Wilderness Untamed

by Butler, J. M.

  She remained guarded, sometimes managing to close her eyes. But it never lasted long. When the dawn light came, the dolmaths roused and scurried away. Her dark-banded companion nudged her knee one last time. Reaching over, she stroked its head. It chirped, then scurried down the boulder. Away it ran with the others, disappearing into the forest that would soon be awakening.

  Naatos crossed over to QueQoa and crouched beside him. Dropping his head, he sighed.

  She pushed off the rock, approaching cautiously, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

  "The abscess needs to be drained again. It's happening too fast." He drew his hand over his face, then moved over to WroOth. He shook his brother's shoulder. "Get up, WroOth. We need to move QueQoa."

  Amelia knelt beside QueQoa and took his pulse. It was faster than the night before, his skin hot and sweaty. Angry red veins swelled up from beneath his collar, and the heat that rose through the material reached her before she even put her hand on it.

  WroOth sat up blearily. He coughed into his arm, then mumbled something she didn't catch.

  She moved to the side. WroOth had the look of the grave about him as well. His pallor had increased, making the bloodstains stand out all the more. He could barely keep his eyes open. Still he took QueQoa's feet as Naatos took his shoulders. Together they carried him to the suphrite river.

  As they tended to QueQoa, she fed AaQar. He remained unconscious though his eyes rolled open briefly. "Rasha."

  She smoothed his hair back. Another coughing fit shook him. That didn't wake him any more than it had roused QueQoa. His head lolled as she moved him back. Careful. Careful, AaQar.

  She adjusted the pillow, his hair damp with sweat.

  It reminded her of when he was near death in the palace. He was stronger now. And QueQoa—he was—he was one of the strongest. She covered her face. Time to get breakfast though.

  Naatos and WroOth returned with QueQoa. They were even slower this time than when they left. Another meal passed in relative silence. Amelia fed QueQoa, giving him extra water as well. Healing Vawtrians needed more food, and already QueQoa showed signs of weight loss. The pungent fear that rolled from him was thick and consuming. Even when he didn't make a sound.

  All of them had become so much clearer these past days. Most likely this would intensify. She rubbed her forehead. I don't know if I can take much more intensity.

  She rocked back on her heels. There was little else to do now. The heaviness was oppressive.

  * * *

  WroOth stretched out to rest again. He had said next to nothing, which was a bad sign in and of itself. But Naatos had not had the energy to draw him out. He was barely able to eat his own breakfast. Another bad sign if ever there was one.

  Amelia knelt beside QueQoa once more as he uttered another short cry. "Shhh shh." She whispered something softer, something he didn't catch. But it had some effect as QueQoa stilled. She glanced up at Naatos as if feeling him watch her. "His breathing is deeper now. If it weren't for the nightmares, he'd be resting well."

  Yes. He knew both those things. He could tell both just from the sound. He refrained from frowning though he wondered what purpose she had had in saying such a thing. Perhaps for her benefit. Certainly not for his.

  "He's going to make it. They all are." Amelia picked up her book and returned to sitting between AaQar and QueQoa.

  She was comforting him?

  If he wasn't so dreadful at this, he would be comforting her. But what could he say? Why were the good words gone? How was he such a dullard now when it mattered? It had helped that all the women who had come before had been attracted to surly silent emotionally-unavailable bastards. But even then he had found ways to be charming. More or less.

  Probably less.

  Definitely less.

  "They will," he said.

  "I've never seen you so worried," she said softly.

  He hesitated. Had she forgotten then? Or perhaps she hadn't been conscious enough to recall. His posture stiffened as those memories slid back. She'd scarcely been breathing in the dungeon. Her back had been laid open, muscle and bone and strange black veins exposed, the venom pulsing through her as the blood flowed out.

  It wasn't the worst moment. There had been others that beat even that. Others which defined him on a deeper level, but that moment, it was one he did not even want to contemplate.

  Perhaps because there was a comfort in her living presence now. Intensified perhaps because of his own contemplation. Even if the curse did not rest upon her, if she succeeded in killing even one of them, she would mourn. Small wonder she had planned, even hoped to die once she fulfilled her destiny. He scowled, his anger rising again. It crushed the fear down, offering bolts of strength.

  He could be cruel. It was a gift life provided him after countless kicks to the teeth and throat. Yet it offered no power here. More than once over the centuries it had swept through his mind that the best thing he, that they, that any of them could do would be to retreat into the mountain forests and create their own home there, far, far, far from anyone.

  Now that was their only option. There was an almost divine irony to their being here in a place so like the place he and his brothers were forged. That wilderness had shaped them, but it had also robbed them. Revealed a father, stolen a mother, and destroyed a sister. Not to mention the many others who had come before them.

  Images flashed through Naatos's mind, too fast to comprehend. He clamped them inward and thrust them back. There was no time for any of this. And she wasn't supposed to be comforting him. "You should go sleep before anything worse happens."

  "I haven't been able to sleep for the past two days. Even with the dolmaths handled, I just can't. Nerves I guess." Amelia turned the page. "And don't scowl at me. It doesn't fix anything, and I don't like looking at you glaring. It makes me want to stab you." She flashed him her own sardonic smile. "Why don't you get sleep then?"

  "I don't need it."

  "Liar." She scoffed. "Well, whatever you do, please don't just stand there staring at me, regardless of what you're thinking."

  He smirked as he picked up his spear. He then put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Don't forget your own needs." He started toward the forest.

  "Where are you going?"

  He halted, almost amused as he turned back to her. She was suspicious today. "There is a matter I must attend to. I'll return shortly."

  She canted her head. Her long dark hair slipped over her shoulder, framing a face now lined with suspicion. "Is everything all right?"

  "If you consider the incapacitation and nightmarish torment of two fifths of our gathering to be all right, then yes."

  She narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine. We're three steps from total disaster. What are you doing? Something is different."

  He met her gaze, aware that though she was curious she wasn't trying to slide into his thoughts. Probably because she didn't want to see what was in there or because she was too tired. "Checking the perimeter for threats. Do not come after me."

  She scoffed as she resumed reading, but she had ducked her head too fast for him to catch her expression.

  It was good though. Better she be angry at him and avoid him rather than risk her crashing after him because she thought he was in trouble.

  Because he wasn't.

  Not really.

  * * *

  Amelia watched him go, her hands fast around the leatherbound book. What a mess of emotions plagued her now. She actually didn't want him to leave now. He'd come back of course. He always did.

  Would that change now that she actually wanted him there?

  WroOth's muted chuckle drew her from her thoughts. He kept his arm draped over his face. "Good to see you two getting along, even if it is in an unpleasant situation like this."

  She marked her book with her finger. "You look like you've got a fever coming on. Will you drink some willow tea?"

  He scoffed as he sat up. "Neyeb can
't see fevers."

  A poor lie intended to be a joke. She smiled though she did not find it funny. "I'm learning the dreamweaving. If I can, would it be a bad thing?"

  "If you can, I—" He shook his head, his energy flagging once more. "It would not be bad at all, dear heart. Just unusual." He rested his forehead against his palm. His eyes slid shut again. "I do not want to sleep. I do not want to dream at all. If there is a hell, that is it. To be trapped in such a place. To not reach my brothers. All of us in cells of our minds." He managed a weak laugh. "Oblivion is not so dreadful in comparison to this, little sister. But there is no way around it."

  "I will be here. I am going to do everything I can."

  He gripped her hand tight. "I know," he said.

  "Good. Now will you drink the willow bark tea for me?"

  His lip curled with annoyance, but he nodded. "If it would make you feel better."

  * * *

  Naatos circled the perimeter of the camp. The dull headache that had spread throughout him thudded like a drum, warning of doom. His timeline was tipping, his own resources shriveling as he struggled to adapt to the ilzinium.

  At this point, even if Amelia came and presented herself unclothed and eager, he doubted he had the strength to vestov her, let alone the desire.

  AaQar was right. The locking made no difference at the moment. The ilzinium choked him now. WroOth had mere hours.

  And as for him… maybe he could make it through. Maybe he could, by the skin of his fingernails, scrape enough energy and healing to stay conscious and tend his brothers. Amelia could not be left alone in this place. Not even in a camp as well-secured as this.

  The rope ahead of him tugged, sending the wood clattering.

  He turned. Sarsquech. That distinctive scent, grass and rotted meat, suggested it was farther down beyond the patch of thorn trees that were so close together nothing could get through without navigating the four-inch thorns.

  He'd killed two earlier for getting too close. Disposed of the bodies in the ravine. And yet they kept investigating.

  Quick but silent, he slipped along the spiked barriers. They hadn't been able to secure it entirely. Narrow gaps between each set of spikes would allow most sentient beings through. A sarsquech might try to knock one over. That would create enough room. They were clever beasts and determined like few others. Their ability to push into the rels, to function with what should have repelled them, made them exceptionally dangerous now. But the barrier at least kept them from adapting.

  He emerged past the thorn trees, his lungs already burning and the air too thin to support him. Shifting was out of the question.

  A massive grey-gold sarsquech, larger than any he had ever seen, hunched near the spiked wall. The rope quivered, the clacking of wood louder here. It set its shoulder beneath the spikes and pushed. The cut wood shuddered, the earth pulling around it.

  This was a mean one. Over thirty feet in length. Likely cleverer than average as well. This one would have to be killed, not simply driven away. Its size alone meant it was strong enough to uproot the barrier if it put its mind to it.

  He extended the spear, bringing out three blades on the top. His energy hitched and pulled, weakening and intensifying at intervals. He restrained a grimace as he finished forming the three double-sided blades. With a brisk shake of his hand, he centered his energy. Then he lunged.

  The sarsquech hissed, coiling back. Its eyes narrowed.

  Naatos scanned all of the scales for a weak point. An old wound had twisted the scales along the upper torso near the arm. Just above its heart.

  The creature's tongue tip turned dark-blue.

  He rolled to the side, brought the spear up, and drove it directly into its chest before it could fully open its mouth.

  The creature gagged, but the spear barely broke the scales and skin.

  A cold fear struck through Naatos. That blow should have been enough to pierce it through, but his base strength had dropped too far. He wrested the spear free and leaped back as the sarsquech lashed at him. Its claws raked his chest, ripping through his doublet and flesh like long razors.

  * * *

  Amelia helped WroOth into the trench. "It's going to be all right," she said as soothingly as she could. "I promise. I'm going to do everything I can."

  He started to say something, but his eyes slid shut.

  All of those emotions, fear and sorrow, grief and loss, tore at her like iron brambles. She pushed back on her own barriers to strengthen herself, to strengthen them. But the feelings still poured through. Distinct from her own and yet a constant deluge.

  She picked up a blanket from the foot of the trench and covered WroOth. One more down. As much as she promised that she would not leave them alone, that she would do all she could, she was hours away from being alone.

  Discomfort shot through the elmis on the backs of her knees. A sharp pulse of energy struck her forehead. Concern. Anger. Disbelief. Fury. Naatos.

  She straightened. Which direction?

  The impulse responded before the question finished. Grabbing up a couple of the smaller spears that AaQar had made, she ran as quietly as she could in that direction.

  * * *

  Rage built within him, lending him strength. The sarsquech lashed at him once more. Blood poured from his chest, the wound only at the surface but insistent in its refusal to heal.

  He attacked the sarsquech's weak point again and again. The three blades pierced and punctured, but like the sarsquech's claws on him, it didn't go deep enough. The devastating difference though was that if the sarsquech got close enough, its claws would be effective.

  Ridiculous. Utterly, entirely ridiculous. He spat out the blood that filled his mouth and cleared his lungs before attacking again.

  He couldn't shift.

  And somehow his strength wasn't enough.

  Every muscle in his body rebelled against his will. It took what little adaptive strength he had left to change his spearhead. Ragged pain ripped along his bicep and forearm, shredding through his fingers.

  He ground his teeth. The spearhead formed, shining in the sunlight.

  The calculations for destroying the sarsquech spun in his mind. Multiple strategies. Multiple cuts.

  Somehow this creature that he ordinarily would have dispatched with a single blow was still curling about, mocking him with its mere existence.

  He bared his teeth at it as it shot its tongue out again. This time, it struck one of the spikes. It recoiled, shaking its head.

  He charged and struck it once more at its weak point.

  The spearhead cut deep but not deep enough. Blood spurted onto the ground.

  The sarsquech snarled and ripped back again. The spear handle slid from Naatos's hands.

  He cursed the sarsquech, the spear, himself. Everything. All of it. Every vessel and nerve.

  The sarsquech coiled, bleeding from the mouth and torso, the spear embedded in its chest. It wasn't slowing though. Rage burned in those orange eyes.

  Naatos shifted his stance, prepared to jump. He had to drive that spear all the way through it. With that lashing tongue it had, the sarsquech couldn't be tricked into charging into a rockwall or tree. Even with the tongue wounded. He needed to distract it.

  The sarsquech had apparently reached the same conclusion and now watched him, tight jawed. Perhaps it had concluded that if it simply waited long enough, he would collapse. It likely smelled his weakness and the nearness of his fall. A lightheaded distance already pushed at the edges of his mind.

  Footsteps thrashed the ground, too rapid and light to be WroOth.

  No.

  No, no, no.

  He hinged his gaze back toward the camp as did the sarsquech.

  Amelia tore out of the forest, three of the light handmade javelins in hand. Her eyes narrowed as she reached her mark. She dropped two, aimed the one, and flung it.

  To her credit, the javelin flew true. It struck the sarsquech dead in the eye. If not for the third eyeli
d which sheathed the eye at the last moment, the weapon might have killed it. But it did blink. The javelin hit the eye and bounced end over end, making the sarsquech flinch and twist its head further to the side.

  But that was all the time Naatos needed.

  He lunged forward, seized the butt of the spear, and drove it all the way through the sarsquech's chest. The sarsquech flailed. It uttered a horrific bellow as the blade punched through. He had to drop as it clawed at him in its death throes, narrowly avoiding a brutal tear across his back.

  Another javelin struck it in the eye. This time it found its mark, the lid no longer in place.

  The sarsquech collapsed with a dull thud. Its tongue lolled from its jaws.

  He leaned against a tree, bracing himself as his head spun. He glanced back toward Amelia's location. She'd perched herself on the spike wall itself in the deep Vs. Already she was getting down.

  He blinked and she was beside him, his thoughts a hazy mass.

  "You're outside the rels." She grabbed hold of his arm, trying to slide up under to help support him. "Come on. Get back inside. It's all right if it takes you a bit to heal."

  He shook her off. "Give me a moment. I don't need your help. I can walk."

  "Fine by me. I'll wait." She took his spear.

  He narrowed his eyes. "Get back to the camp and give me back my spear."

  "You can have your spear back if you can take it from me." She returned the glare.

  "This place is dangerous for you. Get back to camp!"

  "It isn't exactly safe for you either. And obviously you're in no condition to be left alone. Do you want to know how I know that? Because of everything you've ever done. So can you walk?"

  "Yes." He gave her a tight nod, speaking through clenched teeth. Of course he could. It was only how many steps back? The ground stretched away, blurring into a green and brown haze. No matter. It was only a few steps. It would be easy to walk back.