The Lotus Flower Champion, page 22
“Don’t worry, Alaia,” Bodin says, by my side once more. “We will rescue her.”
I inhale slowly, filling my lungs with the smell of the earth, the vegetation, the growth. Of Mama. Of the scent of safety that is uniquely hers.
If there was ever a time to be brave, this is it. “Xander thinks this little trick of his will break me. He’s wrong.” I survey the smooth lower trunk of the tree that’s holding Mama captive. The closest branch is about eight feet off the ground. Mama is twenty feet above that.
Interestingly, a bunch of leaves, which I thought appeared burnished gold because of the sun’s rays, actually is gold. A cluster of leaves next to it shares the same strange sparkling phenomenon—but in silver. Strange, but not something I can dwell about at this moment.
“Bodin, can you give me a boost?”
“I should go first—”
“No,” I say. “I’m lighter than you. I don’t know if the branch will hold your weight—or Eduardo’s. Besides, it’s my mama. I’m going.”
He nods, not arguing any further. He kneels by the trunk, and I climb up, dropping my blowgun and sheath of darts to the ground. In another time and another circumstance, I might have been embarrassed scaling his body. Now, I’m tunnel-focused on saving Mama, even as scenes from last night flash through my mind.
I straighten so that I’m standing on his bended knee. Even on my tiptoes, I can’t…quite…reach…the branch.
“I’m going to have to jump,” I say.
“Don’t worry about me.” Bodin’s voice is only slightly strained. “I can handle the impact.”
I let all of the air flow out of my body, with my arms still overhead. And then, I jump. Got it! Pieces of bark flake off the branch, and the wood digs into my palm, but my grasp is steady and strong.
Holy crap. The muscles in my arm are already burning. I wish I’d worked a little harder in gym class. I kick up my legs and swing my body, so that I can press my feet against the tree trunk. I walk up slowly…and then, I’m hanging from the branch like a koala. From there, I pull up with my arms, hug the branch, and, by some miracle, manage to wriggle on top of the thick cylinder.
“I did it,” I gasp. “I don’t know how. If that didn’t bring my abilities to the surface, I don’t know what will.”
And that’s when the monkey attacks.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I scream and fall from the branch, hitting the ground with a force that rattles my entire body. The monkey leaps nimbly on top of my chest.
Its eyes. Deep red, unnatural. Mechanical in the way it clicks around, surveying the scene. Its body is made of metal on metal, the joints of its claws exposed. Not a real monkey, then, but a robotic one. A humanmade, killer one.
Whack.
The monkey’s head rolls off, slapped by the force of Bodin’s krabong.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I barely have time to nod before, without warning or countdown, the sky goes dark. No, not the sky. Just my vision, as dozens and dozens of robot-monkeys rain down from the tree.
Bodin charges forward, dismantling the heads of two monkeys with one clean strike of his krabong. Eduardo is right behind him, stabbing the monkeys in their exposed joints.
I struggle to my feet and lunge for my blowgun. Moving with a speed I didn’t think possible, I grab a dart, push it into place, and blow with all of my might.
The dart hits the monkey currently storming me straight between the eyes. The thing falls over and doesn’t get back up.
I turn, sensing an oncoming attack, and shoot another in the heart. As I do, I spin again, this time catching a third monkey in its side.
Huh. I might actually be good at this. Who knew?
I shoot my way over to Bodin, who is clubbing monkeys left and right and up and down.
“Keep your back to me,” I say, trying to save my breath. “That way none of them sneak up on us.”
“Good idea!” he calls.
We turn our backs on each other and spin in a slow circle, sending robotic monkeys to their short-circuited demise.
But not all of us are doing so well. To my left, Rae is swinging her sword wildly but doing little damage. Two more robots jump into the mix—and all of a sudden, she’s swarmed by a barrel of killer monkeys.
And then, a real monkey—at least one with natural brown fur—rushes up to the troop and begins to stab its robotic imitations with a familiar dagger—one with a black hilt banded by rings of gold.
I almost drop my blowgun. What on earth? That’s Eduardo’s weapon. Where did my friend go? And how did a real monkey—wearing clothes, no less—come into the mix?
Don’t fail me now, lungs! I shoot two robotic monkeys on my right, and then another one that is just dropping from the tree. My dart has just barely struck the invader’s foot when the brown monkey scampers back up the tree, snatches a gold leaf from one of the branches, and stuffs it into its mouth. Right before my eyes, the monkey transforms into a naga, its brown fur melting into silver scales. It has no arms, so the dagger falls to the ground, but it expertly wraps its newly serpentine body around the robotic heads, twisting them clean off.
My jaw drops, and I stop fighting altogether.
“Alaia!” Bodin yells. “A little help here.”
In the few seconds that I zoned out, twenty, thirty killer monkeys have formed a circle around us, with an endless number of them continuing to drop from the tree.
I snap to the present and although my lungs whimper, I reach into my sheath for another a dart—when I discover a new problem.
“Um, Bodin? I don’t have any darts left.”
He sucks in a breath. “Can you yank some out of the dismantled monkeys?”
“Only if their friends wait patiently for me to perform the operation.”
“Crap,” Bodin curses. He doesn’t voice the rest of his thought, but he doesn’t need to. The fifty or so monkeys now staring at us project the message loud and clear: we are so dead.
The army of killer robots advances, eyes bloodred, their manufactured teeth as sharp as knives. I sag against Bodin’s back and close my eyes.
I tried, Mama. I’m sorry I didn’t save you. I only wanted a little peace for you before you passed. I’ll see you in the afterlife.
I brace myself for the slaughter. Prime my limbs for being ripped off, prepare for my head to be separated from my body.
But nothing happens.
I open my eyes—and gasp. Every last monkey has collapsed onto the ground and is holding on to their heads, completely incapacitated.
“What happened?” I blurt, whirling around to face Bodin.
He crouches and waves his hand in front of a fallen monkey. No response—not a single snarl or snap of the jaw. “It wasn’t me.”
The naga lands next to us, its forked tongue licking off flecks of the strange silver leaves. A moment later, Eduardo stands in its place, his shirt ripped to shreds. “Me, neither.”
Rae steps gingerly over a dismembered head and a gut of wires. Her sleeveless black top is ripped, clear indentations of teeth on her shoulder. But she’s smiling as she holds her sword like a true warrior. “I think my ability surfaced,” she says wonderingly. “Just in the nick of time.”
Bodin arches an eyebrow. “Your power being…?”
“It’s just like in the myths,” she says, still stunned. “I swing a special double-edged sword. And my enemies collapse with a debilitating headache.”
We look at the field of monkeys clutching their heads. The metal parts, sea of wires, and barely held-together bodies litter the entire clearing.
“Not headaches,” I mutter. “Your double-edged sword short-circuited them.”
“A modern update to an ancient folktale. Kinda like mine,” Eduardo says wryly, looking down at the chest that was covered by monkey fur and scales not too long ago.
“And your ability is…what?” Bodin asks. “Transforming into other creatures, like your brother?”
“Only by munching on the leaves of a sacred tree.” Eduardo jumps up and grabs the same branch that was so difficult for me to climb. The branch bends down with his body weight, nearly breaking, and he plucks a gold leaf from its stem.
“Here, watch. I have no idea what I’m going to transform into. But I take a different form every time.” He pops the leaf into his mouth, munches on it like it’s the most exquisite cuisine…and then promptly turns into a pile of gold coins.
“Huh.” I tilt my head, as though viewing Eduardo from a different angle might yield a new result. Nope. Still an inanimate collection of gold coins. Dull at that. “How’s he going to turn back into a human again, if he doesn’t have a mouth?”
Rae sighs and sweeps the coins—er, Eduardo—into her jeans pocket. “The leaf’s magic will likely wear off in a few hours.”
“Better make sure he’s not still in your pants when that happens,” Bodin suggests.
Rae shoots him a glare that would wither the silver and gold leaves, sacred or not.
He lifts up his palms. “What? It’s sound advice.”
I’m no longer listening. Through all of this excitement, I haven’t forgotten the true purpose of this challenge: Mama.
I squint up at the sunset orange scarf, waving in the wind like a flag. Still there, thank goodness. I’m about to ask Bodin for another boost when a black bird (real? mechanical?) swoops through the sky and gnaws on the bindings of the “hammock” with its beak.
My heart stops. No. Don’t do this, you silly bird. Go away. GO.
The bird makes one final snip. The ropes break. And down, down, down tumbles the white sheet holding Mama.
I rush forward, time slowing to a crawl. Logically, I know that I can’t break her fall. From that height, the only thing I’ll succeed in breaking is my own head. But instinct has no logic; love, no reason.
I slide onto my knees, my arms outstretched to catch Mama and…ow.
The foam body breaks upon impact and scatters in disjointed pieces all around me.
Mama was never in danger after all.
Damn that Xander.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Almost there.” Bodin points at the curl of smoke rising above the treetops. “That smoke is coming from our firepit. I’m guessing it’s about a mile away.”
I smile at him. He’s been nothing but encouraging during our long hike down the mountainside, through the dense forest, and back toward camp. His steadfast optimism, the curve of his lips—these are the only things that keep me going.
I ran out of energy miles ago. My limbs are vermicelli noodles, my muscles have aches upon aches, and my lung capacity has shrunk to the size of a grain of rice. I don’t know how long we’ve been walking. I just know that there’s only two of us remaining.
After the foam body smashed into the ground, I stared numbly at the disparate pieces—a sphere for the head, a rectangle for the body, and cylinders for the limbs. I might still be there if the croc-people hadn’t converged on us. Without explanation, they slapped windcuffs on Rae and scooped up the gold coins that are Eduardo, collected all four of our weapons, and escorted our friends away.
Rage filled me, all the stronger because it was so helpless. Ever since we woke up on this island, Xander has been toying with our emotions, taking pleasure from our pain. Enough. He’s not a scientist. The experiment he’s conducting on us isn’t “research.” He’d better be glad I haven’t come into my ability, because the way I’m feeling right now, I wouldn’t hesitate to rain havoc onto Xander’s head.
Please, pra Buddha cho. If I do have an ability inside of me, let it not be passive. Let it be powerful enough to save us—and bring down Xander, to boot.
“Hey, Bodin?” I ask as the treetops hug over our heads, shielding us temporarily from the hot rays of the sun. The air here is cooler, the ground moist, but not muddy. “Can I ask you something?”
“Hmmm?” He grabs a gnarled stick, swinging it in front of us to move the worst of the brambles out of my path.
“Back at the clearing,” I say slowly, gathering my thoughts, “I experienced the worst moment of my life. Seeing Mama—or who I thought was Mama—hurtling down to the ground. Knowing that I could do nothing to break her fall. My life flashed before my eyes, or at least—my life with her. The way she would roll me in my blankets like a burrito. The magic kisses she would give me to tuck in my pocket. All the moments of my childhood and beyond. And then the foam mannequin turned out not to be Mama. Which is miraculous. But my ability didn’t surface. Why?”
“I was wondering that, too.” Bodin holds back a bendy branch, gesturing for me to go first. He follows at my heels, and the branch whips back into place.
“Not just you, but for the both of us,” he amends. “I didn’t manifest, either. That endless outpouring of monkeys—it was intense.”
“Both Eduardo and Rae, certified badasses, came into their abilities,” I say, working through the facts. “That scenario was obviously designed to break me, as it was Mama’s scarf tied on the mannequin. But here I am, same old me.” I glance down at my less-than-athletic body. “Huffing and puffing, with no ability to speak of.”
“I like the same old you,” he says, reaching back and squeezing my hand. I don’t mind his casual little touches anymore. In fact, I look forward to them. Crave them, even.
“Everything that’s happened since we arrived on hell island has been designed to wear us down. Our bodies have been pushed to our physical limits; our minds have been jolted by surprise after surprise.” I look up at Bodin. “What else? What else about my life will Xander twist and manipulate? I can’t even tell what’s real and what’s fake anymore.”
“We’re real,” Bodin says, true urgency in his eyes. “No matter what happens, to either of us, my feelings for you are genuine. Please believe that.”
“I do,” I say softly.
But suddenly, I’m too impatient to linger. Because I recognize our surroundings. The white sand, undulating gently to the water. That precise grouping of three palm trees. The flat rock that Lola liked to sit on, braiding bulletwood flowers into her hair. The structures that we painstakingly built: the firepit, the lean-to, the main shelter.
We’re home—or at least the one place of comfort we’ve managed to carve out of this nightmare. I sprint across the sand. In the distance, I see a figure that appears to be Mama, under the shelter where she belongs. Where she’ll be safe.
As I run, it occurs to me that I shouldn’t be able to move this quickly. A short while ago, I couldn’t even talk without panting at the air. Amazing how the sight of a loved one can rejuvenate you.
“Mama, you’ll never believe—”
The words die in my throat. Mama’s here under the shelter, all right, her head bare instead of covered by an orange scarf, sleeping bags cushioned around her. But she’s lying on her side, curled into a fetal position. She’s shivering in spite of the sultry island air.
A croc-person kneels by her. Not just any croc-person—Three. He dips a washcloth in a coconut shell filled with water and tenderly wipes her forehead, her neck, her ears.
He glances up, and I have to swallow twice before I can get the words out. “How…how is she?”
“She’s burning up. I think she has some kind of infection.” Even in that gravelly voice, Three sounds helpless, which makes my stomach plummet. “I’m trying to bring down her temperature. Keep her pulse points cool. But the fever just won’t break.” His voice cracks on the last word.
No. The dread fills me, so familiar, so cold. Creeping up my toes and radiating through my body. No. This can’t be the end. I just got her back, when her crushed body was revealed to be a mannequin. This can’t be the moment where I say goodbye.
“I tried giving her coconut water by squirting some in a syringe into her mouth, but she can’t swallow anymore.” Whatever desperation he can’t convey with his voice shines clearly in his eyes. “The liquid just runs out of her mouth. She’s dehydrated, Alaia. She needs an IV, as well as antibiotics. There are some in the infirmary, in the cave at the north end of the mountain. The other croc-people told me about it. But the cave is sealed with some kind of magic, to prevent anyone from entering.”
“Will Xander…?” I can’t even ask the question.
Three shakes his head, his snout moving back and forth. “I asked him. I begged. He… He won’t budge. He refuses to help her because she’s no longer any use to him. He generally prefers younger subjects, but he brought along her and Khun Anita as leverage. In case you or Kit needed the extra push to come into your abilities. But you already endured the falling mannequin, and so, she’s served her purpose.”
I sink onto the platform next to Mama. She is my only focus. Her wan, tired face. The sheen of perspiration on her forehead. Her glassy, unfocused eyes.
“Mama, it’s me,” I say, licking my lips.
Her pupils flicker in my direction, and then they sharpen on my face.
“Alaia,” she rasps, as though my name is glass coming out of her throat. She raises her hand, but she doesn’t have the energy to move it farther. I duck my head underneath her palm so that she can rest it on my hair.
“Don’t move,” I beg her. “Don’t try to talk. Conserve your energy. We’ll get you help.” Tears fill my eyes. Forget the 121 smiles. I will not let her die like this, if it’s the last thing I do. “Just hold on.”
“Are you…in danger?” she asks haltingly. Her hand falls off my head, and she points one feeble finger toward the lotus flower floating in the copper basin. The one that Three had brought her the previous night. But instead of the fresh pink blooms of before, so delicate and pretty like Mama, the petals are now shriveled up. Dying.
“The lotus flower…withered,” Mama continues, one labored word at a time. “That’s how I knew…you were in…danger.”
