Taron whirls, and my heart leaps. He reaches into his utility belt and flicks his wrist, releasing a glint of steel into the shadows.
The blade slices through the air with a quiet hiss before burying itself into the pale bark of a tree. I narrow my eyes as I track the knife’s path in the dark, my pulse quickening in response to the plume of sour energy that suddenly thickens the air around me.
I realize, foolishly, that it’s my own fear.
“What was that?” I ask. “Did you see something over there?”
I squint into the undergrowth, but the jungle remains dense and impenetrable, an assortment of misshapen shadows. Taron stands rigid, listening closely. His chest rises and falls with controlled breaths.
“I swear I heard someone whispering over there,” he says.
“Really? I didn’t hear anything…” I continue scanning the trees, but there’s nothing, just the thick silence between us and the ever-present rustle of leaves.
Then, behind me, a faint, unmistakable sound – a soft patter of footsteps, light but awfully quick. My muscles tighten and I move instinctively. My hand finds my shears in the side of my boot, fingers clutching it tight. I spin on my heel.
“What is it? Did you spot something?” Taron’s voiceis low. He pulls his arm back, and his blade releases from the tree, flying through the air towards us and landing seamlessly in his outstretched hand.
I see now that it’s a knife, worn smooth but meticulously detailed. The wood bears tiny grooves that look hand-carved, and I wonder if he made it himself. I wonder whether the blade has tasted blood before.
“I heard footsteps.” I know I did, but doubt flickers in my words. “Like someone’s sneaking up on us.”
“Who? Another team?” Taron’s eyes narrow, searching the empty space between the trees behind us. “Are you sensing them at all?”
“No, nothing.” Frustration prickles at the edge of my thoughts. Did I really hear footsteps? I’m not sure any more.
We pivot in silence, standing back to back, guarding each other as we scan our surroundings. The jungle feels as though it’s slowly crawling closer, the already narrow path now suffocating us. Shadows flicker at the corners of my vision. The glowing lumen flowers look too much like eyes, and the rustling leaves sound too much like whispers. I can’t discern my own unease from the energy of a potentially ominous presence.
“I have a weird feeling about this place,” I breathe.
“Yeah, and we’re being stupid by following this path,” Taron says. He slides his knife into his utility belt with a click. “Our finish line is the Temple of Stars. No doubt these paths are designed to disorientate us, to prevent us from reaching it. We need a different way of navigating.”
He reaches into his utility belt and pulls out what remains of our soaked, torn and smudged map. He unfolds it, his brow furrowing in concentration as he spreads it open on the ground and studies the tangled web of paths criss-crossing the jungle.
His finger traces what remains of a thin blue line in smeared ink – a river, winding through the maze of greenery.
“Looks like our best shot is to follow the river,” he says. “If we stick to that, we’ll have a better sense of direction.”
“It could work … but what if the other teams have the same idea?” I ask.
“Then we’ll have to be ready for an ambush.” Taron folds the map back up and tucks it into his belt. He stands still for a moment, holding his breath as he listens.
I try to listen, too. Through the steady hum of the jungle, faint and distant, the soft sound of running water reaches us, barely audible but undeniable.
He meets my gaze, and his eyes are filled with a comforting fire. “Water,” he declares with a satisfied smirk. “This way.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Stepping off the path feels wrong. Dangerous, almost.
As though we’re surrendering ourselves to the jungle, allowing it to consume us completely, with no promise it’ll spit us out again.
Taron and I wade through the unruly branches and vines. The ground is slippery with mud and mossy stones, making it difficult to advance quickly in the dark. Roots snake through the soil, perched to trip me up, while pesky insects buzz around my ears.
I shiver at the feeling of leaves brushing against my skin, some smooth, others sticky or spiked. Where Taron relies on the sound of rushing water as his guide, I instead follow the intensifying glow of lumen flowers.
It’s a delicate trail of pinkish luminescence that looks entirely out of place in this dark, mossy jungle. I do what I always do – rub one of the petals between my fingers. Butinstead of making me smile, the glow left on my skin forms a painful ache in my heart. Gone are the memories of two sisters writing secret messages at the bottom of their beds. Now all I think about is that night. When I followed a trail of lumen flowers to a pool of water, on my way to the Night Market to pawn the jewels that would get me into this mess.
The sound of the river grows louder. Taron ducks under a low-hanging branch. He waits for me, holding back a cluster of broad leaves until I emerge after him.
