by Hugh Howey
She briefly considered putting a knee on its belly and forcing the life out of the thing, but it was smaller than the last one, and this wasn’t the same monster that had gashed her face and hand. In fact, both of them were just looking for water, a craving Molly could easily understand.
She castigated herself for being weak, but a silly urge overcame her: she had to get this creature back to the shelter, alive, and only then release it back into the shade. The challenge fixed itself in her mind as a way to beat this inhospitable land. A way to prevent it from beating her.
Using some of the suit material hanging off her right hand, she started wrapping the Wadi’s mouth, sealing it tight. The poor thing began panting out of its long nose, its soft, white belly rising and falling with quick breaths. But at least it stopped fighting as madly; its legs just pawed at the air, looking for something to push against.
Molly clenched her left fist and squeezed some of her sweat out, allowing it to run into the Wadi’s mouth as it strained against the binding. This made it twitch a little more at first, clawing for the fabric with its front paws, before it finally settled back down.
She took her first good look at the specimen, the iridescent scales along its back and arms glowing, even in the shade. Two bones protruded from the back of the thing’s shoulders, stumps with no discernible purpose, like vestigial limbs. She worked quickly, trying to not get distracted by the beauty of the thing; she wrapped her flapping suit around the creature’s entire body, tight enough to hold it still, but hopefully not so tight it couldn’t breathe. She pressed the bundle to her bare chest.
The Wadi kicked a few more times, struggling against the metallic material, but Molly had it under control now. She could cradle it with one arm and pin it to her body as she soaked up more sweat. She dripped the fluids into the small crack along its mouth and felt the creature go limp with every drink.
Molly had no idea how long the thing—or herself—would survive without proper water. Salt-free water. She double-checked the bundle to make sure the Wadi was secure before giving her lance a long look. She couldn’t carry both, which meant risking her life in an attempt to preserve the strange animal’s.
Turning around, she surveyed the first of many shady bridges that awaited, strong gusts tearing across it and down the blistering canyon. Molly crouched low and set off across the narrow path.
She left behind her only means of defense, propped up against the pockmarked stone. Both her arms tended to the prize against her chest as a harsh, hot wind ripped across her bare back.
••••
Cole worked his way across the next hole he discovered in the tunnel’s floor. Looking over his shoulder, he could no longer see the light from the entrance. It had been lost around a bend, or perhaps something blotted it out. His hand slipped in a puddle of water and another series of drips pelted his back. He didn’t linger to refresh himself.
He crawled forward, the tunnel not getting any bigger or smaller. Cole hoped that meant it bored clear through to the next canyon. He stopped scrambling along and patted for his map, reassuring himself he still had it. As soon as he did so, he heard it: something moving behind him.
He took off as fast as he could crawl, the stupid lance slowing him down and forcing him to move with his knuckles on bare rock. When something bumped into the bottom of his boot, he kicked back at it, making solid contact and setting the tunnel on fire with screeches of animalistic rage.
Cole concentrated on moving away from the sounds, groping ahead for more holes in the floor, hoping the ceiling wouldn’t start constricting down around him. Once again, he felt the amount of solid stone on all sides, the fact that dozens of these things could be coming—homing in on the racket he was making.
His vision spotted with fear.
No. He wasn’t seeing stars. That was light!
Two spots, both perfect circles, as if the tunnel forked ahead. Cole hugged the right side and ignored the pain in his knees and shins, scrambling along as fast as he could. Behind, the angry, high-pitched sounds grew into peals of fury. There was no way he would get to the exit before it clawed up his back.
Cole dropped to his belly and spun over, bringing his knees up to his chin.
When he saw the blackness shift in front of him, he shot himself straight, kicking into the center of the rock tube.
It was poorly timed. Instead of landing a full blow, the thing slammed into the bottom of his extended feet. The creature made a vicious noise; Cole tried stabbing his lance toward the sound. It made a hit, but unfortunately it was the dull, hooked end. He had brought the spear into the tunnel expecting to defend ahead of himself—and the length of the weapon made it impossible to spin it around.
The impact must have stunned the thing, as the noise stopped and nothing clawed at him. Cole lurched back toward the dual lights, his body on fire from the constant impact of rock on bone.
Weary arms propelled him forward as the light ahead gradually grew brighter and bigger. Then, more scraping sounds came from behind—approaching fast.
The last ten meters were as psychologically painful as they were physically demanding. Cole began to lunge, rather than crawl, throwing the spear ahead of him and launching himself with his legs. On the third push, his arms failed to support him and his chin scraped the floor of the tunnel. He could hear the large animal clawing up behind.
Leaving his useless spear where it lay, he pushed himself toward the light.
The very bright light.
When Cole saw the thin wedge of sunlight shining into the lip of his exit, he realized what a huge mistake he’d made. He’d assumed the tunnel would come out on a shaded path, but it didn’t. It faced the eternal day.
There is no solace out that hole, he realized. And the lizard was almost on him.
He didn’t have his spear anymore. Cole tried to kick the thing again, but it had learned: he heard it scampering along the ceiling above him. He moved forward, closer to the steam wafting into the hole, and rolled onto his back just as the creature dropped down. It landed on his thighs and came straight for his throat.
Cole pushed on the squirming beast, which just forced him closer to the deadly light. He could feel the heat from the twin suns where they baked a thin slice of the tunnel’s interior. The giant lizard strained for his neck, pawing at the sides of the tunnel to push forward.
It drove Cole’s head into the sun.
It felt like his hair was set on fire. His hood was still bunched around his neck, leaving his ears open for danger, but his scalp exposed. Cole tried to retract his head down into his shoulders, but this just let the lizard’s snapping jaws get closer to their prize.
He had to save his scalp, no matter the cost. He stopped pushing on the lizard and threw his forearm across his neck, just as he pulled his head out of the light. The lizard bit down on it immediately, locking its jaw above his wrist—teeth grinding against bone.
Cole let out a feeble scream. He grabbed one of the beast’s arms, and with both hands, he lifted it over his head and out of the hole. The pain on his exposed flesh was intense, like some sort of toxin coursing through his arm, but the lizard had it worse. The thing hissed as it cooked, the white underbelly frying in the direct light. It tried to twist its back toward the rays, but Cole had its arm gripped tight; he moved the tender spot around even more.
The jaw finally loosened, its teeth sucking noisily out of Cole’s arm. He attempted to pull the wounded animal in by its leg, but the weight was too much, his own arm at too unusual an angle.
His prize slipped out of his grasp and fell down—into the direct sunlight.
14
Molly continued to forge her way through the dry wind. She was pretty sure the shade bridge she’d just crossed was the last one, and the air seemed to be a bit cooler as well. Trudging forward, her shoulder bumping along the side of the canyon, she dreamt of the shelter beyond the terminator.
She dreamt of glass after glass of water, even of hearing how
much smarter Cole and Walter had gone about their rites.
The bundled Wadi squirmed against her chest; Molly squeezed a little more moisture in its mouth. The thing had been acting more and more content for the past few kilometers. That, or it was slowly dying.
Her thoughts drifted to Edison, any hope of rescuing him evaporating with the last of her body’s water. She imagined being ten times the size of a Glemot, able to scoop him up and cradle him in her arms. She thought of the way he’d done this for Anlyn, the way she was trying to do this for the Wadi. She felt large and small at the same time, able to do so much for one, and almost nothing for the other.
When the leading edge of the terminator came into view, Molly confused it for another bridge at first. It filled her with a moment of panic, then she saw that the blackness went on and on.
She sobbed with relief.
Raw exhilaration overcame her as she crossed the line from day to night. She was tired, wounded and dehydrated. She was several kilometers from the shelter. But she felt free. She could walk in any direction she wanted. She could lay down on the cool stone in the center of the cursed canyon, the walls of which grew shorter and shorter toward the horizon.
Molly picked up her pace. The squat building she needed to reach—where Cole could nurse her back to health—should be just a few more kilometers, straight ahead. Clutching the Wadi against the chill, she lowered her head into the steady gusts and marched toward the glow of lights from the city beyond the horizon.
Behind her, the canyons wailed, almost as if mourning her departure.
••••
Cole finished bandaging his arm with a torn piece of shirt. He couldn’t decide what to do next. It was a long crawl back to the safe side of the tunnel, but at least there were watering spots along the way where he could clean his stinging wounds and quench his thirst.
The problem was: he was in no shape to fight another of those things. If he encountered one during the long march upwind, he’d be mauled for sure. Beyond surviving and escaping the canyons with his wounds, there was still the matter of having a Wadi to complete the rite.
One had just died within a few meters of him, close enough to hear its shrieks, but there was no way to claim his prize.
Or was there? Cole grunted and rolled to his knees. It was slow going with only one arm, but he made his way back to the discarded lance. Tossing it ahead of him, he moved to the edge of the light leaking into the mouth of the hole.
He took his time replacing the metallic hood and adjusting it. He also pulled his left hand down into his sleeve, gripping the lance through the material. Moving the weapon out into the direct sunlight, he let the rays hit his hand. It was just like his experiments back at the terminator—the suit protected him from the light, at least temporarily. He just had to be sure not to touch the heated rock.
Inching forward, Cole rested on his damaged arm as close to the steaming marble as he could. Once again, the lance was turned the wrong way. This time, he needed the hooked end, and it faced away from the mouth of the tunnel. He extended the long weapon all the way out the hole in order to spin it in his hand.
With the awkward fabric spoiling his grip, he almost dropped the thing as he rolled it around in mid-air. As it bobbled out of his grip, he lunged and seized it at the last minute, grunting from the effort.
He shook his head with relief, then angled his face away from the sun before sticking it out to look down for the Wadi. As his exposed face passed by the lip of lit rock on its way out into the air, the heat radiating up reminded him to be careful.
The moaning outside the hole went up an octave as a gust of wind coursed through the canyon. Cole peered down the wall and spotted the Wadi, charred black in places, its skin melting off where it touched bare rock. He lowered the lance, the hook sinking into the soft and bloated belly with a sharp, puncturing sound. He pulled himself back inside the hole and used his injured arm to help hoist the lifeless beast up, dragging it into the protective shade.
He let out his held breath, then pulled in a new, hot, dry one. He had his Wadi Thooo.
But he was a long way from becoming a Drenard.
••••
The lights in the shelter were on, making it easy to spot even against the glow of the city beyond. Several shapes moved inside. Molly hoped one of them was Cole.
A hundred meters from the structure, the door burst open and Walter ran out, his tunic flapping in the wind. As he rushed to join her, Molly noticed the bandage around his head.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper in a windstorm.
Walter didn’t seem to hear.
“I’m not allowed to help you!” he shouted, falling in beside her and matching her weary pace. “I’m a Drenard!” he added.
Molly could feel Walter leering at her bare arms and back; she had no cover other than the bundled Wadi across her chest, but she was too exhausted to care.
“Where’s Cole?” Molly shouted, but her words were dry paper tossed into a blaze.
The last dozen meters were marched in silence. The Wadi had stopped moving nearly an hour earlier. Molly felt sad for the little creature. It was strange, but she felt as if she’d bonded with the poor thing during their long march to safety. Safety for her, at least.
The Drenard guards were kind enough to open the doors for her. Molly stumbled across the threshold and sank to the stained carpet, the sudden absence of wind leaving a dull roar in her sore ears. She bent all the way forward until her forehead touched the soft floor, her small, motionless companion nestled between her stomach and thighs.
Exhaustion overwhelmed her, the end of the ordeal bringing an emotional release. She sobbed with relief, but there wasn’t enough water in her body to form the tears that normally accompanied the sounds. Blue hands moved all around her, joined by a chorus of cooing. Someone draped a blanket over her back and grasped her shoulders—someone else took her bundle away. A glass of water came to her lips, the wetness burning her cracked skin.
The Drenards surrounded her—tending to wounds and helping her to another room. In her haze she saw flashes of Walter, scurrying in and out of the way, but no sign of Cole.
She kept asking everyone where he was, but without the bands, none of the words were relayed.
All she had was a head full of her own, terrible, thoughts.
Part VIII – The Canyon Queen
“To prophesize, simply speak on those things that have already occurred.”
~The Bern Seer~
15
Molly awoke in an unfamiliar room. Her entire body was sore, her stomach hollow. She reached up to her head and felt a tugging at her arm, looked down at the IV taped to her vein, confused.
The ordeal from the previous day came back like a foggy dream. She sat up and a Drenard guard stiffened in the chair by the door. Their eyes met and his head bowed slightly, his chin dipping down toward his tunic. Molly looked at his lance, its point touching the floor.
She had a strange first thought: I lost my lance.
Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she followed the tube leading out of her arm, up to the canister of fluids attached to the wall. As she slid her weight down onto wobbly legs, the guard came over to assist her. He popped the canister off its mount, held it aloft, then stood back a few paces. Molly thought about reaching for the blasted thing and doing it on her own, but both of her arms felt too heavy to raise, much less support something else.
She checked the coverage of her tunic and saw that it was a new one. Longer and more colorful, a straight-fitting dress laced up both sides with ribbon.
In the bottom of her vision, she could see something white on her face. Molly reached up and felt the bandage on her left cheek, saw the wrapping on her wounded hand. She shot the guard a look and shuffled toward the door.
As soon as she emerged, one of the officials rose and strode over to help support her. The two Drenards guided her to a soft chair in the lobby, and Molly saw they ha
d the area to themselves. She settled into the upholstery and looked down at the bandage on her wounded hand. It no longer stung from the toxins.
An official approached her with a red band, the sight of it filling her with joy. It was like a mute watching someone return with their voice.
“Hello?” she thought, testing to see if it was in place.
“Hello, Lady Fyde. Congratulations on completing the Drenard Rite of Wadi Thooo.”
“It certainly wasn’t what I was expecting,” she thought, injecting as much venom in the tone as she could. “How are my friends? Is everyone back? Has Edison—has he shown up?” She had so much to ask, and not all of it kind. She rested her head back against the chair and reveled in the ability to think her mind, rather than speak it. Her mouth still felt full of sand and every muscle in her body ached.
“The little one returned very quickly with his Wadi Thooo. Not much of a specimen, though. The other human has not returned. Your large companion has been gone too long, I’m afraid. This last will likely sadden Lady Hooo greatly, she—”
“Anlyn?”
“Informally, yes. I believe she had feelings for the hairy one.” The cadence and vocabulary were strange, different than Dani’s, but still in her own voice.
“I have feelings for them both,” Molly thought. “We need to go look for them.” She tried to think it forcefully. She leaned forward as if to rise, but her body refused to cooperate. It was weaker than her will.
The Drenard official raised a hand, and the guard paused halfway between helping her and halting her.
“You are not in any shape to go back out there, Lady Fyde. And even if you were, the Light Side is no place for a female Drenard. I would not allow you to risk yourself.”