with every step. We’ve fallen into a rhythm, where the chain doesn’t clink as we walk, though I couldn't say whenit started.
He half-turns to those behind us. “Any opposed to sleeping in the trees?”
A jarring scream plummets the forest into tense silence.
Everyone freezes, some inching their hands towards the hilt of their weapons. I swivel my head, trying and failing to see through the varying shades of shadow. Nothing moves; even the wind holds its breath.
When he speaks again, it’s a whisper. “Leave nothing on the ground. Try to—”
Another scream splits the air, this one coming from our other side. It’s quickly followed by a third behind us.
“It’s too late.” My left hand reaches through the ghost of my bola and I clench my fist tight. I’d tried to take what makeshift weapons I could before we left the ship, but none of it will stand up to the kind of creature we saw last night. “Rune. I need a weapon.” Rune turns, watching my face, and I shove down the panic, willing my eyes to soften, willing him to trust me. Just for this. “Rune.Please.”
Another scream. Close enough to rattle the ribs in my chest.
“Rune—”
He grabs my hand, pressing the hilt of his dagger into my palm before flicking the key through my side of the manacles. Slowly, he tucks it back in his shirt pocket, his gaze never leaving my lips.
“Don’t make me regret this,” he says, his voice soft, and I’m not sure if he means the weapon or the fragile trust that’s threading between us.
