But sometimes, no matter how great a warrior, there would come a time when he had to admit he was outnumbered. Though Warsgra swung his axe with dexterity and skill, the blade whirling around his body, the silver blade flashing in the streams of light that penetrated the jungle canopy, one of the branches from the trees swept down and coiled around his legs where the roots were. The roots suddenly released him, slithering back to their dark, dank home beneath ground, but Warsgra didn’t get even a second to lunge away. Instead, the branches, all the smaller twigs feeling like a hundred bony fingers digging into his skin, suddenly yanked. Warsgra found himself hanging upside down from the tree’s canopy, all the blood rushing to his head. By some miracle, he’d managed to keep hold of his axe, but now it dangled from his fingers, gravity pulling it from his grasp. He gave a roar of frustration, which sent nearby birds bursting from the treetops.
By the Gods, how was he supposed to get out of this one?
He took the handle of his axe in both hands and just swung there for a moment, assessing the situation. The jungle floor looked a long way down. If he could get the tree to release him, would it just drop him? Being dropped from this height might result in broken bones or worse—a broken neck. Then he’d be as good as dead anyway. No, the better option would be to go up, to get into the branches and climb down. He didn’t think the tree was going to allow that to happen, however.
Now that he was up here, he was able to spot other creatures the tree had plucked from the jungle. A hoofed animal, similar to a small deer, dangled from another branch nearby. Farther away, a monkey also hung in a similar way. Both animals were dead, and Warsgra knew he would meet a similar fate if he didn’t break free.
He was strong and fit, perhaps even more so after his recent journey. Still hanging, he attempted a sit-up, hoping to swing himself up to catch hold of the branch holding him.
The muscles of his abs contracted, defined beneath his skin. He had the strength to pull himself up, but not with the weight of his axe pulling him down. Damn. The only way he’d be able to do this is if he dropped his only weapon. What was his better chance of survival? Releasing the axe and climbing into the tree defenseless? Or using the axe and risk being dropped fifty feet to the ground? He didn’t like his odds either way, but hanging here doing nothing wasn’t an option either. Already, he felt as though his head was swelling from the collection of blood in his skull. How long could someone hang upside down before that in itself killed them? Was that what had killed the other animals the tree had caught, or had they already been dead when they’d been hauled up here?
That made up his mind.
With a growl of frustration, he released his grip on the handle. He watched the axe flip and roll as it fell through the air and then hit the jungle floor with a thud. His hands were stiff from having held the weapon so fast for so long, and he flexed his fingers a couple of times and then got moving. Letting out a grunt of exertion, he crunched his abs again, pulling himself up, and he caught hold of the branch above. The branch reacted to his hold, swinging and swaying to try to dislodge him, but he held firm. Even though it had hold of his ankles, he was able to drag himself up, hooking one knee over, and then his chest, so he lay across the top. The smaller branches were less flexible than the roots, and he found he was able to use his hands to snap each of the individual twigs clawing into his ankles and calves. He still had his boots on, and some of the larger branches were wrapped around them. Once he’d managed to get the smaller twigs off his calves, he yanked off his boot, and then pulled off the branches still locked around it. Finally, one leg was free.
The tree must have realized he was trying to escape. Another branch swiped at him, and he ducked it before turning his attention to the leg still encased in wood. He set to work, breaking and snapping, his teeth gritted in determination. For each twig he managed to break, another replaced it, but Warsgra’s determination to live far surpassed the tree’s need for another hanging meal. Perhaps, in whatever part of its wooden mind of fibers and knots and whirls, the tree understood this particular catch was causing more damage than it was worth.
Working on a different tactic, the leaves and branches began to shake. Warsgra clung on, still not wanting to fall the distance to the ground. It would be different if he jumped or climbed, but falling unguarded could cause a lot of damage.
He finally managed to get enough of the branch off his other leg, and then he yanked off the boot again and shook the rest free. Still needing to keep his balance as the tree did its best to dislodge him, he clung to the wood and shoved his foot back in the boot.
Warsgra edged his way back down the branch, heading toward the thicker parts which protruded from the trunk. The tree creature’s face—or at least what appeared to be its face—was only a little farther down the trunk. Warsgra wanted to avoid that if he could. If he stayed at what appeared to be the rear of the tree, it might not notice him jumping.
When he reached a point where he didn’t think he’d break a leg upon landing, he sucked in a breath. His axe was lying a little way off, on the other side of the tree, but there was no way he was abandoning it. Even if he was spotted and caught again, he didn’t intend to leave the weapon he’d carried with him all this time.
Warsgra launched himself into the air. He hit the floor, dropping to the ground to minimize the impact, one hand in the dirt for balance, and then pushed himself up again and got moving.
Already, the roots slithered around him, like hundreds of snakes hidden in long grass. Warsgra didn’t plan on staying still long enough for them to get hold of him again. He snatched up the handle of his axe and turned in the direction the tree had dragged him.
Moving faster than he’d ever thought himself capable of, he ran. He used his big body to crash through the bushes, barging overhanging branches out of the way, even as they lashed at his face. He could handle these kinds of branches, though—the ones that only moved because something was making them.
A number of feet came crashing through the jungle toward him, and moments later, he spotted familiar shapes running through the bushes.
“Stop!” he yelled, waving his axe at them in an effort to be seen. “Get away from here!”
He didn’t want the others getting caught up in this like he had. He’d only just freed himself, and he definitely didn’t want one of them to end up in the situation he’d barely escaped from.
“Warsgra!” Dela’s sweet voice.
“Turn around,” he roared at them. “Go back.”
They must have realized what was happening, as they all skidded to a halt. Dela threw her arms around his neck.
“By the Gods, Warsgra. We thought we might never see you again!”
He squeezed her in return but quickly released her again. He spun her around and pushed her back the same way they’d come. “We have to get out of here. It’ll come after us.”
“What?”
“It was the tree. The whole damned thing is alive. Like, thinking alive, I’m sure of it.”
Behind him, he heard the crunch of the tree pulling up more roots, ready to get on the move again. The tree had rooted itself in one place while it had hung him, but that didn’t mean it would stay in that position.
They turned as a group and ran. But they were surrounded by trees, and at every moment, Warsgra expected another root or branch to dart out at him from the undergrowth. At least with the trail of destruction the tree had created as it had crashed its way through the jungle, it had been easy for Dela and the others to find him, and it was easy to follow in order for them to find their way back, too.
They reached the path where they’d originated.
The fruit they’d left on the ground, half wrapped in the clothing they’d used as slings, were now covered in little furry bodies.
“Winged marmosets!” Dela cried.
The little creatures sat on top of the fruit, most of which had been munched into, and bared their sharp teeth at the new arrivals, claiming it as their own
. Their wings—leathery and thin, like a bat’s—spread from the backs and flapped as though to make themselves appear larger and more of a threat.
“Let’s leave it,” said Orergon. “I just want to get out of this jungle now.”
“Me, too,” Dela said, already taking a wide berth around the abandoned fruit and the creatures. “They can have it.”
The four of them hurried on, hoping they were still going in the right direction.
Chapter Six
Orergon
EVER SINCE VEHEL HAD brought him back from the dead, Orergon hadn’t felt like himself. He tried to push the sensation away and ignore it best he could, but his thoughts kept coming back to it. He’d always considered himself at one with nature, but something had changed. Deep inside him coiled a darkness he’d only ever experienced once before—right before Vehel had dragged him out of it with his magic.
He didn’t want any of the others to notice there was anything wrong with him. He hoped the sensation would fade over time, or that perhaps it was his imagination. After all, he’d been through a trauma—he’d literally died and come back again. Wouldn’t it be strange for him to not be experiencing any side effects? But he worried the others would look at him differently if he told them how he felt. What if they thought he might be a danger to Dela, and force him to leave the group?
Thankfully, they saw no more signs of any moving trees, though every time a bird or animal darted through the bushes, Orergon spun to see what had caused the sound. He wasn’t the only one who was jumpy. All of the others reacted the same way. They’d each suffered multiple bruises and lacerations from where the roots had caught them, and Warsgra’s back was a mess of cuts and grazes. He shrugged them off, acting as though he was fine and it didn’t bother him, but Orergon didn’t miss the way he winced each time the flat side of the blade of his axe bumped against a sore spot.
The sugar boost they’d had from the fruit quickly wore off as they continued their trek. The race through the jungle to find Warsgra hadn’t helped with the dehydration either, and though Orergon kept his eyes open for more Agu-Agu trees, none appeared. He hoped they’d come across something else soon, but the jungle was unforgiving.
A couple more hours into the journey and Orergon scented something on the air. The trees began to thin out, giving way to low lying ferns.
“We need to go this way,” he announced, stepping off the small track they’d been following.
The others looked to him and drew to a halt.
“Why?” Dela asked with a frown.
“I think there might be water this way.”
“Wouldn’t we see animal tracks leading to it?” Vehel said.
“There probably are, but we just haven’t come across them. They might be coming from a different direction.”
“You know what happened last time we stepped away from our trail,” Warsgra warned.
Dela shrugged. “Orergon’s always right. I trust him.”
A ball of warmth spread throughout Orergon’s chest, and he offered her a smile. But the feeling didn’t last. If she knew how he was really feeling, she might be a little less inclined to trust him.
Could he even trust himself? What if subconsciously he was leading them into a trap?
Despite his concerns, they needed water more than anything. He led the way, silently promising himself that he would throw himself in the way of danger, should any materialize. The others followed as he picked his way through the ferns and shrubs. Beneath foot, the ground grew softer, and his sensitive nose picked up the change in the air. Whatever was going on inside him, his ability to read his surroundings hadn’t failed him.
He stepped through another small copse and broke out onto the bank of a water hole.
“Oh, thank the Gods.” Dela pushed past him and fell to her knees on the bank. Vehel and Warsgra joined her, taking up spots on either side of her next to the water.
He watched as she drank her fill, making sure nothing threatened her safety while her attention was diverted, and then he kneeled at the side of the pool and scooped the cool water into his mouth as well. When his stomach was full, he splashed his face.
It was a relief to wash some of the black sludge from the fire mountain off his skin. It had clung to him like a physical reminder of what had almost happened. No, not what had almost happened—what had happened. He’d been dead there for awhile, he was sure of it, and now he’d come back, he wasn’t quite sure he was the same. Dela had asked him repeatedly if he was okay, and though he’d assured her he was, a part of him wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it felt as though he’d left a part of him back in that strange, empty, dark place.
Or else he’d brought something back with him.
The memories of being sucked down into the sludge might be all that haunted him, and yet it felt like more. The only time he’d ever experienced such utter helplessness had been when his wife and son had died. Then, the grief, just like the sludge, had sucked away his ability to even help himself. And, just like back then, the time surrounding it had become blurry and indistinct, only his memory of pain and grief sharp and vital.
Still, it was a relief to be able to strip off his encrusted clothing once everyone had drunk their fill and wade into the pool to wash off the remains of the sludge. The others did the same, stripping down to underwear, and washing both their bodies and clothing in the water. It was still warm, and their clothes would dry in no time.
Water was cleansing, and he felt better washing away the reminder of the fire mountain from his body. He leaned back and dipped his long black hair into the water and used his fingers to scrub away the worst of the dirt. Back home, for a leader of a tribe to have his hair in such a mess would have been viewed as disrespectful to both himself and his tribe. Hair was seen to be a source of strength in a man, and not to take care of it was unheard of.
Yet Orergon found he doubted his strength. Why had it been him who’d been swept under, instead of one of the others? Had they been able to fight against it, where he’d been powerless? He didn’t have Warsgra’s mighty strength, or Vehel’s ability to do magic. His ability to track and hunt seemed like nothing in the face of what they had to offer. He wanted to offer something to this strange little team they’d become, but a part of him worried he’d only drag them down. Vehel had been forced to use his magic to save him, which had depleted the Elvish prince’s resources when they could have been used for more needful things. While Orergon was grateful to Vehel for saving him, he didn’t want to be a weight on their backs.
But the girl, though, he thought, glancing over at her. Could he really bring himself to leave her, even if he thought it was for the best? She stirred something in his heart that he hadn’t felt for a very long time. But he worried about himself now, and not in a selfish way. He worried he was no longer the same man who had helped her reach Drusga, and this new blackness that churned at his soul worried him. What if he could no longer trust himself? What if, one day, the darkness took over and he caused her harm?
They climbed out of the water and spread their clothes out on nearby rocks to dry and lay down on the bank to do the same.
Dela caught him watching her and smiled at him, wide and warm and welcoming. Everything about her was light to his dark. He wanted to believe he was incapable of such a thing, and yet the darkness shifted once again, as though making itself known to him, and he forced himself to look away.
“Everything all right, Orergon?” she asked.
He didn’t look at her, but nodded instead.
She didn’t give up. “How long until we reach the ocean?”
“Shouldn’t be long now. Only a little farther.”
Warsgra got to his feet. “We should spend the night here and move on in the morning. This place seems safe, and the clearing is enough that we can see if anything is coming out of the jungle.”
“Like the jungle itself, you mean,” said Vehel.
The Norc gave a wry grin. “Aye.�
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Orergon was happy to spend the night here. He hoped he’d feel different come the morning. Perhaps all he needed was time to shake off whatever it was he’d brought with him from the fire mountain. Clean clothes and a good night’s rest might help.
They scavenged around the area for something to eat. Warsgra produced a handful of Hoohoo grubs, their fat, pale bodies wriggling in his palm. But they were good protein, and once they got over the initial disgust, they weren’t too bad tasting either.
With a new wariness of trees, the small group found some bushes to lie beside. The bushes had grown in such a way that the middle was hollow, giving them a little shelter as well. It was a strange need for someone to feel more protected with something covering them at night—even if that something couldn’t actually offer any protection while they slumbered.
It didn’t take long for most of the group to start snoring. Orergon, however, lay awake, staring up at the tangle of bush above him, and the sky beyond that. His mind wouldn’t shut down enough to let him rest. How could he sleep when he had so much to think about? He recalled every moment of being lost under the sludge, of how he’d grappled for the surface but had been unable to tell which way was up. He remembered his lungs on fire, how he so desperately wanted to open his mouth and just breathe. He remembered how he’d not made a sound when his feet had been swept out from under him, how he’d simply slipped beneath the surface. That was how drownings happened, whether they were in sludge or water. People didn’t drown while crying for help—they were too afraid to lose precious breath calling out. No, they drowned quietly, and with no fuss at all.
Through it all, one thought had been crystal clear, however. He was letting Dela down, just like he’d let his wife and son down. He wouldn’t be there for her, through all the trials and tribulations she had ahead of her, just as he hadn’t been there for them.
Yes, Orergon was haunted, but it might not have been from something he’d seen in death. No, it was his lost loves during his lifetime that haunted him now.
Chronicles of the Four: The Complete Series Page 26
