Wilderness Untamed

by Butler, J. M.

  His hand was bleeding…

  * * *

  The casket weaver laughed. Those horrible eyes, that dreadful gaping mouth, and that now-dulled voice.

  She thrust herself forward and struck. The spearhead sailed through the creature's mouth.

  A sickening crack followed, and the casket weaver collapsed.

  She ripped the spear back, her heart racing. She halted when she saw Naatos was standing.

  He'd ripped his hand on one of the spikes. But he was on his feet. More or less. From the awkward way he held himself though and the utter ghastliness in his face, she knew that wasn't going to last.

  Running to him, Amelia tossed the spear through the opening. "Come on, we've got to get inside. Just a few steps." She wrapped her arms around his waist and tried to guide him through.

  He managed two steps before his knees buckled. She barely thrust her shoulder under him to brace, her head and shoulder scraping against the barrier. Grunting, she backed up, her arms wrapped as tight around him as she could. Each step was a strain.

  The pain and burning pulsed through her elmis again, a painful warning.

  The brush rustled.

  Something behind the sarsquech corpse moved.

  A reptilian head poked out from behind a tree. Raptors. At least four.

  Her mouth went dry.

  Three raptors emerged from the trees. Another seized the tail of the dead sarsquech, starting in on the feast early.

  "Amelia—" Naatos started. His voice slurred.

  She managed another step back. This was too difficult. If she wasn't careful, she was going to get pinned under him again. "Sorry about this." She wedged him against the protruding branch and stepped out, then attempted to lower him. That didn't work. He hit the ground like a sack of rocks.

  The largest of the raptors shrieked, then lunged. The two others followed.

  Gritting her teeth, Amelia seized Naatos by the shoulders and dragged him back. His legs slipped past the yellow line and through the gap, mere inches from the largest raptor's jaws. It snapped with rage, catching only air. Then it pulled up abruptly and let loose a horrific howl as if in pain. The other two stopped as well.

  Gulping in great breaths, Amelia watched, her fingers still gripping Naatos's doublet.

  The raptors tested the air. One poked its nose closer to the yellow line and withdrew as if burned. The fourth continued its meal. A louder bellow suggested that something much larger and deadlier was on its way.

  "Amelia," Naatos said again, slower this time. "You need to—"

  "If you are just going to tell me to leave you here, then save your breath and shut up." She pushed herself to her feet, her gaze still fixed on the raptors.

  They snarled and hissed, the largest one barking out a challenge. Probably an invitation to cross the yellow line and fight it on its own terms. "We're going back to camp." With that, she removed her sash, tied it around his boots, and started to drag him back.

  31

  The Surge

  By the time she got Naatos back to camp, Amelia was covered in sweat and aching all over. Her initial plan to get the suphrite, heal him, and then help him walk back no longer seemed wise.

  Heavy footsteps had shaken the ground as she'd disappeared into the trees. Most likely a solitary scavenger.

  But she didn't want to meet it or risk anything else not going to plan. Especially with Naatos still bleeding. And badly at that.

  Even once she got back to the camp and dragged Naatos to his trench, she feared that the foliage would part and some terrifying creature would appear. Strange croaks and terrifying roars suggested that a conflict outside the rels occurred, most likely a fight over the sarsquech carcass. But nothing entered the camp.

  At the camp itself, everything appeared as normal as it could. She didn't slow down though. She took one of the pots, filled it with suphrite, and brought it next to Naatos.

  His eyes sprang open as he grabbed her wrist. "Amelia, you need to bring me a knife. Mine fell out during the fight. Get one of the daggers."

  She tilted her head, realizing what he meant. "You're going to stab yourself, aren't you?"

  "I need to trigger the surge. It's the only option now. Otherwise, I have hours before I too collapse."

  She crouched beside his head, her brow knit with concern. "I don't think you'll survive that."

  He rolled his eyes. "I always survive, veskaro. And based on all that has happened, I find it hard to believe that you of all people would be angry at my death."

  Her eyebrow arched. "I—" Would she be? "Do you want to die?"

  "No. And I'm not going to."

  "AaQar said you don't have enough strength to survive this."

  His breaths were tight, his voice hard. "What is the alternative then?"

  "That you go through the ilzinium like your brothers and adapt."

  "I can't leave you to deal with this alone."

  "I don't think there is any other way."

  "Yes, there is. This is the way." He gripped her hand tighter. "If there is anyone I would think would understand why I must do this, I would think that it is you."

  She bit her lip as she studied his face. Yes, this was something she understood. A desire, an urge, a need. A desperate, desperate need to do all that was possible. Even if it cost everything. "Fine. But with an important modification. I'm going to fill up the other vessels with suphrite. That way if you can't heal yourself, we have an alternative."

  He released a long impatient sigh but nodded his assent. "You always have to make it more complicated."

  "I'll be right back." It took four trips to get enough suphrite to satisfy her plan. Her whole body protested, and she promised herself that once this was finished, she would soak in the suphrite herself. Naatos rolled in and out of consciousness, the blood still streaming from his chest wound.

  As she set this last one down, he opened his eyes and lifted his hand. "All right. That should be enough." He had said that after each one she'd brought.

  Her back ached as did the muscles in her hamstrings and thighs. She still scanned each one, noting that the contents of the first one had already started to evaporate. "You're sure about this?"

  "Give me the dagger."

  She blew a tight breath through her teeth. Such a bad idea. Such a terrible idea. Bowing her head, she released a tight breath. The depth of that desire was one she actually did understand. "Naatos—"

  He put his hand over hers. "You know I have to do this." He paused. "Please."

  She removed the dagger from her makeshift sheath and placed it in his hand. "How fast will the surge happen?"

  "Within seconds. Give me a ten count after I remove the blade."

  Amelia picked up the stone vessel, hugging it to her chest. The pungent water sloshed within. She clutched it tighter as Naatos adjusted his grip on the slender dagger and prepared for the surge.

  * * *

  Bracing himself, Naatos drove the dagger into his heart, dragged it down, then ripped it out. His eyes rolled back as he drove his fist into the ground.

  Being stabbed all the way through the heart was painful. Ripping the blade out hurt more. To put it mildly.

  But all of that was to be expected.

  What wasn't expected was that… well, there was only pain and the alarming sensation of everything leaving. No answering snapping of arteries, vessels, and chambers coming back together. Where there should have been the adrenaline-rousing rush of healing energy, the great filling of the chasm, everything—there was nothing.

  Nothing but darkness, pain, oblivion.

  A slow sucking sensation through his chest followed. The energy stuttered and wavered. One vein healed. Another melded into place.

  This was it?! This? This was all?

  * * *

  Blood did not usually trouble Amelia, but this time she wanted to vomit. Bile rose in her throat, and she barely steeled herself.

  Even half dead, Naatos had good aim and knew how to strike
for maximum damage. His fist struck the ground as his head dipped back. That scent filled her nostrils, choked her. But she kept focused. One. Two.

  There was so much blood.

  Three.

  Her fingers dug into the stone vessel. The quasi-chlorine scent stabilized her.

  Four.

  How much blood did the average Vawtrian male have? An average human man at six foot and two hundred pounds had seven and a half quarts.

  Five.

  Naatos was six two, well-muscled, and—not moving anymore.

  She dumped the suphrite over his chest. The green-blue waters sloshed out, washing away the blood, foaming and fizzing like hydrogen peroxide.

  Her own blood thundered in her ears. She tossed the empty pot away, grabbed the second, and flung it on him. Was he healing fast enough? She couldn't tell through all that foam. She seized the third, flung it on him, took the fourth, and emptied it as well.

  He lurched up, gulping in great sawing breaths.

  Grabbing the sixth, she poured that on him too.

  He collapsed back in the trench, his hair wild, his mouth gaping. But his eyes remained shut.

  Kneeling, she slipped her fingers against his throat. His pulse had returned to a mostly steady thrum. He was alive.

  She dropped her head to the edge of the trench, trembling. Her entire body ached. The horrible caws and screeches of some group of predators battling for dominance rose from the south. QueQoa moaned in some nightmare. AaQar's rusty breaths, WroOth's scraping at the edges of his trench. It all roared in her ears. Each of them. All together.

  A hand wrapped around her wrist. She started.

  Naatos had roused. "Don't tell AaQar."

  "I thought—"

  "The surge." Not enough. Too little." He pushed himself out of the trench. "I'm going to change and bathe."

  "In the suphrite river or here?"

  "Here." He staggered a step but regained his balance. More color had returned to his face, but precious little.

  She turned her back to give him privacy as she cleaned the trench out. One of the brothers had made a shovel, which was perfect for this. By cutting the trench deeper and wider, she turned the excess dirt over to sop up what remained of the blood. She dug a little deeper beyond that to remove the blood stench.

  The water splashed as he bathed himself at the basin. His motions were slow from the sounds of it. Occasionally he coughed.

  She avoided even glancing back at him, keeping her head down and toting the dirt away to be dumped farther down in the river where the current would carry it away. That task done, she began working on the soup again and restocked the fires.

  As she stepped back from the first firepit, he was suddenly beside her, freshly washed and fully clothed. She started. He could go dead silent even now.

  "What is this?" His hand ran lightly over the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as he turned her face up.

  Her face ached like most of her. His fingers grazed what was most likely a bruise, causing her to wince. There were other bruises and cuts. Now that he had mentioned her face, they all stung with awareness, coming out of the numbness her focus had required.

  He kissed the top of her head, his fingers gentle against her neck. Then he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her against himself. His arm rested just above the elmis on the small of her back. A faint pulse of energy moved against her spine, but it did nothing.

  She remained motionless, not acknowledging the fact that he had tried to heal her and failed.

  The sour bite of disappointment radiated from him. His head dropped against hers. "Veskaro."

  Tucking her head beneath his chin, she let her hand rest on his chest. "I don't expect you to heal me. I never did. I don't—you shouldn't count on anyone to do your healing for you." She wasn't even sure what the right word was. "Besides we have the suphrite."

  His arms tightened around her. There was comfort in the warmth, the closeness. Maybe they couldn't stay this way forever, but they could for now. And this, for how horrid the day had been–how terrifying– his was good.

  AaQar's coughing fit broke the moment. Amelia pushed free, turning to go to him. Naatos caught her by the arm. "Go soak in the suphrite and recuperate." He put a whistle in her hand. "If anything goes wrong, sound this. But if you even think something is about to go wrong, get back here."

  There was more of the usual bite to his words. The sternness made her smile a little. "I'll be back." She brushed her fingers over his hand. "Try not to get into trouble yourself, all right?"

  The faint curve of a smile appeared on his face as well. "If that's what you require."

  She gave a half shrug as she stepped back. "I do."

  32

  Final Countdown

  Naatos drank four full canteens of water after he finished tending AaQar and Amelia left. His mouth remained dry, his pulse fast, but the despair had fallen back. She'd let him hold her. Even with his failure.

  There hadn't been enough healing energy in him to heal even one bruise on her cheek.

  But she had let him hold her.

  Physical contact with her was uncomfortable in a sense. It ignited longing and desire, but it also brought comfort. Comfort that was more than worth any cost.

  He splashed more water on his face, then set about feeding his brothers. Ilzinium was infuriating in how helpless it left them when they succumbed. He had fallen to it once before, and he had sworn it would be the last time. Another failure. So many he could focus upon at the moment, but that would not make him more successful on any point that mattered.

  Drawing his hand over his brow, he cataloged all the tasks that needed to be completed. The surge had bought him a little more time. Perhaps three more days. Four if he was very fortunate.

  He rubbed his chest, the dagger wound no longer physically present but the memory pungent. Amelia would have some measure of support for three days then. It wasn't even close to what she needed. Not even a fraction of what he wanted to give her.

  Imperfect as it was, it was something. More importantly, he might finish the bracelet before his own fall.

  He caught a trace of her scent, heavy with suphrite and weariness. She was coming up over the hill now, clean but tired, combing out her long dark hair with one hand and holding her boots with the other. The purple-brown bags under her eyes spoke even more to her fatigue than her posture. Unfortunate that suphrite could not restore energy.

  As she saw him, she managed a small almost shy smile. Dropping her gaze, she tucked her hair back behind her ear and continued down the hill.

  After all that she had been through here, she looked as if she might simply be coming back from a day caring for animals. Feeding dogs and stitching up rabbits. Whatever it was that she'd done there. To a home with four pet tarantulas.

  Tarantulas.

  That was hard to picture.

  She was a strange woman. But, even without the locking, he'd have liked her. So long as they'd met before the massacre—no, before Mara and the children—no. He frowned.

  He strained to think back to the last time he had simply met someone and enjoyed their presence. It had been before the murder of the first three Neyeb meant to replace his brothers and him.

  A wave of nausea nearly unseated him. Those memories weren't so easy to contain. He'd mentored all three in his middle years as a Para. They had been exceptional. Brilliant. Almost wise despite their age. But it hadn't been enough to save them. No one had been able to save them. No one had been able to save the next three chosen in their stead. Or the next. It had been madness. That monstrous force. Whatever it had been. Then the Massacre.

  "Are you all right?"

  He opened his eyes. She was standing just in front of him, her arms wrapped around herself and her elmis pressed tight against her torso. Most likely to mute him and his brothers. Not that he could blame her. Their thoughts and feelings had to be near deafening. "I'm fine."

  Her brows raised, incredulou
s.

  "You need to sleep though. The surge was enough to give me a little more strength."

  She pressed her lips tight, her brow tweaking into a V. "I'll sleep three hours. You sleep three?"

  He glanced at the sun, nearly to the midday point. "If that's what you require."

  "It is." She sighed, her shoulders dropping. Hints of the scars were visible from the neckline of her gown, stark in contrast to her skin. "Are you sure there's nothing else—"

  "Go. Whatever must be done, I can manage." He was slow, worn, failing, and broken, but he could manage. He always managed.

  For once, there was no argument left. She picked up one of the dark-brown blankets, wrapped it around herself, and curled up with her back to the boulder. She was asleep almost as soon as her head reached the ground. Her breaths softened.

  Three hours might have been the bargain, but if she slept all of the afternoon, he had no intention of waking her. Especially not when so much sleeplessness lay ahead.

  He picked up one of the pillows and crossed over to her. Carefully, he lifted her head and slipped it under, then adjusted the blanket. AaQar had been mostly right about the surge. He was also likely right that Amelia would be able to manage this on her own. But just because she could didn't mean she should.

  There were many things people could accomplish alone and unsupported. That didn't mean that it was ideal for them to have to do so. Those twelve years when he had daily thought one or both of his brothers might die and did not even know where QueQoa was most of the time—those were the loneliest of his life. Or perhaps they only seemed that way because they were the most recent.

  Sighing, he picked up his pack and removed his carving knife and the bone bracelet. While she slept, he could at least work on this. He had perhaps another ten hours before it was finished. Stupid incantations with all their letters and lines to hide them.

  Both fires crackling, the soup bubbling, and all quiet except for the early afternoon calls of predators on the hunt, he sat near Amelia's feet, his back against the boulder. Flexing his fingers, he prepared to cut the bone. The bone resisted the cut. He tightened his grip, applying more pressure. Too faint.