“I’m not saying it’s right.” Peter raises his arms high then allows them to fall with a slap against his thighs. “I’m just telling you why my people—Urthmen—hate humans so intensely. Surely you understand our point of view. You’d feel the same way if you’d endured what we’ve endured.”
“I wouldn’t kill harmless beings,” I snap back without pause.
“So you’re telling me you’ve never killed an unarmed Urthman?” Peter levels eyes as inscrutable and fathomless as the darkest night sky. All I sense in them is judgment.
Feeling heat creep up my collar and a general sense of discomfort, I fan the air in front of my face. “What I’ve done or haven’t done isn’t in question right now,” I say, my cheeks blazing. “Change the subject.”
“That’s what I thought.” Peter’s tone is neither condemnatory nor disparaging, just matter-of-fact, a point that makes me feel worse than if he just came out and said, “We are talking about you, and you’re just as guilty as any other Urthman you’re denouncing.”
“You’re really starting to annoy me,” I hiss at him through my teeth. “Just drop it.”
With his hands chest-height with his palms facing me, he says, “Okay, okay.” His tone is peaceable and his expression is maddeningly serene. “I just want you to see that there are two sides to everything in this life.”
Gritting my teeth so hard my jaw aches, I close my eyes briefly. After I open them, I say, “Point taken, now let it go already.”
Peter doesn’t utter another word. He simply dips his head in my direction then returns his attention to the path in front of him. With each step that I take, indecision scratches needle-sharp claws at my brain. I can’t decide whether I like the Urthman, whether I’m calmed by the tranquility and levelheadedness he exudes, or whether I want to kill him where he stands. I guess the answer remains to be seen.
Chapter 11
Darkness encroaches on daylight, bleeding the atmosphere of all warmth and leaving a damp chill in its wake. An indigo sky unfurls before me as I sip the last drops of water from my canteen. So far, we’ve followed a trail that parallels the river, but soon we’ll be venturing out deeper, into the heart of the forest. June is beside me. We’ve stopped to drink, and I watch as she empties the last of her water into her mouth.
“We’ll be leaving this area soon, taking that path,” Peter approaches us and points to a narrow trail carved between a dense cluster of bushes. “If you want to fill those,” he gestures to our canteens, “now would be the time to do it.”
“I’ll fill them,” June offers, her mannerisms awkward around the Urthman. Of course, I understand her discomfort. Urthmen have been our enemies for her entire live, for centuries. Human beings would just as soon share a meal with a Lurker than follow an Urthman, but here we are, allowing Peter to lead us to safety. My head still spins at the reality of what we’re actually doing. Desperation has a way of making people do things they never thought they’d do. Given the choice between the thousands of mutant Urthmen hunting us and the single Urthman offering to help us, the decision was easy.
As soon as June turns and makes her way down the embankment toward the river, in my periphery, I notice movement. Brom lumbers past me, mumbling something about needing to fill his canteen too.
Piercing ebony eyes bounce from Brom to me and Peter makes a soft clucking sound with his tongue. Heat builds in my chest and travels the length of my neck until my cheeks blush deeply. “You’re starting to notice it now, aren’t you?”
“Notice what?” Sully appears right beside me, his chiseled features highlighted by the ice blue glow of dusk. “What’s he talking about?” He gestures with his thumb toward Peter. Clearly, he hadn’t been paying attention when Peter and I spoke moments ago.
I briefly debate keeping the opinion Peter has shared with me to myself. Given that I’m a terrible liar, I opt for the truth, even though the truth will raise questions I’m not in the mood to address at the moment. “He told me he thinks Brom likes June.”
Sully holds my gaze for a moment, waiting for more. When I say nothing further, he leans his head in slightly and widens his eyes, lifting his brow simultaneously. “And?”
“That’s it,” I reply.
“Okay, so what? Everyone likes June?” Sully shrugs and looks confused.
“No, no, not that he likes her the way you like her. That he likes her.” I emphasize the word “likes” to convey that there’s more to it without coming out and saying it.
“So he likes her, big deal,” he mocks the tone I used and the word I stressed. “June is a sweet kid.”
Peter chuckles and shakes his head, amused by the misunderstanding.
“Yes, June is a very sweet kid, and everyone does like her.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustration getting the better of me. “But that’s not what Peter said. He thinks Brom is attracted to June. He thinks that he looks at her in an inappropriate way.”
The words hang in the air like a mist for several beats before they sink in fully. When they register, revulsion flickers across Sully’s features. Curling his upper lip, he says, “Peter thinks Brom is interested in June the way I’m interested in you?”
I nod yes.
“He thinks Brom, big, nasty Brom, looks at her and,” he swallows hard and he looks as if he’ll be sick, “wants to be with her?”
“That’s right,” I say and feel bitterness rocket up my throat.
“She’s just a kid!” Sully exclaims. He scrubs his face with both hands. “That just—it’s just sick!” He takes a few breaths, his eyes darting from side to side as he mulls over the possibility that Peter is right. When he finishes, he dips his brows low and glares at the Urthman. “I get that you’re mad with Brom, but drumming up this ridiculous and frankly gross story isn’t going to help win us over to your side.”
Funny, his brain follows the exact same path mine did when I first heard Peter’s theory.
“I haven’t drummed up anything, rest assured.” Peter is calm and offhand when he defends himself. “Feel free to believe what you want, but I know what I’ve seen, what I see right now.” He raises one arm and gestures to where June and Brom just went. His cool, self-assured demeanor infuriates me. So does the matter that I think he’s right. Either way, I turn my head and peer down the embankment to where June just disappeared with Brom not far behind her.
Unsettled by Brom’s sudden need to fill his canteen as soon as he learned June was leaving us to do the same, I’m pulled toward the river like a metal shaving to a magnet. “I’ll be right back,” I say absently as I follow the trail June took.
With light-footed steps, I make my way down the bank toward the river, a dreadful feeling clinging to me like scum on a pond. Ferns and other leafy growth brush my legs, the landscape a disorienting fusion of every shade of green imaginable, and exposed tree roots arise like the gnarled knuckles of mythical beasts as they cross my path, but I’m only mildly aware of them. My focus is on June.
Damp with perspiration, my clothes cling to my body and my calves complain from leaning back as I do and adjusting my center of gravity to keep myself from sliding forward. Aside from the gentle hiss of the river’s current, the world is silent. Eerily so. No birds, no bugs, no animals prowling, none that I can see, that is, just the urgent beat of my heart echoing in my ears as I imagine Brom attempting to act on his supposed urges. I grind my teeth at the thought of him placing one meaty finger on her, gnashing them so loudly I fear they’ll hear the crackle of enamel. I quicken my pace, continuing until I see them up ahead. June is at the pebble-strewn edge of the river. She’s on her knees with her canteen submerged below the surface of the water, and Brom standing behind her.
As quietly as possible, I close the distance between us, crouching behind a slender young tree, close enough to reach out and touch Brom if I so desired. I’d have thought he’d notice me, being the exceptional hunter that he is, he’s oblivious that he’s in my crosshairs. He could easily be prey quickly
snared by my blade.
I follow the trajectory of Brom’s gaze, though I don’t need to. With no one else visible in the immediate vicinity, it’s clear it’s pinned to my little sister, or more specifically, my little sister’s backside. My stomach dives as pieces of a nebulous puzzle I’ve chosen not to see begin drifting into place to form a complete picture. Peter is right. Brom’s interest in June is far from friendly. And a tumultuous flux of rage rises within me, building like a mighty tidal wave poised to carve a path of destruction.
Without thought or hesitation, I step from the meager concealment of the tree. “Getting a good look?” I ask, my tone oozing venom.
June springs to a standing position and turns and Brom twists to face me, a look that is a blend of shock and embarrassment marking his features. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asks and tries to sound indignant, but I hear the guilt in his voice, the telltale tremor of a man who’s been caught leering at a girl less than half his age.
Bitter laughter fires from my lips like gunfire. “You don’t think I just saw the way you were looking at her?” My voice is shrill and loud. It garners the attention of Sully and Peter, and the rest of our group.
“What’s going on down there?” Sully’s voice echoes from the top of the ridge.
Brom narrows his eyes at me. The press of his hateful gaze holds me hostage for a split-second, his voice wrapping around my throat and choking the words there.
Sully begins jogging toward us, Peter and the others following.
“You disgust me! The way you were looking at June, a girl young enough to be your daughter!” I hiss.
“The way he was looking at me?” I didn’t hear June’s footsteps as she approached but she is beside me, her face, neck and chest flushed with embarrassment.
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, girl” Brom snarls between his teeth. “I’d watch myself if I were you.”
Girl? Watch my mouth? His words scrape against my skin like rusted razors, the goading; the thinly veiled threat. My hand reflexively finds the hilt of my sword. I yank it from its sheath and clutch it in front of me with both hands. “Watch myself,” I repeat his words disdainfully. “You’re staring at a child like your about to mount her like an animal and I need to watch myself?”
An unnamed emotion flashes in his eyes, a spark that confirms he’s as guilty of what I accused him of as any man I’ve ever seen. “I wasn’t staring at her,” he tries in vain, but his tone lacks any semblance of conviction, of truth for that matter. Gaze lingering to the left of my head, Brom seems nervous. “I was just waiting until she was done so I could fill my canteen.”
“Oh so, you needed to wait, is that right?” I snap.
“Yes, I did.” Brom puffs out his chest, his demeanor indignant that I’m even questioning him.
“Really? So along the twenty-mile stretch of river,” I sweep my arm out and gesture to the winding waters that stretch for as far as the eye can see, “you needed to wait for the three-foot section June was at, is that what you expect me to believe?” Brom’s features collapse and I laugh spitefully. “Yeah, exactly.” My upper lip lifts in disgust. I reach out and grab June’s arm, pulling her behind me in anticipation of confrontation. “Peter, you were right about him,” I call out as soon as I see Peter, but a glimpse of Brom’s expression makes me regret doing so immediately.
Enraged, Brom blusters, “Oh! So that’s where you got this ridiculous idea from! I should’ve known! You filthy monster!” Brom tosses his head back and laughs the hearty laugh of one who’s heard something truly funny, only he hasn’t. In fact, there’s nothing remotely funny about what’s happened here. When his laughter ends abruptly, his face is an unhealthy shade of red that borders on purple. Jowls jiggling with ire, he growls at Peter, “You’re trying to cause problems, huh?”
“I just commented on what I saw.” Peter freezes in his tracks, his dark eyes wide with fright.
“You didn’t
[i]see anything!” he screams before he takes off, charging Peter with impossible speed for a man his size. “You’re trying to ruin my name with your lies!” Brom’s arms are around Peter’s waist, gripping him like twin hoops of steel as he hoists him up and over his shoulder. “Trying to turn our leader against me!” Spittle sprays from his mouth as he turns and runs toward the river with Peter slung over his shoulder, bobbling with every hard step Brom takes.
“It isn’t a lie! I know what I’ve seen!” Peter argues, though I don’t know why he bothers.
Halting at the shore of the river, Brom roars, “Oh you do, do you, monster? Well, tell it to the river.” And with his words, Brom grips Peter by his hips and flings him into the swift current.
“No!” Peter’s cry is swallowed by the rustle of the tide. “Hope you can swim!” Brom bellows then laughs malevolently.
Peter’s smooth head is the last sight I see before I rush headlong to the lip of the river and dive in.
When forced to choose the river over being torn to shreds by mutant Urthman beasts, I endured a battering unlike any I’d ever imagined. I vowed to avoid jumping into raging rivers. Throughout the course of my life, I also vowed to never spare the life of any Urthman I ever came across. The moment my head slices the chilly surface of the river, Peter’s muffled cries filling my ears before water filled them, I realize there is a time and place to break vows. And this situation warrants breaking two.
Chapter 12
Icy cold water stabs my skin with the prick of innumerable needles for the second time today, and immediately, I regret my impulsive decision to dive in after Peter. Not thinking through the actuality of returning to the very same river I fought to escape, and the fact that it could be inhabited by gargantuan snakes, I find myself writhing and kicking against a current determined to drown me this time around.
Vaguely aware of the shouts coming from the shoreline, the rush of water muffles Sully and June’s voices as they call out to me. I try to wave, to lift my arm and shout, but my mouth promptly fills with water, causing me to choke and splutter, and my arm is pinned to my side by the raging current. A sick knot twists in my gut as the shapes that line the shore—my friends and loved ones with the exception of Brom—disappear. I’m whisked away on another nightmarish ride. And the reality that I may die in the minutes forthcoming sinks in my chest like a stone.
“Help!” A garbled plea rises above the rush of water.
Eyes burning from the constant onslaught of water droplets pelting them, I blink and strain to see an inky shape, darker than the darkness surrounding me, and realize it’s the top of Peter’s head. Bobbing for a second, it drops below the surface not more than twenty feet away from me.
Struggling to reach and pull the water away from me while fluttering my legs, I attempt to swim as best as I can toward him. My direction changes continually, my already battered body withstanding more hits that I can count from debris and rocks.
Up ahead, a hand shoots up and out of the water, then another, as Peter desperately tries to come up for air. He, like every other Urthman, cannot swim. Watching him panic and flail, knowing he’s terrified and anticipating death, gives rise to panic. My breathing becomes short and shallow. My belly quivers and my limbs begin to tremble. I can’t explain the phenomenon, why I’m reacting as would if I were watching a friend endure what he’s enduring, but I am. And for an Urthman. At any other point in time in my life, watching an Urthman drown would’ve been cause for celebration. I should hate Peter, should be wishing him dead to avenge the death of my mother and all those who’ve fallen before and after her. Instead, I’m rushing to save him. I need him alive. When and how this change within me occurred is a mystery.
Forcing the questions I can’t answer to the back of my brain, I test my muscles, shoving away the water with all my might with cupped hands and kicking my legs. When Peter’s head resurfaces for a split-second before vanishing again, I fill my lungs with air and dip underwater. Submerged in utter darkness, I soon
learn that opening my eyes is futile. I reach my hands in front of me and search with my hands.
Tightness constricts my chest as anxiety grips me in its clutches. My heart pumps frantically. Stripped of my ability to hear, to smell and to see my surroundings, I’m left to rely on just my sense of touch. I resist the urge to inhale through my nose as my panicked body demands and my fingertips graze several objects, none of which appear to be fabric or skin. Frustrated and with mounting fear, I kick harder with my legs and propel myself forward, all the while, the current thrusts me, driving my body on a predetermined course as my fingertips graze twigs, leaves and rocks. My lungs burn and my arms and legs ache from exertion. I need oxygen. I need to breathe. On the verge of abandoning my search, I lift my arms overhead and shove water away from me as I travel to the surface. When something grips my ankle and tugs, I nearly fill my lungs with water. I jerk and twist, suppressing the scream lodged in my throat.
Terror, more glacial than the water swirling around me, seizes me, my thoughts overwhelmed by a vision of a monstrous serpent attached to my leg, poised to either devour me whole or toss me to and fro until every bone in my body splinters. I wriggle and try to shake it off but what feels like fingers on my ankle tighten. Curling my torso, I reach down and frantically try to pry them and free myself. As I do, I realize it is in fact a hand that holds fast to me. As soon as I stroke the knuckles of it, it releases my ankle. Blunt fingers wrap around my own and cling for dear life. Peter, it must be Peter!
Battling the blaze of waning air inside me along with a ferocious tide eddying and churning all around me, I yank the hand toward me. I pull him then kick as hard and fast as I can until my head breaks the surface of the water.
Gulping air, I gasp several times before I turn my head and see Peter, eyes wide with fright and taking long, ragged breaths.
Planet Urth: The Fate of Urth (Book 5) Page 10