Trion Rising, page 22
Oriannon nodded as she stared out at the storm. So he went on.
“I’ll bet your dad knows the place is there, though. Elders in the Assembly know that sort of thing.”
Of course an elder would know that kind of thing. So why had her father never told her? And if he knew, why hadn’t he been able to find her?
“We’ll see if he knew,” she finally managed.
“Yeah.” Margus’s voice wandered off again. “I wonder what my folks are doing now …”
“Same thing as my dad. Going crazy. I’ll bet everybody thinks you’re dead too.”
She tried not to think about it, just wondered how quickly they could get going again.
And then he laughed.
He laughed in spite of being blinded by the sand worms … in spite of them being stuck in this tiny cave in the middle of a horrible sandstorm, dust swirling around their faces, without food or water— though Oriannon couldn’t bring herself to tell him it was all gone. In spite of the bone-chilling cold, he laughed.
“What’s funny?” she asked, because nothing was.
“I was just thinking what they would say at my funeral. Maybe ‘He was always good for a joke’ or something like that. I’m sure going to surprise them when we get home.”
“Assuming we make it home.”
She bit her lip.
“Don’t talk that way, Oriannon.” Without warning Margus ripped off his eye bandage and squinted at her. “I didn’t come all this way to have you say that.”
She caught her breath at the sharp rebuke, and she knew she deserved it. Of course he hadn’t come all this way to have a sand worm attack and blind him, either. But she didn’t have a chance to answer as Margus brought a hand to his face again, bent down and moaned. It must have hurt— bad.
“Margus!” She picked up the scarf and tried to tie it back around his eyes. “You need to keep this on your face for now.”
But he only shrugged her off and kept his hands to his face, as if he didn’t need her help, or anyone else’s.
“We still have a little food left, don’t we?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. And so they sat there together, shivering, not saying anything more, waiting for a break in the storm, for someone to rescue them, or for sleep— whichever came first. One good thing Oriannon had learned about Shadowside was that over here it wasn’t hard to sleep, wasn’t hard to dream. Even in their miserable cave, that’s what they’d do.
Wait. Sleep. Dream.
Maybe the storm would let up soon, and they could hurry home to Corista. It couldn’t just keep blowing and blowing this way, could it? But she had to ask him.
“Did you see anything, Margus?”
At first she thought he’d already fallen asleep since he didn’t move, just rested his forehead on his knees. But finally he shook his head slightly.
“No,” he whispered, and she had to lean almost next to his face to hear. All the fire had drained from his voice again. “I still can’t see a thing.”
29
Oriannon had no idea how long she’d slept, only that every centimeter of her body ached, and that sand had covered everything. She would discover sand in her ears, sand up her nose, sand that scratched her eyes when she blinked. She groaned and sat up.
“Is that what people do over here on Shadowside?” Margus sat in the other side of their little cave, chewing. He had picked up the scarf bandage and slipped it back over his head and eyes. “Sleep all the time?”
“Not all the time.” She straightened and shook herself off. “What are you eating?”
“It’s not bad,” he told her between chews, then flinched. “Except for the sand.”
By this time she checked the backpack to find four cloth-wrapped packages of Owling flatbread and rabbit jerky— everything the rats had run off with and more before she’d fallen asleep. What kind of strange dream had brought it all back?
“Weird,” she muttered. She picked up the pack and one of the skin flasks fell to her feet— full.
“What’s strange?” asked Margus, between mouthfuls. “This bread? It kind of tastes like … I don’t know, strong, but it fills you up. You should try some.”
“I know what it tastes like,” she whispered as he washed it down with a swig from his flask, and it looked just as full. What was going on here?
“Glad the rats didn’t run off with all our jerky,” he told her, taking another bite. “You did good chasing them off.”
She swallowed hard, still wondering.
“Oriannon?”
“Right.” She shivered at the thought of a visitor, however benevolent, sneaking around as they slept. “I guess so.”
“Sounds as if the storm let up too.”
So it wasn’t a dream? Or if it was, Margus was part of it as well. Oriannon looked around outside the shelter, and this time she could see the dark, jagged hills, the bright moonlight from Zed – 3, the stars … and a clear set of footprints in the sand, coming and going.
“It did let up,” she replied, and now she knew what they had to do. Nothing else mattered, really. They’d slept far too long. So after taking a long drink of sweet water and a few bites for herself, she stuffed everything back into the pack, swung it over her shoulder, and took Margus by the shoulder. Her stomach still ached with hunger.
“We need to hurry,” she told him, starting off in the direction of the footprints. Her lodestone told her they headed east as well, toward Corista. Her words turned to little puffs of fog in front of them. “Hold onto the strap of my pack and I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”
“I thought you said—”
“Sorry.” Oriannon didn’t let Margus finish complaining as she reached down to help him to his feet. After what seemed like several long days of walking and climbing and scrambling up and down through bone dry canyons and around boulders the size of small houses, they were both tired enough to drop.
“You’re sure we’re still going the right direction?” he wanted to know.
“Margus, just look up …” She caught herself. “I mean, I can see everything up ahead. We’ll hit the borderlands soon.”
“How soon?”
“How do I know? I’ve just been following the lodestone. I know the direction, not the distance.”
“And you’re sure …”
“I’m sure, I’m sure, okay? Trust me. We’ll be there soon.”
And if he kept pestering her with questions, maybe she’d just step out ahead and let him find his own way. She sighed. No.
“Sorry.” His voiced sounded much softer now. “I just thought you’d know the way since you came here before.”
“Look, I already explained it to you. First of all, I was totally out of it when I crossed over. You don’t know how horrible it felt. Second of all, Becket and Suuli carried me most of the way to the city, and I wasn’t really paying attention. I think those guys must have run, considering the distance they probably covered. And third of all— or maybe this should have been first of all— your crazy lev-scooter was zooming out of control and I have no idea how far or where it took me before it crashed.”
“Yeah, we could use it right about now.”
But Oriannon wasn’t listening. And she was plenty sick of dragging this ungrateful boy halfway across Shadowside, sick of his complaining, sick of his arguing, sick of the way he hung on her backpack. But now grabbing her around the neck was too much.
“Margus, what are you—?”
But he cupped his hand on her mouth, nearly wrestling her to the ground in the process.
“Shh!” He hissed in her ear. “Don’t say a word.”
Something told her he was serious this time. She stood still and listened to the gentle wind whistling through a nearby grove of tangled thorn bushes. And off in the distance a low growl made the hair on the back of her neck stand up straight.
“Now do you hear it?” Margus whispered, and she nodded. “I thought I did before, but I wasn’t sure.”
“What do we do now?” she whispered back. And she looked all around them with wide eyes, looking for any sign of the predator that had obviously found them. For there could be no mistake about the sound. “I didn’t think they had yagwar over here.”
“Well, maybe that means we’re closer to Corista than we thought. You don’t see it?”
Again she looked, searching the hills and canyons around them. Here and there small shrubs pushed their way out from between boulders, and patches of crusty snow waited in the shadows. The cat, if that’s what it was, could be hiding anywhere. And when they heard it again Oriannon jumped.
“From that way.” She pointed behind them, once more forgetting Margus couldn’t see her. But she didn’t waste any time and dragged him away down a hill and through a narrow canyon— hopefully in the right direction, away from the yagwar.
“Don’t panic,” Margus mumbled, but Oriannon wasn’t sure if he was saying it for her or for himself. Either way, they both scrambled through the gully double-speed, until they pulled up behind the shelter of a large boulder.
“We can’t stop.” Oriannon’s chest heaved with each word and every breath. She knew who would win if it came down to a running race between them and the yagwar— particularly if it was hungry enough. She picked up a stick the size of her arm and snapped off the end into a point.
“What’s that?” Margus wondered. He could probably see a lot more with his ears than Oriannon realized.
“A sharp stick. Got any better ideas?”
Margus nodded and gently pushed her ahead once more.
“Let’s just put more distance between us and the cat. I don’t like being stalked.”
She didn’t argue. In fact, the cane-sized stick actually helped; Margus held on to one end while Oriannon ran on ahead with the other. He didn’t trip over her heels and she could jog on ahead. Every few minutes, though, they had to stop to catch their breath. And every time, Oriannon imagined she heard footsteps scuffling along the trail, or a rustling of branches.
“Did you hear that?” she asked after their fifth or sixth rest.
Margus cocked his head to the side like a weathervane casting about for a gentle breeze.
“Not sure. But we’re getting pretty close to the borderlands, right?”
Oriannon studied the bushes behind them, her heart beating wildly. She could almost imagine it behind every shadow, getting ready to pounce.
“The cat’s not going to stop at the border, Margus. You know that fence can be breached.”
“Sure, but maybe we can get some help on the other side.”
“Help? You mean from a security? I hope not. Let’s go.”
Out of habit she glanced down at her lodestone, checking for the blue light that told her they were still headed the right direction. Only this time she could hardly make out the glow in the stone— probably because of the glow in the sky up ahead.
“Still the right way?” asked Margus, pushing his stick out ahead.
“Come on,” she told him, grabbing her end of the stick. She only paused for a moment when she sighted a flicker of light up ahead, low on the horizon.
“What?” Margus leaned forward. “The yagwar?”
He frowned and reached up to adjust his bandage as the sound of a breaking twig behind them made Oriannon jump. Now she didn’t answer, just pushed on toward Corista at a run, wondering what waited for them beyond Shadowside.
“Is this where you crossed over?” Margus asked her a few hours later. Even if he couldn’t see, she assumed he could now smell the sweet scent of cerulean trees in full bloom. And surely he would feel the warming breeze that greeted them as they crested the last hill before the borderlands of Corista.
“Not sure.” Oriannon didn’t have time to stop and smell the wild cerise flowers by the side of the path. Not with a hungry yagwar still stalking them. “But there’s a border tower.”
Topped by its familiar spinning yellow warning blinker, it could have been the same one she passed on her way to Shadowside, though Oriannon didn’t think the landscape quite matched.
“So are we as close as I think we are?” Margus was smiling, though Oriannon feared it was still too early to celebrate. Even if they could outrun the yagwar, they still had at least one more obstacle to navigate.
“Listen, Margus.” She studied the ground ahead, looking for clues. “I’m not sure how we’re going to get through that fence.”
“You did before, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, in the scooter. You should have seen all the sparks and stuff. I think because I was going so fast.”
“Well then, that’s how we’ll get through from this side too. Is it flat up ahead?”
“Well yeah, but—”
Margus didn’t wait for her to object. He started to trot across the flat, open field, still blind but not sounding as if he cared anymore.
“Oriannon!” he called back. “Tell me if I’m going to run into anything!”
“Just the fence, Margus. The fence!”
Of course that was enough. But even though Oriannon studied the tower in the distance, she noticed no one and nothing moving to intercept them. No securities. Not even a probe. And when she’d almost caught up to Margus she finally caught sight of the fence’s red glimmer just a few steps ahead.
“Four steps to the fence, Margus!” She shouted her warning, expecting him to hold back or slow down. No telling what the fence’s force field would do to him. “You’d better stop now!”
Instead he took three giant strides, and now he twisted around backwards, as if running straight into a high jump contest.
“No! Margus!”
But she couldn’t reach him in time. Taking her word for it, he launched himself backwards into a flying leap, arms outstretched, whooping. And Oriannon could only watch, amazed, as he hit the nearly invisible fence and the red force field covered him in a cocoon of energy, sputtering and sparkling like a fireworks celebration.
“Margus!” she cried.
But the force field just rocked him once, twice, barely two meters above the ground before rejecting him without ceremony on the other side, seat-first, right onto the far edge of the Coristan borderlands. He crumpled to a heap, limp, and she ran up to the fence to see if he still lived and breathed.
“Margus, are you okay?”
He didn’t answer.
“Margus! You shouldn’t have done that!”
And now she couldn’t do a thing to help him. But a moment later he uncurled himself and grinned up at her from the other side.
“That was pretty cool,” he reported. “Almost as good as being weightless.”
She rolled her head back and groaned.
“You could have been killed,” she said, “and what would I have done then?”
“Oh, come on. You got through in the scooter, remember? It’s just a Level Three fence. Just for show, keeping out small animals, that kind of thing. I knew it wasn’t that serious.”
“How do you know?”
“Remember what my dad does?”
Of course; he fixed things. Even so, Oriannon wasn’t sure she could put on the same kind of athletic display to vault over the barrier the way Margus had. Too bad there wasn’t an easier way. She parked her hands on her hips and looked around for ideas. And her mouth went dry when she saw the dark figure of the yagwar emerge from a clump of bushes— maybe just a hundred meters away— and sprint straight at her.
30
No, no, no …” She knew what it would take for her to get across the fence; she just couldn’t make her legs move toward the yagwar, back to where she could get enough of a running start.
And by now she couldn’t help shaking as the yagwar covered the hundred meters between them in huge strides, looming larger every second. At a distance it had seemed small; as it approached it grew nearly as tall as she.
“Oriannon!” Margus had to be hearing the cat’s low growl too. “Get out of there. Jump over!”
Oriannon could not— just as she could not make herself scream.
Neither could she know why the beast had chosen this open place to finally attack, after stalking them for so long. But by the way it now bounded across the flatland she knew it would be upon her in a moment.
Didn’t anyone from the watchtower notice what was going on? For the first time in her life she might have welcomed a probe or two. She saw and heard none.
And she was only vaguely aware of the shower of sparks and raw energy crawling at her back as she leaned into the force field fence. It shook her violently and held her in place, serving her up to the yagwar like an ancient human sacrifice.
“Jesmet,” she whispered. “I’m going to die.”
And though Oriannon tried to look away, she could not keep from staring at the big, black creature as it flew up to her— as if in slow motion.
Later she would recall its thick fur, sparkling with purple highlights. Its glassy, red-orange eyes as they focused on her. And its large tongue as it slicked across two rows of wicked-sharp teeth.
But now she knew exactly what would happen next, and she imagined herself as a small meal for the formidable yagwar. She winced at the oncoming black storm, though she could no longer move or even make a sound.
Is this how it hypnotizes its prey? she wondered.
As if to answer, the yagwar opened its sizeable mouth and buried its teeth in her arm.
“No!” Oriannon awoke as quickly as she’d fallen into this dream. Suddenly clearheaded, the pain made her scream as the beast’s jaws closed around her bones. And too late, she knew she’d been seduced, tricked just as surely as Carrick Trice had been, back when they’d first run into a yagwar in the Glades. Now she knew how helpless Carrick had felt. Too late, she knew that she could do nothing to fight off such a fierce animal.
Of course no amount of screaming would scare away the yagwar, though Oriannon now kicked and pounded. The cat hardly seemed to notice as it tossed its head, growling. Her body flew back and forth like a rag doll. This was it.
