A broken twig caused us to halt. My eyes focused, and my chest spasmed with quick breath.
Pine. Squirrel. Soil. Sweat.
I sniffed under my arms.
Not me.
My eyes searching the tall, yellowing grasses topped with featherlike blooms, I slinked closer to Marsh, sniffing short and shallow bursts of air. The odor intensified. With my nose an arm’s reach away from him, I sucked in a lungful of the space between his shoulders.
“What are you doing?” He pushed me away.
“You need a bath.” I shimmied past him, taking the lead to be upwind of my perspiring hiking partner.
From the trail, I investigated every crunch or crack I heard. Smell was not my only sense heightened. As I crouched down to see between the vines, a distant, orangish object scurried away. I saw it but couldn’t actually see it. The creature was too blurry. I didn’t understand what I saw until I glanced at March kneeling beside me. His entire body appeared shades of red, orange, and yellow. When I blinked, he looked normal: loosely woven brown pants, dirty khaki tunic.
“What now?” he whispered.
I gazed back into the brush, the object gone. “I think I can see…”
“See what?”
I wetted my lips, searching for the right word.
“What do you see?”
“…heat.”
“It’s Toridia. Everything is hot.”
I rose. “No. Not like that.” I searched the skies, focusing not on objects but on the presence of their temperature against their surroundings.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Marsh inched closer, mouth agape.
I blinked. “What are you talking about?”
He jerked back, tripping over his feet and landing on his ass. “What the fuck, Una!”
“What’s the matter?” I crouched down.
“Your eyes went from pure black then, I don’t know, snapped back to normal.” He panted, staring into my eyes each individually.
I smirked. “Really?”
He nodded quickly, like a child making a confession.
I pulled the pack off my back and rummaged through it to get the mirror. My reflection laughed hysterically, pointing in Marsh’s direction. I shoved the looking glass back in my bag, trying to mask my reaction to Anu’s behavior.
“Dogs have a third eyelid.” I shrugged. “Maybe wolves do too.”
He squinted. “Are you going to turn into a dog?”
“Good gods, Marsh,” I complained, leaving him on the trail behind me. With my back turned to him, I checked my hands. They were still human hands both front and back, not that I’d ever admit his suggestions worried me.
My anxiety subsided, mostly because of the level of attention it took for me to concentrate on our surroundings. Everything narrowed to a few primal functions. Watching. Listening. Moving forward. Finding prey before becoming prey. For the first time in seasons, maybe ever, my mind cleared of all the idle chatter normally consuming me. I didn’t think of the Resistance, Calish, Nik, Marsh and his arrow, or Noran. I only hunted for prey.
I mean other life intercepting us on the trail.
Other than my brother’s arrow, we were defenseless, and without so much as a canteen of water, we were woefully unprepared for travel. The path veered right and left, winding through the brush and eventually into the trees. Unlike our initial thoughts, it did not take us to the river but deep into the woods. Graken warned us to avoid it. Not even the Authority breached the barrier.
“We have enough problems in the village. We don’t need to make more work for ourselves,” he once said. “They want dominion over the shade, then they can rule it without any assistance from us.”
Neither of us planned to end up where we were, but we couldn’t go back. The best direction was forward, although we had no idea what to expect. Over the last several yards, the trail widened, allowing Marsh and I to walk side by side instead of single file. The change could have been a good omen or a bad one; it didn’t matter. Our course was set. We’d rather travel under the direct sun than risk the shade, but what choice did we have? We weren’t sure where we were exactly. If the gods took requests from people like us, perhaps we would have prayed for a sign. I heard Citizens did that sort of thing.
I wonder if that works or not. And is it a wooden sign or carved into stone?
“You need Nik to teach you how to see the future,” Marsh grumbled.
“When we find passable land or a break off in the trail, we should take it. The Great One didn’t need to give me Sight to figure that one. That’s called common sense. You should ask Lark to teach you some before furthering your weapon’s training.”
He wiped his brow. “What? All I heard was a bunch of barking.”
Snap!
We froze. The sound was too large to be caused by a rabbit, especially with the distance it traveled. I narrowed my eyes about thirty meters out, concentrating on heat rather than form. A few small animals, mice maybe, and a rabbit scurried away from the source, not that I needed their evidence to see what stood around the hidden bend of the trail.
I put my finger up to my lips, telling Marsh to keep quiet, then pointed in the direction of the glowing form in the distance.
Human.
The colors shifted from yellow to a more orange hue. I checked Marsh, and he winced back.
Red.
As I turned to the man ahead, his color grew hotter, like the brilliance of the morning sky.
He’s coming closer. They. There are two of them.
Off to our right, an old nursing log gave stability and nutrients to a line of young trees. Not having many good options to choose from, we clambered over it and hid ourselves behind the juvenile evergreens. Marsh still hadn’t heard or seen them, but I did. They prattled on about a man they called Ghost. I knew by their attitude and the words they used it was just lazy gossip.
They don’t know we’re here.
Their subject matter didn’t contain anything important. The casual conversation did hold value, however. Whatever they did had become uninteresting and relaxed enough to have an open discussion between friends yet far enough removed from anyone else they didn’t seem worried about eavesdroppers. I ignored their words, listening to their footsteps instead. From between the trees, I watched their proportions increase.
I slinked back to my brother’s side and whispered into his ear, “They’re not going to the neighborhood.”
“How do you know?”
I put my finger to my lips, shushing him. We kept still as the men strolled past us, still prattling on in superficial conversation. If they had somewhere to go, they’d be walking with more purpose. Shuffled footsteps were the tell of complacency.
Once they were a good distance from us, Marsh whispered in my ear, “They must be the security detail for the Woodsmen. They’re doing a perimeter check.”
“This trail leads to the Woodsmen?”
“I didn’t see another leading off it.” He checked behind him. “We need to find a different route and get back to the road.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Keep your ears open. That was a good save, sis.” He nudged me with his shoulder.
After the threat of their presence waned, we crept through the forest, making sure to keep low and out of sight. The men who’d passed us would do so again when they turned around at the edge of their invisible boundary. Unfortunately, without a well-beaten trail, our progression slowed. Moving through the brush without leaving an obvious path was challenging. The ground was uneven and unforgiving, many of the branches either too brittle or impassable. At least we had the tree canopy to block the sun, not that we felt any cooler because of it.
Marsh and I traveled with a good measure of distance between us. Father taught us the technique when we were young. “The ground cover will help to hide our footsteps, although it will do so only once. A second trampling injures their spirit, keeping them flat and ready to sell your secrets for a single drop o
f dew.” The memory made me miss him. More so, my childhood. Back then, he gave our instructions as if in rhyme. His words sprouted in my mind, attaching their vines to the farthest corners…
…just like these stupid clinger-vines!
I ripped them from the fabric of my lower leg, leaving them haphazardly beside me.
“They’ll sell your secrets.”
Using a nearby stick, I wrestled them into a less conspicuous place under the foliage of another shrub. A talented tracker would find us no matter what, but if the men on patrol didn’t spot us, I doubted anyone else would suspect our presence. Generally, trackers didn’t come after Scavengers until Talium, but that didn’t stop our kind from being hunted. Average Citizens craving an off-season sport or budding Authority officers honing their skills never cared what time of year it was. Part of our success over the seasons resulted from a few simple rules: “Public ridicule trumps solitary execution” being the first. “Travel alone as a last resort” being the second.
Up ahead, I sensed movement of a big signature—much bigger than any man from this distance—and signaled to Marsh to get low. We hid ourselves among the ferns and waited. Soon after, a man on horseback rode into view, although I recognized the sound of the horse’s trot long before. With the exception of the packhorse, the rider didn’t look any different than the displaced Citizens along the road. His hair hadn’t been washed in days if not weeks, and his clothes had gone longer without soap. While his appearance might have let him blend in unnoticed, his obvious confidence in the shade set him apart. Unlike the men doing a perimeter check, he had an agenda.
Marsh crept to me as I cowered in the greens. I would have cursed him for it, if my voice wouldn’t have drawn extra attention to the wiggling fern tops.
“He must have come in off the road,” he whispered.
“I think he’s a Woodsman. We must be near their colony.”
He pointed in the direction from which the horse came. “I say we go that way and keep clear of the path they traveled. It’s got to lead back to the main road. I don’t think it’s smart to cross over anything until we’re among the Citizens. Otherwise, we might find ourselves deeper in their camp.”
I nodded in agreement. We separated, heading for what we considered parallel to the path we assumed existed.
If my senses were not on high alert before, they most certainly were after that. Virtually every step I took coincided with an unexpected sound from something nearby. Marsh, about two paces behind and eight paces to my left, crouched down every time I did. The more ground we covered, the more heat I saw in the distance. Light shades of yellow and lime and soft hues of blue should have put my mind at ease, but all they seemed to do was make my muscles twitch. While I had the advantage, all Marsh had was his bow and a few arrows. The pull of his bowstring caused me to break focus too many times. As much as I wanted to ignore it, I had a sneaking suspicion the one time I didn’t check would be when the readied bow would belong to someone else. If we were discovered inside the boundaries of the Woodsmen Camp, we would be no match for them.
Sweat ran from my brow and into my eyes. I wiped it dry with my sleeve so many times, it soaked my shirt from elbow to wrist. I slicked my hair back away from my face and licked my drying lips. I would give anything for a glass of water, as long as it came from someone other than a Woodsman. Marsh suffered the humidity as well. He sweat through his tunic, and I caught him pulling it away from him in an effort to circulate some air underneath.
We needed to rest but couldn’t do that where we were. In the distance, I spied a grouping of shrubs perfect to camouflage us for a short time. With a click of my tongue, I captured my brother’s attention, pointing them out to Marsh. I crawled on my hands and knees around the barren patch of an anthill, getting to the rendezvous spot first.
Marsh squeezed himself through the doming branches and breathed a sigh of relief. “It feels good to sit.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, clearing my brow once again. “Hey, isn’t this a watershrub?”
“What are you yapping about?”
“A watershrub,” I whispered. “You remember, Mother taught us about them.”
“No, I don’t. Gardening is for girls.” He rolled his head to one side then the other, making the bones in his neck pop.
“Whatever.” I dug in the dirt at the base of the shrub. Just below, I found a light-colored root. A knowing smile pulled across my sweat-covered face. I teased it up from its shallow bed. “Marsh, do you have a blade?”
“Yeah. Here.”
I carefully cut the root free, giddy from the wetness oozing between my fingers.
I knew it!
I wiped the severed end on my shirt to rid it of the soil before putting the stem between my lips like a piece of straw. My eyes closed of their own accord as the cool water pooled in my mouth as I nursed from it. The slightly sweet nectar rehydrated my tongue and cheeks in a way water never could. When I had finished, the root hung limp and withered like a picked flower in the noonday sun.
When I opened my eyes, Marsh had already dug up four of the roots. “You said watershrub, as in there is water here, right?”
I tossed my used bit to the side. “Yes, that would be the reason the word water is in the name.”
He sucked the stem dry and cut two more, one for me and one for him. I shouldn’t have been surprised Marsh didn’t remember this lesson from our mother. He generally didn’t commit anything to memory that didn’t immediately serve him in some way. Mother would be proud one of her children listened to her lessons. He remembered a lot of other things I didn’t…and he made sure to remind me every single time.
“Watershrubs are good at collecting water even when we don’t know there is any. They pull it from the air and the ground to keep it in the coolness of the dirt in their spongy root structures. This stuff is better than water; it’ll last longer in our bodies with all the benefits. It won’t hurt the plant if you take the ones nearest the surface, but if you take the ones more purplish in color, you’ll kill it. Those are like veins; you cut those, and the plant will bleed out.”
“I don’t care,” Marsh said, pawing at the dirt for more. “I’d cut you if I thought you were full of water right now.”
My hand rested across my protruding belly, and I snickered.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, sucking on another root.
“Well, I am full of water right now, you big ox. Do I need to teach you about how babies are born, too, or do you remember?”
“I know the important part.” He winked. “You girls can take care of whatever happens after.”
“I feel sorry for Trisk,” I muttered, cutting another root for myself.
Chapter 18
We weren’t too keen to leave our little safe haven, but we couldn’t get to where we were going if we didn’t. Continuing on, we managed to stay hidden from the countless men coming and going along the paths of our periphery. Their presence made our progress even slower than before. The proof of our success would not be when we emerged from their territory but doing so without detection. The palms of my hands were caked with layers of dirt and sweat, and the knees of my pants were worn threadbare. Every time someone came within earshot, we froze, not moving until the threat had moved on.
While we waited, I studied them. Some of the men walked with purpose while others seemed to wander about in an ungraceful manner. Their arms hung at their sides, flapping like drying laundry in the wind, while their feet struggled against their knees to find another step. Something about them permeated the air with burned kerosene and hair so strongly I had to cover my nose and mouth to keep from retching. The symptoms were consistent, although they varied in severity. The more they reeked, the thinner they were, the worse their skin appeared, and the less capable they were to stand solidly on their own two feet.
What happened to them?
Calish would know. If not, Graken would. I doubt there was anything happening in Ashlund one or the othe
r didn’t have some idea about, not that they could do anything with the information. The only thing slower than my progression to the main road had to be Calish’s improvements to the village. Of course, I would never verbalize my feelings. He did the best he could, given the extreme circumstances. No one could expect more than that.
Another man on the path caused us to stop. Five men, actually. Two were headed in one direction when they were intercepted by three others. Their chance encounter evolved into a full-fledged reunion. Friends of their younger years or acquaintances—I didn’t care which—unraveled a lengthy summary of each of their unimpressive lives. And their siblings. And their parents. And that one girl, whom none of them could remember her name but could recount every detail about her physique.
Oh, come on!
I didn’t mind holding still, but every moment passing with us sitting in their territory dragged into a moment too long. Knowing their humble bragging of yesteryear had to be enjoyed by all, I got more comfortable. I moved to my seat to give my knees and wrists a break.
“What is so interesting?” Marsh whispered as he stretched his legs behind him to lie on his stomach.
“Just wait, I think they’re almost done.” I hoped. Their conversation droned on and on and on. I rolled my eyes. Marsh sighed, hitting his forehead against his folded arms.
“Do you hear that?” I asked.
He shrugged.
A woman’s scream cut through the trees.
Marsh’s head popped off its resting place.
I peeked through the trees obscuring the Woodsmen’s path. Another involuntary scream pierced the air, and this time, the chatting men took notice of it too. Marsh scrambled up, staying crouched safely behind a forked trunk of an elder tree. The men who delayed us initially casually turned toward the commotion. The begging sobs didn’t alarm them at all. It appeared to interest them.
The woman’s screams and pleading became clearer the nearer she came. As she got closer, I saw dirtied blood running down her face. I could smell it. Her bound hands stretched out in front of her as a captor led her with a leash. He yanked her forward by the free end of the rope, causing her to trip. Her hands, unable to break her fall, let her elbows take the impact of the assault. She rolled onto her back only to be dragged like a wounded animal.
Scavenger Girl: Season of Toridia Page 20