Wilderness Untamed

by Butler, J. M.

  It should have been easy.

  His legs disagreed.

  The ground struck him hard, softened only a little by Amelia, his chin in her shoulder. Crespa.

  She groaned. "You know, this is my fault. I should have known you were lying."

  "I can walk," he mumbled against her shoulder. "It's just a moment."

  She pushed free, rubbing her back and wincing. "Naatos, if you can walk back to camp on your own two feet right now, I will throw you down and ravish you every night for the rest of our lives and never argue with you ever again."

  "If I were a vindictive man, I would take that bet, but I know you would never follow through with it," he retorted.

  Rolling him onto his back, she glared at him. "You? Vindictive? Not at all."

  The darkness circled his vision. It pulled him deeper and deeper, her voice coming to him as if it were from far away.

  Why was she being so stupid? He was fine. This was part of what had to be. The surge would come. And he would return to his healing and all his grandeur. And everything would be fine.

  It played out easily within the scroll of his mind.

  All he had to do was reassign his energy into the healing. That was it.

  Simple.

  Very simple.

  Except it wasn't.

  It was taking too long.

  A vague shard of fear broke free. He was bleeding, and his strength was gone. The rels were useless beyond the perimeter, and he was covered in blood. A massive carcass was now sending out fragrant invitations to every predator and scavenger downwind. None of which would object to eating a Neyeb in addition to everything else.

  "Get back to the camp now."

  She didn't even flinch as she tried to lift him, her attempt at bravado was failing as more fear tinged her voice. "You aren't healing. You can't walk. I'll get you into the rels, and you'll be fine. Then I'll get you the suphrite. Come on!" Her muscles strained. If she didn't stop, she was going to hurt herself.

  He growled at her. "I said go!"

  "You think I'm leaving you here, you giant sikalt!"

  "Yes." He forced back the wave of unconsciousness that sought to claim him. He had the surge, she had nothing. "Go."

  She rolled her eyes, annoyance tingeing her voice. "You're half dead, and you're still angry."

  "You expected me to be in a good mood in this position?" He tried to push her away. "Just go. I don't want your pity. I don't need your help. I'll get myself back."

  She swatted his hand aside and then seized him by the shoulders. "No."

  Damn her!

  She wasn't going to be able to get him through the barrier with him on his back. Not without dismantling it.

  She readjusted her grip on him and dragged him back a couple paces before her hands slipped.

  "Amelia, go!"

  Her response died on her lips. She froze, her face paling and her muscles so tense they were ready to snap. He closed his eyes.

  Just one look at her face told him what was coming.

  Of course.

  What else could it be?

  30

  Battled

  Amelia struggled to move Naatos. He was so lean and muscular, how could he weigh this much! Had the environment here just made everyone heavier?

  The wound along his chest bled as fast now as it had when he fell. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he felt far away, except when he yelled. For whatever reason, he was angry with her for trying to save him, and that was probably the only thing keeping him conscious.

  She seized him by the shoulders once again, then dug deep to haul him back.

  How long did she have before the scavengers smelled the dead sarsquech and came stalking?

  Minutes at most.

  The only way to get him through the defensive walls was to get him up on his side and drag him through that way.

  A sharp burning tore through her elmis. The ones on the backs of her knees pulsed with an intensity she hadn't felt since she had been in Polfradon with the hook-fanged spiders.

  Don't look, a small part of her whimpered. Don't look, if you don't look you won't see it and it won't be real.

  She hinged her gaze up, fighting to calm her racing heart. It lurched with terror.

  A casket weaver stared down at her from the tree, suspended on tight wiry string. AaQar had said that it had hyena eyes, and yes… yes, it did. But it was also very much a spider with a pronounced head frill and broad jaws with enormous mandibles and long crooked legs.

  It was bigger than the hook-fanged spider, lacking hair of any kind. A large head frill gave its head an exaggerated shape, and its six yellow-rimmed eyes watched her with predatory intent.

  "Amelia," Naatos said. "You need to get back into the safety of the rels."

  "It's going to take you then." She couldn't tear her eyes from it even though looking at it horrified her more and more by the second. Was this what a real version of that myth about birds being paralyzed with fear by snakes was like?

  "Probably. It prefers live prey. Other creatures are coming for the sarsquech."

  How could he talk about this so calmly? If she could move, she would have kicked him.

  "They're venomous! You can't—" Her voice broke. Her scars lit up with agonizing memories. Images played back over in her mind again and again, the space she had created collapsing inward in a violent mess.

  "I'll be fine."

  Such a liar! She almost laughed. "You—if we don't move, will it still see us?"

  "Yes. It's just sizing you up right now. If you run, it will follow, but you can get through the barrier fast enough. So go."

  She tightened her jaw, the muscles and nerves twitching through her body.

  * * *

  At this angle, Naatos couldn't really see the casket weaver. But he could see Amelia.

  She was holding onto her last thread of composure, her pulse thundering in her throat, her face bloodless pale. If something came up behind her, she was likely to have a heart attack. The sheer terror in her face had moved into something near-feral. Neyeb could die from terror. He'd seen it happen. Casket weavers were worse than hook-fanged spiders in one-on-one combat. Whether she knew that didn't matter.

  What did was her leaving.

  She had to go.

  He couldn't even lift his arm now to shove her away. All strength had fled. He needed to protect her. Had to protect her, and his body wasn't even able to do much more than form words. Words she was barely listening to.

  He channeled as much command into his voice as he could. "There's nothing you can do. You have to get back."

  Her gaze flicked back to him, her eyes white-rimmed with terror. She shifted her weight back and forth on the balls of her feet. Then she nodded, the motion harsh and erratic. "I need you to not read anything into this, all right? Because it—it doesn't mean anything, all right?"

  He almost breathed with relief. She was seeing reason. And just in time. The casket weaver wasn't going to wait much longer. "I am not going to hold it against you. There is nothing to forgive."

  She bolted.

  But her footsteps stopped, then went in the wrong direction. He tried to twist his head. His eyes widened. "Amelia, no!"

  * * *

  Amelia grabbed one of the fallen javelins and returned to Naatos's head. Her hands shook as she stabbed it into the ground.

  The casket weaver was inching its way down, lowering itself on the thread.

  Naatos had roused further, but his movements were weak enough to accomplish nothing. Seizing him by the shoulders, Amelia dragged him back, her gaze fixed on the casket weaver.

  If ever there was a time for a massive burst of adrenaline, it was now. Now would be good.

  The enormous spider moved down a little faster now, but its manner remained deliberate, almost lazy. Its eyes never left her.

  She wanted to get Naatos's spear. It had a much longer reach than her javelin that she'd embedded in the ground. But that would have required r
unning under the casket weaver.

  "You do not fight that thing," Naatos growled. "Amelia, listen to me now!" He ground one hand down into the dirt, but he could not maintain the support. "You go!"

  "If you don't have anything helpful to say, just shut up!" She snarled back.

  "Helpful? As in how not to kill yourself?"

  The casket weaver landed on the ground. It smoothed its mandibles with its forelegs, maintaining that coldly calm demeanor.

  If ever she needed the cold, it was now. Horrifying heat surged through her, playing through the memories and ripping through her elmis and her mind.

  She dragged Naatos back a few steps more before she had to readjust her grip once again. Her palms sweat as she slipped, her knees striking the dirt. Her heart thundered, pain jolting through her with each wild beat.

  The casket weaver crept forward, drawing closer and closer. Abruptly its head crest flared up, flashing orange and brown as its distended jaws opened up and it laughed.

  That laugh was the worst thing she'd ever heard. It took all her strength not to clap her hands over her ears and hunch down as the cackling howling shriek rose up in the air, its massive barbed tongue distended.

  AaQar's words flashed back into her mind. She grabbed for the javelin. That was its weak spot.

  It finished laughing before she could aim. Then it darted closer.

  She jumped between it and Naatos, brandishing the javelin. "Get away."

  The casket weaver lurched back, shaking its head. It blinked its yellow-rimmed eyes as it looked at her. Jaws open, it hesitated as if weighing her words.

  "If you hit it, you will make it angry and then it will come after you."

  "You really think I should just let it drag you off?"

  "Rather than kill you? Yes, you stupid woman!"

  The casket weaver darted forward, grabbing for Naatos's boot.

  "No!" She struck forward. Her skin crawled, and every nerve screamed.

  The blade glanced off the spider's hard carapace, but it seized the shaft with its mandibles and wrenched its whole body to the side to tear it from her grasp.

  "Oh!" Her breath snagged in her throat. Then, without thinking, she lunged at it, seizing the shaft once more and dragging the casket weaver to the side.

  It held fast to the javelin, shaking its head viciously, its eyes narrowing with rage.

  * * *

  His healing was slow, too slow. He could practically envision the veins and muscle knitting together, the raw flesh forming cell by cell in agonizing slowness.

  Black dots smudged his vision. What in the name of all that was holy was she doing? "Amelia!" He found just enough strength to push himself up to see.

  The casket weaver had seized the javelin, and she was still holding onto the long wooden shaft. Except she wasn't just standing there or fighting to get it free, she was pushing and tugging, guiding the casket weaver along, maneuvering back toward his spear. What was she—she was just antagonizing it! The only thing keeping the casket weaver from tearing into her was that it seemed more perplexed at her behavior, and, like a crab, it had an instinctual need to grab and hold onto whatever it deemed valuable.

  She was making strange, gasping sounds, her face death pale but her hands and strides steady.

  He willed himself to heal faster, but his strength gave out again, his head striking the ground hard. Rage blistered through him. Agonizing as it had been to watch her suffer in the dungeon, unable to help her, this was even more of a torment. He released a tight breath and drew in another, fighting to channel his energy.

  "No, back, back!" she screamed at it.

  It clicked and chattered in response.

  "Why don't you laugh?" she demanded. Her voice was more distant now. He tried to lift himself again. She had almost reached the tree, her grip white-knuckled on the javelin shaft. The casket weaver tugged her forward. She twisted it to the side. "Laugh!"

  "Make it laugh?" His head dropped back again. Everything faded. She was screaming something about AaQar and the cackling being a good time to attack through the mouth. What? What was she even talking about? Was he hearing her?

  * * *

  "Laugh!" Amelia screamed again. She slammed the casket weaver into the massive tree trunk. It cracked against the bark and wood. Its grip on the javelin remained tight, but its legs curled as it hunkered down.

  Naatos's spear with the traditional multiple blades leaned on the other side of the tree. The casket weaver had become dead weight. If she let go, she could run for the spear but it might go after her or Naatos. If she held fast, she lost more time. And each second counted. How much longer before new predators and scavengers arrived?

  No question really. She shoved the javelin as hard as she could, released it, and bolted around the tree to the spear. Naatos's spear, extended to almost nine feet in length with a spearhead the size of her hand. She seized it with both hands.

  Her elmis flared with pain and alarm.

  Whirling about, she choked. The casket weaver had dropped the javelin and was racing toward Naatos. He didn't even look like he was conscious anymore. Tightening her grip on the spear, she ran after it. "Get away from him!"

  That dull fear screeched inside her, what was she even thinking?

  The casket weaver was fast. Its sharp legs stabbed the ground, leaving hooked punctures.

  If it bit him, it was over.

  She lashed out with the spear, striking at its leg. The casket weaver tripped on its face. It hissed with rage. All curiosity had vanished. Now it wanted her death. It lunged at her.

  She scraped down to the ground barely in time, swept the spear around, and hooked the shaft beneath three of the back legs. She braced the spear as the casket weaver tripped. The tip of the blade scraped against the bottom of its underbelly and the joints of its legs, but it didn't even leave a mark.

  The casket weaver spun again.

  She retreated, on guard and gripping the spear with both hands. Why wouldn't it laugh? How did you make a spider laugh!

  A loud reptilian call coughed out from somewhere in the distance. The answering bark was even closer. She turned to run, sprinting faster now that she could see where she was going.

  The casket weaver angled to the side, moving between her and Naatos. It wasn't entirely set on devouring her. Naatos would work just as well.

  There wasn't going to be enough time to get him through the barrier without it being on them. But how long could she keep going like this before more predators arrived or the spider got the best of her?

  Her foot caught on a root. She sprawled, the spear falling from her hands.

  The casket weaver stopped short, several feet away. Naatos was almost an equal distance from it. But when it saw her, the laughter returned.

  Its voice sent richters of fear coursing through her veins. For half a breath, she couldn't even move. But she almost laughed herself.

  It was laughing because it thought she was helpless!

  She stretched out to grab the spear and scrambled to her feet to attack. But she had barely regained her footing when it charged her again.

  She bolted back, leading it past the dead sarsquech and toward the thorn trees.

  The sound was almost paralyzing in its effectiveness. That thrill of connection pushed her through this time, but what about the next? She needed every scrap of a second she could get. And there might be one way to get it.

  The casket weaver was gaining, but she didn't need to go much farther. Just far enough that it couldn't get back to Naatos before she made her preparations.

  Four and five-inch thorns lay scattered across the ground here. The yellow line that WroOth had drawn to mark the ending of the rels had been scuffed. It was less than a foot from the start of the palisade walls. At this speed, it would be tight, but—

  Cringing inwardly, she leaped through the space between the spike walls. Her aim was good, her steps precise. Even so her breasts and backside scraped painfully over the rounded wood, she
ering off bark and promising future bruises.

  The casket weaver stopped short on the yellow line, emitting a high-pitched shriek of rage. Its forelegs lifted, it jabbed at the air, its mandibles gnashing.

  "Yeah!" she shouted back. "You don't like that, do you? Well you stay right there. Stay right there!" She gulped in ragged breaths as she sliced off a piece of her green hem and then tore that scrap in two.

  The casket weaver shrieked once more, its mouth forming a deep U-shape unlike the great open chasm when it laughed.

  "Stay!" She jammed the fabric into her ears.

  The casket weaver gave one more defiant shriek and then turned and ran back along the wall.

  She secured the make-shift plugs in each of her ears, adjusted her grip on the spear, and darted out once more. The world became muted in sound, brighter somehow in color.

  It was horribly fast. She arced out away from it, her grip on the spear tight. "Oh no!" she cried, then screamed.

  The casket weaver spun around.

  She dropped forward, knees first, hitting the ground while still holding the spear. Her body remained tense as she prepared to pounce.

  * * *

  Everything was dark and hazy. Why did she want to make the spider laugh? There was a reason. It danced in the back of his mind, obvious and yet out of reach.

  He fought to rouse himself, his mouth dry and his head throbbing. He smelled her sharp fear and her citric adrenaline with the pungent toxicity of the casket weaver's venom and rage. From the sound of it, she was running. It was running. Everyone was running. Except him.

  A scream tore through his consciousness.

  Amelia.

  His eyes sprang open.

  Somehow he was standing again. He grabbed for something to stabilize himself. But there she was. On the ground! The casket weaver bearing down on her.

  He swayed. His strength threatened to fail him. But he had to—had to—