The Red Pearl

by C. K. Brooke

  It was short-lived. With a cry of protest, she thrust away and struck him in the face. It stung, but he’d be the first to admit he entirely deserved it.

  She brought her hands over her mouth in shock. His breathing ragged, Rob met her stunned gaze. “At least you can’t say you’ll forget me now.” His voice was lower, more gravelly than usual. “A virgin never forgets her first kiss.”

  Antonia gave a single bat of her lashes. “What makes you so sure I’m a virgin?” But those wide, innocent eyes betrayed her.

  Rob chuckled softly. “Please, Annie.”

  He turned, though he still felt her watching him, and could detect the rise and fall of her breast in his periphery. Already, he was filling with remorse. What had he been thinking, manhandling her like that? He knew better.

  He also knew he couldn’t go there with her—or with anyone—right then. For, mere days ago, his heart had been trampled upon and broken. He couldn’t simply give it away again. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure where it was at the moment, if it was even whole or still belonged to him.

  “Look.” The man spoke with his back to her. “What just happened… I meant nothing by it, all right? So, I hope I’ve not set you up with false expectations. The last thing I wish to do is…lead you on, or something…”

  He was startled by her scathing laughter. “I am tickled by your hubris, Mr. Watkins, truly. Rest assured, the only expectation I have is that you never touch me again.”

  With one last lethal glare, Antonia vanished into the tent.

  FOR THE REST OF THE evening, Robin left her alone, obviously feeling culpable. As he very well should feel, Antonia thought furiously, staring up at the canvas ceiling. Not only had he assaulted her, forcing his mouth over hers in what was clearly some ridiculous machismo assertion of power, but he’d then had the audacity to spurn her—as though his violation had somehow piqued her affections!

  Boiling with anger, she tossed about in her bedroll. Though at first, she’d felt sorry for slapping him, the more she replayed the scenario in her mind, the greater she longed to slap him again. Either way, she cared not what he said. She’d soon meet a man who would make her forget all about him. And whatever Robin Watkins thought he’d given her, it was certainly not a kiss. Why, kisses were supposed to be tender and romantic, or at the very least consensual. Nay, far as she was concerned, his didn’t count. She’d still never been kissed.

  By the following morning, Antonia was going stir-crazy. She needed to come out of the tent, even though it meant returning to the awful man’s company. Emerging from the shelter at last, she found him fastening his rucksack with an air of finality. “Going somewhere?” she inquired.

  He jumped. “Jeez. You scared the daylights out of me.”

  Suspicious, she eyed his rucksack. “You weren’t planning on abandoning me out here, were you?”

  “Of course not.” He sounded offended. “What do you take me for?”

  “A rogue,” Antonia declared, “if you care for my honest opinion.”

  “Well, I don’t.” He swung his bag down from the carriage. “It was a rhetorical question.”

  Antonia turned away, but he whistled for her attention. “You going to help me take down the tent, or what?”

  “So, we’re leaving?”

  He shrugged. “Got to. These bottles won’t sustain us forever.” He jiggled his bag, and the glass inside clinked. “We’ll have to move forward to find water, either way.”

  After helping him dismantle the tent, Antonia took up another bag of supplies to carry, and made her way from the site. Robin gave a reluctant glance over his shoulder at the prototype, and Antonia suffered a resurgence of guilt. Poor Dr. Watkins.

  For more than an hour, they walked toward the mountains that loomed in the distance. Antonia knew she ought not to drink too much, but she was parched. What was worse, all the dust and dry air kept causing her to cough uncontrollably, her only temporary relief being hefty gulps of water.

  She did not miss Robin’s anxious look as he handed her another bottle during her next coughing fit. Though he said nothing, she knew she was expending their supply. They needed to refill the bottles soon.

  The sun beat down over their heads. Beneath her fair hair, Antonia’s scalp burned. A few days out there, and she’d be fried to a crisp! If only the stubborn man hadn’t insisted on bisecting through the desert…if only they’d have stuck to the road instead.

  The sun hardly seemed to budge. Antonia had never known the hands of time to move more sluggishly, except maybe during Sacred Scripture study in the temple. Not that she minded reading. But those old scrolls writ in the Ancient Elphysian script, called Skarsköt, were tedious to decipher, let alone study.

  She was pondering the idea of perishing from thirst possibly being worse than decoding Skarsköt when her companion halted. “Green,” he announced, pointing to a weed poking through the crackled ground. He reached for her bag. “Shovel, please.”

  Antonia handed it over. After poking around the little weed, he began to dig. “If a weed grew here, then there could be some water underground.”

  Antonia was uncertain. “I don’t know, Rob… It’s only one little weed. Not exactly an oasis.” But another bout of coughing overtook her, and he merely continued digging.

  Maverick trailed off in the opposite direction, sniffing, and Antonia watched him with some apprehension. She hoped he wouldn’t get lost. She then marveled at herself. She wasn’t growing concerned over a dog now, was she?

  At least thirty minutes passed, but Robin still found nothing. His brow and collar dripped, his blouse nearly transparent with sweat. But still, the ground he dug up was bone dry.

  “Rob,” said Antonia gently. But he made no indication of hearing her.

  She took a breath, knowing what she had to do. She couldn’t let him exert the rest of his energy. He needed to preserve his strength for the days to come. Who knew how long they’d be out here? At the same time, Antonia was well aware that his pride and stubbornness would not allow him to give up just yet.

  “Give me the shovel,” she requested. “You need a break. Let me do the digging for a while.”

  He turned to her, his face ruddy as his hair. “Take turns?”

  She nodded, and he passed her the tool gratefully. “Thanks,” he panted.

  Antonia gripped the handle and began to dig, the hard steel chafing her hand as the shovel’s mouth clanged against stones buried in the earth. She lifted out pile after pile of brittle soil, along with clumps of rock and dirt, but no sign of water. Soon she was coughing all over again, having accidentally inhaled more dust.

  After another reluctant sip of her bottle, she returned to work. She’d never realized how difficult it was to wield a shovel. Or, perhaps it was just this unforgiving terrain. But for Robin’s sake, she dug on, uncomplaining, ignoring the dirt that threatened to suffocate her, forcing herself to resume while the man rested some distance apart.

  Eventually, though, she heard him calling her softly: “Annie.”

  Her hand smarting, she turned. He stood perfectly still several yards behind her, subtly pointing to the ground. Antonia’s heart pounced to see something slithering his way. Squinting, she realized it was an exotic serpent, its scales white as teeth, with a succession of purple bulbs at the tip of its tail, which emitted petrifying clicking sounds as it moved.

  Inexplicably, her memory flashed to the morning she’d first seen Robin, when he stood cornered at the mercy of that ruthless woman and her pistol. With her deadly weapon cocked, Rowena Wildaison had slinked towards him, just as this viper did with its dripping fangs. It was the same instinct to protect him that overtook Antonia in that moment, as she lunged forward. With all of her strength, she hurled her shovel onto the snake.

  Alas, she’d only struck its middle. Robin shouted as the creature rose its flat head in the air, rounding on
her. It bared ivory fangs with a deadly hiss.

  Antonia raised the shovel and brought it down over the serpent again, although not before a searing pain struck the wedge of skin between her thumb and forefinger. With a battle cry, she bashed the shovel into the snake, crushing its head repeatedly until it lay limp.

  Dropping her weapon, she brought her left hand to her eyes to inspect the damage. Two tiny fang holes punctured the skin, and were rapidly swelling a sickly shade of violet.

  “Antonia,” Robin cried, seizing her hand. At once, he thrust the affected area into his mouth.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked, yanking away in disgust. But he spit onto the ground and brought his lips back over her punctures.

  “Sucking out the venom,” he exhaled, after spitting again. “I’ve no idea what sort of snake that was. But if it’s poisonous, this is the only way to save you.”

  “Ugh.” Antonia shuddered as he sucked on the space between her fingers again. “Are you almost done?”

  He gave her an incredulous look. “Annie. You could die.”

  She frowned, her discomfort increasing at the sensation of his lips on her hand, as he worked to extract whatever venom the snake had injected. Finally, he wiped his mouth and spread apart her wounds. She winced.

  “I think that’s all of it,” he muttered. “Nothing more’s coming out.” He looked up at her, and she couldn’t help but soften at the apprehension in his eyes. His beautiful aquamarine eyes… “Does it hurt?”

  She glanced down, hoping to hide the unwelcome blush at her cheeks. “A little.”

  “Well, we’ll keep an eye on it.” He released her. “Goodness, Annie. Seems everything happens to your left arm.” He grunted. “A snake attack, your ciqédo bites, that scar on your left shoulder…”

  Antonia’s stomach flipped. “How d’you know about my scar?” she demanded.

  “Oh.” The man cleared his throat as she watched him indignantly.

  No one but she and her parents knew of the scar. And it was something over which Antonia was rather self-conscious. In fact, she often worried what her someday-husband would think, once she revealed it to him. Would it make her unappealing, unwanted?

  Robin stammered, amplifying both of their discomfort. “When you were unconscious, and we w-went to give you antihistamine, I, ah…rolled up your sleeve and saw...”

  Antonia inhaled. So he’d only rolled up her sleeve. So long as that was all he saw.

  He scratched his returning beard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  “It’s all right.” She rubbed the spot on her shoulder absently. “I was attacked by a dog when I was four. To this day, I bear the scar. S’pose I’ll never be rid of it.”

  Comprehension crept across Robin’s features as he watched her with evident empathy. “Is that why you’re so afraid of dogs?” His tone was more tender than she’d ever heard it.

  She only nodded. She didn’t want to talk about it. It had happened long ago, and she was stuck with both the phobia and unsightly scar forever. What more could be done by speaking?

  “Forgive me,” he besought her. “Your fear is valid. But…” He sighed, reaching down to pet Maverick, who had rejoined them. “Maybe don’t judge all dogs by the acts of one bad one?”

  Antonia leveled with his gaze. “Perhaps I could suggest the same to you of friends, Rob.”

  THEY GATHERED THEIR THINGS, INTENDING to move on. But Maverick whimpered, arching his head in the other direction. “Come on, Maverick,” Antonia said.

  But Rob eyed the dog, curious. “What is it, boy?”

  The animal circled back downhill. Rob followed, beckoning Antonia, as the animal led them to something familiar. Lying upturned in the gritty sand was none other than the straw basket the coyote had stolen. Maverick stuck his rubbery nose inside and sniffed, black tail bobbing proudly.

  “Good boy,” Rob praised him. His heart suddenly infused with hope, the man crouched down and picked up the basket. There was a glass water bottle inside, startlingly hot to the touch, and some shredded paper wrappings, but no food. He felt along the woven base of the basket and shook it, but there was nothing more.

  He frowned. He should have known not to get his hopes up. Besides, he’d already accepted his fate. The key was gone. They would never…

  “Rob.” Antonia pointed. “What’s that by your shoe?”

  He looked down. Glittering in the sunlight was none other than the copper key to Thad’s prototype. Breathless, Rob snatched it up and leapt onto his dog in a wild embrace. “Maverick, my hero!”

  Antonia folded her arms, although she smiled. “Oh, of course. I rescued you from a venomous snake and spotted the key, but Maverick is clearly the hero here.”

  The man grinned, happier than he’d felt in days. “You too, Annie.” He pocketed the key. “Well? What are we waiting for?”

  The girl laughed, hoisting up her bag, and the three made off in the opposite direction, energy renewed.

  IT WAS AS THEY’D LEFT it. Grateful, Rob flung himself onto the horseless carriage and kissed it. “Thank the gods.” He opened Antonia’s door, seeing her inside, and hurried to the driver’s seat. “Ready, Annie?”

  “Ready.”

  He jammed the key into the ignition. With a sputter, the motor began to rumble. He laughed, exhilarated. Finally, he thought, fortune seemed to be turning in his favor. Wen and Adams were in for a surprise.

  “Axacola, here we come.” Slamming his foot on the pedal, Rob set the vehicle into motion. It bumped over the rocks, emitting a trail of smoke in its wake. Meanwhile, Antonia gathered her long, flying hair and tied it back with a ribbon.

  Rob spoke his mind before thinking better of it. “Your hair looks nice pulled back like that. I can see your face better.”

  She grinned. “Thanks.”

  “Just thought I’d tell you.” He shrugged, returning his focus to the dry land ahead. “That way, when you set off to meet your Elatian knight in shining armor, you’ll know how you look best.”

  She lifted her chin at this, a wishful gleam in her eye. Rob couldn’t help but smile to himself. He was glad she still clung to her dream. After all, what sort of empty future awaited a person without a dream?

  They were still in high spirits when they parked the carriage for the evening. “I’ll refuel her tomorrow.” He yawned. “For now, let’s see what we’ve got to eat.”

  Antonia helped him gather a ration of food, although they’d few water bottles remaining. After dinner, they reclined on their bedrolls, counting the night stars and relaying stories of them. Antonia impressed him with her extensive knowledge of astral lore; she seemed able to recount the mythology behind every constellation.

  “Do you believe it all?” Rob rolled onto his side to discern her face in the starlight. “The stories of the gods and stars?”

  She gazed out to the shadow of the mountains. “I’m not sure,” she confessed. “Do you?”

  No one had ever asked him such a question. He scratched his bristling jaw, pondering. “I believe there is…something more out there. Though what, I know not.”

  Antonia looked thoughtful. “Perhaps we may never know.”

  They fell silent, watching as the landscape blackened around them. “How’s your hand?”

  “Fine.”

  He was content to hear this.

  “Rob?” Her bedroll rustled. “Are you certain your map is…really the map?”

  He closed his eyes. “Positive.”

  “But how can you be sure?”

  “I just am,” he insisted, perhaps a bit too firmly. But he did not like the dangerous waters this conversation was approaching.

  “But how?” she repeated, sitting up. “If it’s so ancient and rare, then how did it come into your hands?”

  “Antonia…”

  “Did you pay a lot
for it?” Moonlight reflected in her inky pupils. “If you did, you may have been swindled for a fake—”

  “I paid nothing for it,” he barked. “And it’s not a fake. Now go to sleep, and don’t worry yourself about it.”

  Antonia squinted at him. “You know, you reacted similarly the last time I brought this up,” she realized. “What are you hiding from me? Why won’t you tell me how you got the—?”

  “Because it’s none of your business, all right?” he shouted.

  She ceased speaking. Heart pounding, Rob lowered his head back onto his pillow. He was sorry for losing his temper, but he simply couldn’t tell her how he’d come to possess the map. Only he, Rowena and Adams knew the truth—another thought which was entirely distressing.

  Ignoring his thirst, Rob attempted to sleep. Eventually, he drifted, images of streams and lakes pouring through his dreams, tantalizing him. He awoke coughing before dawn, and reached for the nearest bottle. The man drank deeply, knowing he needed to stop, to control himself…but couldn’t. Before he knew it, he’d emptied the whole bottle.

  He dropped his head into his hands, massaging the sleep from his eyes. If they weren’t careful, they would run out of water by the end of the day. And what then?

  Antonia soon awoke, her hair still tied back from the previous day, and Rob couldn’t help but notice how flawlessly her face radiated under the rising sun. Why, Rowena’s skin had never shone like that. For one senseless moment, he imagined waking up beside Antonia every morning, nuzzling those fair cheeks that glowed like the moon.

  His stomach tossed as he recalled the way her pouty lips felt against his, how soft and juicy they tasted…and how badly he wanted them, all over again, that very instant. Like with the water he could not refrain from imbibing, his desire was uncontrollable.