That’s when she decided to throw a rock. A pretty sharp one too.
Kato shot her a puzzled look, his eyebrows knotting together as if to say—you’re insane, aren’t you? But as he turned his gaze back to the wavering figure, Ren noticed it had stopped. And the rock she threw hovered in the air, other rocks and pebbles flying to it almost as if it were a magnet. A growing one.
Kato cursed. Crossing his arms, he flung them. Interlocking waves of sharp air flung themselves through the brush, decapitating what was left of the trees in its path while kicking up leaves and grass. Hitting the floating rock, the air-scythes crumbled to mist and floated toward the rigid figure controlling the growing tornado of black sediment. Twisting on his heel, Kato snatched up Ren’s wrist, threw her a playful glare, and bolted.
8
White sand dug into Ren’s flats. Shrugging, she bent and scooped them off.
“You swear you are not from the north shore?”
“Yes!” Ren snapped. Holding her flats in one hand, she choked them. “I mean—yeah. I don’t even know what that is.”
Fording a beach, the rest of his crew came into view at its farthest end. The moon hung heavy in the sky, cresting the ocean like a giant’s crystal.
“Then, how did you end up here?” he asked, looking down at her quizzically. “They will ask the same questions. It is important that you decide now how you’ll answer them.”
“What?” were his constant questions supposed to help her? “What do you mean?”
Kato brought his eyes back to the beach. “Outsiders come from the Northern Shore. That is where your kind is planted.” The last word ended in a grunt. “The Mesh will see you and they will think snake. It is instinct to us.”
Ren pursed her lips, close to saying—speak English, please! But she couldn’t be rude, not to a man who could control air. Instead, she tried rephrasing it. “Can you be any more cryptic?” Oops. Sarcasm. Ren face-palmed. Damn, she was awful at being diplomatic.
Cocking his head at her, he squinted his eyes for a moment. Thinking. “I’ll put it this way, okay? Your friend is with the Kirabo. You want help getting them back. To get help, you must earn trust. Outsiders are not welcome. The Mesh are very wary.” He leaned in close, stopping suddenly. “Do you understand? Be careful how much you say.”
It was her turn to cock her head. “I—I’m not sure how I got here. I think those assholes—the Kirabo—took my memories. I don’t know…”
Kato shook his head. “I don’t know will make it worse. Do not say that.”
Who was he talking about? “To the Mesh?”
“To the woman who will decide your fate.”
What?
“I thought you were going to help me!”
Kato pulled back, rolled his shoulders, and started walking toward the group at the end of the beach. “I am. But we cannot act alone.” Waves smacked up against the sand. Ren almost forgot she had to follow as his words rang hollow in her ears. “To do so would be suicide. Mafioso would make sure.”
Mafioso—that word. Seble had said the same thing. Did he mean that molten figure controlling the earth? Ren picked up her pace, fighting to stay alongside him. “You mean that guy you were throwing shit at?”
Without a word, he nodded his head. Dammit. If Ren had to fight that to get her friend back…she had never picked up a gun in her life. These people used spears, bows, and arrows. She had no idea how to use weapons like that—who in the hell used old-ass weapons like that anymore anyway?! Why weren’t these people using guns? Better yet—why were these people dressed like they’ve walked right out of 10,000 B.C.? It made no sense. Had she been transported back in time? Fuck—here I go. What a dumb question. No! But she got here somehow. And there were others on the beach like her—the Northern Shore. Maybe she had come to the island to be with them? Mia would know—Mia would know the answer! But Ren had to get to her first. And to get the help she needed, she would need to speak to the Mesh—Kato’s people. Then be judged by some woman.
Be careful how much you say.
Great. Just great.
They met the group and stopped. Two men were heaved over, panting with their fingers digging into their knees. Some stood at the edge of the beach, letting the water guzzle their toes and the salty spray fill their nostrils. Of the seven men and women here, only one looked ready to continue on. Seble stood with her back to the beach, her eyes following a grass scattered trail that eventually turned to midnight-tinged prairie as the path wove up a rolling knoll. Higher still, a thick clay wall separated the grassland from the fledgling forest inside. Though, unlike the lavish forest surrounding the Kirabo compound, this forest was skeletal. Where there should have been brown bark, the trees were ashen gray. Their thin branches tipping over the high clay wall to touch the fresh grass on the other.
Seble shot her hand to the sky. Calling the others to her before charging off.
Ren blinked. Was she heading for that wall?
9
Orange flame ran along the top of the thirty-foot clay wall. It converged on them. Called down to them in island-speak. Seble screamed her reply up.
An earthen door opened. Small enough for them to pass through single file. Ren followed behind Seble, careful not to trip her way through the tunnel’s murky darkness. When she came out on the other side, it was hard not to gasp. The tunnel was like a portal to another world. A dying one. Thin ashen trees scattered their skeletal branches across the hay-like grass. It crunched underfoot like sand, but bit her feet like rough paper. If she looked to the left, she could see strings of cracked riverbeds that were white with thirst. The strings ran far, looping into a yawning bowl at one end. A pond. Dead now. How come?
With the entire party through, Seble called out to the group. At her command, they hoisted rags up to their faces. Those who had just been freed were given linen, courtesy of Kato. Ren muttered her thanks as he dropped a ragged piece of cloth into her hand. “What’s this for?” he averted his eyes. Almost like he shouldn’t answer her. Or couldn’t. Explanations hurt too much. She followed the crowd, holding it up to her nose and mouth.
Following the threads of dried riverbeds, the farther they traveled along the wall, the thicker the air became. When Ren let her rag go, wanting to breathe in fresh air, her eyes immediately watered. Her throat constricted like air being sucked from a paper bag.
“The air is bad here.” Kato said, his voice muffled as he stalked near her right. “Use the rag. Don’t breathe it in.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice.
Why was there such a difference? On the other side of the wall, everything was beautiful. Wild and tropical. The air didn’t hurt her over there. But here, why were things so…different? Ren’s stomach flipped. She rubbed her forehead, her fever reminding her that it was still there, burning the skin from her face. For a moment, everything went blurry as if she were walking in slow motion and the group began striding faster. Faster. Others were coughing, gagging into their rags as they passed two pockmarked pits belching pure white steam. The steam burned everything, from her eyeballs to her throat. The rag as useless as a thin strip of paper covering her nostrils against a sandstorm. As they passed, some faltered. Some dropped to the ground and vomited. Seble screamed, commanding them and they obliged. Ren imagined she was telling them to keep going—to ignore the pain for home. Which was, hopefully, close.
Three riverbeds merged into one. The pockmarked pits dwindled until Ren saw shoots of grass and fledgling bamboo. With a collective sigh of relief, the group breathed in fresh air. In the distance, a skinny village sat on stilts. A dry gorge depressed down into a gaping mouth that Ren assumed once held water. Once. What was going on here? Had the Kirabo forced the village into this hostile territory? Or had something happened to the land and they had simply refused to leave it? A wave of rock rose up into a skyward arm over the village, overshadowing every hut and thatched roof. It hung like a cloud of sediment, heavy and hungry. White and cracked.
/> Seble was the first to thump onto the gangplank, entering the village almost at a run. The group followed, wheezing and coughing at the stale air but still running. Still ecstatic to finally be home again. As Ren tiptoed onto the gangplank, she stopped to slip her flats back on. Rough wood bit at her feet and she was no fan of splinters. Kato stood near, four other members of the group panted behind him as he waited patiently for her to find her way up.
Once on the boardwalk, sallow faces gaped at her. Wide saucer-like eyes followed her every movement as tribespeople meandered from the village’s woodwork, crawling out of their lopsided shanties like cockroaches. Ren shivered, but pushed herself to stop staring. She told herself that they have never seen anyone like her—but she knew that wasn’t true. According to Kato, people like her lived right on the Northern Shore. Maybe if she found a way there, she could get help with Mia? Maybe she didn’t have to depend on these people. In fact, she was beginning to realize she shouldn’t. Sunken faces resembled leather stretched over bone, hanging there as if it didn’t belong. Like a Van Gogh in a public outhouse. They crowded down the boardwalk like zombies, lurching after them. Ren spotted some healthy looking people lurching along in the horde, but even they looked like marionettes minus a puppetmaster and string.
Why did everyone look so sick?
Ren almost tumbled down three rows of stairs as she blindly followed after Seble. Another crowd gathered here, swarming around a single hut that sat at the village’s heart.
In the silence, Ren could make out murmured words of reverence tumbling from sleepy lips before the entire crowd bowed in a wave of fluid motion. Ren was left standing, staring, as a rush of skirts glided from the hut, attached to the body of a woman. A staff topped by a dream-catcher was secured in the hook of the woman’s tanned arm. The blue crystal at her neck glinted when she met Ren’s eyes. The woman stared back. Eyes glowing, as she watched Ren kneel.
Fingers of pounding pressure drove stakes into Ren’s back as she thumped her forehead to the boardwalk.
10
Everything trembled. Ren tried to move her hands—her fingers—but there was a weight pressing down on her. A black aura swirled around her, its inky presence pressing her down with slimy tentacles.
What. The. Fuck.
Ren fought against it. Forced her elbows out and tried to break it. It wasn’t real—but she felt it. Slime slipping up and down her back, meddling its way into her t-shirt. Slipping its way into her jeans, down her thighs, her legs. Ren shivered. Her eyes went wide as she tried to open her mouth—say something. Say something! But all that slipped out was saliva. Followed by puke.
What do they say about first impressions?
There was a bark of poorly kept laughter. The horde of people shouldered away until it was only Ren and the swishing brown skirts. She saw feet, ankles. Tried to look up, but the slimy aura pinned her back down.
“Plucked from the Northern Shore like a flower from a grave.” The woman spat. “Why save this one?”
“She’s not from the north.” Kato’s voice. He was standing up for her. “We would have seen a castle-ship bringing more Outsiders in, Shamaness. Yet, we haven’t seen one in three months.”
Was this the woman Ren would have to prove herself to? The aura slid away from Ren and she dropped her face to the planks. The Shamaness harrumphed, gliding to Ren’s right. The rough fabric of her bell-shaped skirts scratched Ren on the cheek. She flinched.
“It is not of us.” A death sentence. “You should have left it to die, Air Scion.”
Boards creaked as Kato knelt.
It was now or never.
Ren shot to standing. She wasn’t sure what she would say or what she would do. She didn’t know these people’s customs, but she was sure one thing rang true in every society—confidence. All she had to do was exude confidence and maybe the Shamaness would help her out. Or kill her. Or drop her off at the Kirabo compound. Ren rubbed her hands together. How should she put this?
“I saw many die at the Kirabo compound,”
The boards creaked in the Shamaness’s direction. Something told Ren not to look at her directly. In fact—don’t look at her at all.
“I’ve seen the horrible ways they kill people—er,”
Ren didn’t even hear the woman move, let alone breathe. Ren blinked once, saw nothing, and opened her eyes. She stumbled backward as a woman appeared before her, towering like the reaching limb of a dead tree. Keen eyes drank her in vacantly, almost absentmindedly. While golden nail-guards tapped at the Shamaness’s sharp face. For a moment, Ren saw molten talons stretching from the Shamaness’s hands instead of nail-guards. Ren sighed—almost relieved that the lady wasn’t part-eagle part-human. She half-expected a hair-raising caw to fly out of the Shamaness’s mouth. It didn’t.
Ren swallowed at the lump growing in her throat. “Okay—I—I’ve seen the horrible ways they murder your people and I—I want to help.”
The crystal at the Shamaness’s throat glinted blue. That’s when the aura struck—silencing Ren with a slimy slap to the face. “I don’t want it here.” The Shamaness said. “Send it back, or kill it.”
Pivoting on her heel like air twisting around a tornado funnel, the Shamaness gave Ren her back. A wave of her staff sent the black aura crashing down on Ren again, forcing her face to the deck before she could scream after the Shamaness. It planted her feet in place and smacked her palms to the rough wood of the boardwalk. The crowd gasped, inhaling so suddenly that the dust of the riverbeds seemed to move. Ren’s fever flared—anger. Rage welled up in her belly and she snapped her face up—up as far as it would go before the Shamaness’s invisible aura slapped her back down. Ren wouldn’t take this lying down—hell no. This lady and her freaky magic wouldn’t keep her from saving her friend. Ren wouldn’t be going back to the Kirabo camp alone. If the Shamaness and her people wouldn’t help her, then Ren would find another way. She wouldn’t let them kill her. She wouldn’t let them deposit her back at that fucking compound. Not again. Not again. Ren was stronger than this—she had to be. For Itzel. For Mia. Fire rolled on her tongue, turning it to paper.
Sucking in a breath, Ren broke through the aura, “Please! I’ll do anything—my friend is stuck there! I’ll do anything to get her back—to help you, Shamaness! Please.”
That earned her a stab from the aura, right at the base of her neck. She winced, but broke through it. Stood as tall as the pinpricks of pain spiking through her neck would allow her. “Please!”
The Shamaness offered her a glare tossed carelessly over her tattooed shoulder. “Anything.” The woman deadpanned. “Careful with your choice of words, Outsider.”
“Anything.” Ren repeated. “I fucking mean it!”
A smile, a snort. Suddenly, the Shamaness was ripping the blue crystal from her throat and hoisting it toward Ren. It sparkled blue in Ren’s hands. It kissed her fingertips and cooled the burning sensation prickling up and down her arms. “We are searching for something too. Drink and perhaps the elixir will guide you to what has been lost. Stolen.” The Shamaness took a step forward, grinning expectantly. Smirking. “Drink.” A command. Her voice reminded Ren of Itzel.
Kato peeled from the crowd, “Shamaness—please!” he thumped to the boardwalk, the Shamaness’s fingers flicking, contorting into spider’s legs. “Don’t do this.”
“And if I find…whatever you’re talking about,” the Shamaness reached and uncorked the glass crystal. Ren watched swirls of mist escape from its top. “You’ll help me.”
“Assuming you survive.” A threat. A challenge.
Ren drank.
11
When she closed her eyes, Ren opened them to another world.
Ren couldn’t hear a damn thing. Air screamed in her ears. Her entire world shook like a pinball in a blender set to crush. Outside, a churning storm shrieked as lightning struck its way across a curtain of pitch-black clouds.
“What’s that mean?” a cry from her left. Ren met teary eyes. Heart
shaped lips quivered.
Up in front, the helicopter pilot shouted back: “Nothing good.”
The helicopter cabin screamed. Red light stained the steel as Ren’s stomach plummeted.
“How high are we?”
“Don’t answer that!” Ren shouted at the pilot. Mia’s hand wove into hers and squeezed. Behind Ren, fingernails dug into the fabric of her t-shirt.
“I hate you.” Itzel hissed into her ear.
Had they come all this way to die? The helicopter pilot swore he had been given coordinates. Knew exactly where the compound was and had orders to drop them—explicitly—there and nowhere else. After they left the States, traveling over the Pacific had been a blast. It helped her forget. A booze-filled cruise. Parties that thumped to the beat of the moon. Anything to forget finals week—anything to forget Saul, double-crossing jackass. Anything to forget all the hurtful words spat in the heat of the moment, right when he told her no. Right when he told her—we should take a break. She kept drinking until they hit their mark in the Pacific. Then, a private helicopter came to whisk them away to the real party. Everything had been going fine until they hit this blanket of mist that refused to let up. Pilot said it was normal—yeah, right. Dude changed his tune the moment they entered the mist and got hit with booms of thunder and shrieks of lightning. They entered the swirling arms of an island-wide storm. And they couldn’t have waited on the ship until it disappeared?
Wild Magic (The Island Book 1) Page 3