Good enough. Colibrí exhaled and refocused.
She took off with all her strength. The snap of a bow greeted her and she sensed the spell concealing the arrow, which was odd; only the deeper currents of the world could be felt, and even then only by the sensitive. Sorcery was, at best, a scattering of droplets.
But she didn’t care, because being able to sense the unseeable arrows was the only thing keeping her alive.
She scrambled around and up a series of roots, then leaped down to one below. The snap of the bow followed her like exactly like a predator, and its fangs were the arrows snapping against the mossy roots around and below her.
An arrow whirled over her shoulder as she skidded around the curve of a root, changed her mind, and leaped down another layer. She paused to catch her breath for a few precious heartbeats behind an archway of limestone and clumped soil, then continued eastward.
Her hunter kept pace without difficulty, favoring the roots above her and moving as if they knew the forest better than she did.
The road ahead twisted around another before they both surged up, forming a wall, and Colibrí cursed. She glanced around, scowled and dropped her spear with a pang of regret, and then leaped at an angle across to another root above her, fingers clawing as she dragged herself the rest of the way up just as the bow snapped.
It was a good shot. The arrow whirled by her head, missing her throat by mere luck of motion as she wiggled up onto the root. She scrambled across the curve, only to tumble down the other side as the root dropped back down again.
She landed hard and rolled off as another arrow thudded into the root. She tumbled further this time before slamming into a root-road. Her breath gushed out, but she pushed herself up to her feet with trembling arms and, without much thought, leaped down to an even lower root, then again to another.
Her hunter stubbornly followed; she could hear them making their way down after her. Colibrí vaguely realized, however, that she didn't hear their breath or any sounds of exertion. More illusion? Why bother?
Confused, she risked glancing up to try to get a look at them, but the canopy and layered roots had swallowed most of the light. She gave up trying to spot her opponent and sprinted down along a root she hoped would curve the rest of the way to the forest floor.
How close am I to the forest’s edge? Colibrí couldn’t remember—she’d need a better look around to know where she was.
At least there only seemed to be one person hunting her, which was good, because Colibrí knew that eventually she’d have to turn and fight. Her chances weren’t great after losing her spear, but she couldn’t keep this up.
Colibrí slid into a crevice alongside a tree-lord’s trunk. She took a slow breath, pushed back the swirling screams that had encroached on her mind while she was distracted, and then made one last sprint for the forest floor.
An arrow slammed into her shoulder and sent her whirling off the root-road. She fell for what seemed an eternity and then thudded onto the ground like a rock, but—may her days remain stormless—didn't land on the arrow. She groaned, forced down the pain and screaming vortex, and forced herself up.
Nothing seemed broken. Colibrí tested the arrow wound with her good arm while she gulped air, then drew her knife to cut through the shaft. She swallowed, forced her breath into a rhythm, and then timed a quick, clean cut.
There was little resistance between the sharpness of the edge and her own strength, but she knew it wouldn't be so easy to remove the arrowhead.
Her hands trembled as she lowered the knife and she found herself making an unclean oath: Oh, how I'll gift back every moment of this when I reach you, coward.
Colibrí wiped at the sweat running down her face. The forest floor stretched before her and it was the darkest layer; obscured by too many root-roads above as well as by the other forest layers and the canopy itself. Colibrí sighed, then limped toward the nearest tree-lord. It was perched on its gigantic roots like a spider, which, in this one’s case, left a hollow chamber beneath it. It would shelter her from arrows, maybe even force her foe to meet her in real battle.
That hope was what almost killed her, but Colibrí noticed the faint sourness of the veilch and was so trained against it that she instinctively froze. A shaky, hoarse laugh escaped her, then she crouched and passed a hand across the ground.
The pool was hidden beneath dead leaves and twigs, thick as sap. A mass of tendrils squirmed across the surface and edges, and they were colored and textured like the detritus that covered them. The veilch was already in the middle of digesting prey; a striped hare, it seemed. Nimble and confident, but that made them rush into such traps.
The remains told the tale of its struggle; the hare had fallen into the elastic slime, then struggled while the fluid condensed and grew rigid. The little hare’s story had ended when it stumbled and the stuff covered its nose and mouth.
The bright, veined flowers of the veilch would bloom soon, no doubt.
Seas and skies aflame. She rose and glanced around. If there was one colony then there were many. But… She made it seem as if she had crossed some of the pools that led toward the tree-lord, working as quickly as she dared. When she finished, she hobbled into the darkness of the tree-lord’s underbelly to scout for anything that might be lurking here.
Colibrí didn't have time to do a proper search. She heard the sound of unnatural movement from above, separate from the chorus of the forest; her hunter descended with care, likely hoping that the fall had killed her or wounded her further. So she crouched and prayed to the Guardian that nothing would chance on her.
She had only her long knife, but she held it ready.
A thud and the crunch of leaves was all the warning Colibrí received, because she didn’t see anyone drop down. She reflexively shifted out of sight and in the process obscured her own view of the veilch clearing. It took her a moment longer to realize what hearing her opponent, but not seeing them, likely meant, and wrinkled her nose in frustration. Are they ensorcelling themselves…? This was closer to the talents of spiritseers, but… Colibrí shook her head and swallowed a sigh. Her tail lay motionless behind her, her ears perked.
Colibrí tracked her foe by the sound of their steps across leaves. She could still sense their use of Flow too; the air was thick with their excess, enough that she could feel the Flow coursing down her skin like streams of water. Was this messy, heavy-handed method simply how they worked Flow? What did that mean?
Well, this is it. Colibrí had considered ambushing the hunter, but that had been before. Instead, she released a soft, pained breath and dragged herself deeper along one of the legs of the tree-lord. She respected her opponent’s tracking skills enough now to be willing to use it against them.
The hunter heard, just as Colibrí had hoped, and their footsteps began moving toward her. As they neared, she peeked around the root to look right at them and scowled in mock surprise—leaving no question that she could sense where they stood, despite being unseeable.
Colibrí then fled further around the leg of the tree-lord at a fast hobble. Her foe would need to circle around wide if they wanted to avoid being ambushed, which would cost time.
She heard the hunter break into a sprint. Colibrí imagined their forest lore was good enough to recognize signs of the veilch pools around them. They would skid to a stop, pause for a heartbeat, and then spot Colibrí’s ‘vetted’ path across the pools leading to the tree-lord.
She heard a twig snap, another shuffling of leaves, and then—
Silence.
Colibrí held her knife and listened, her ears fully perked. She couldn’t hear the crunch of leaves or the snap of a bow being unleashed. She let out her breath and broke the quiet with soft laughter—but felt like she was on the brink of tears.
“I'll give you a warrior’s death if you tell me why you’re hunting me, coward,” she called out, slumping against one of the legs of the tree-lord, free hand now prodding around the arrowhead still in her shoulde
r.
An arm or leg could be cut off if that was all that fell into a veilch colony’s trap, but the pools were usually deep enough to reach the waist, if not higher. Either way, however, her hunter wasn’t going anywhere.
“Because you left me few other options,” a strange, monotone voice answered. It was utterly free of emotion. No panic. No fear. Not even resignation.
Colibrí frowned. “Eh?”
The hunter didn’t answer, so she spent the time wondering what she would do. She was considering just leaving them there—questions throbbed within her mind, but she doubted she would get them freely, and she was in no condition to force anything.
Then, a conch horn sounded. Colibrí hesitated, ears flattening—the pattern was the call of night sentinels seeking lost or wounded warriors—and, after thinking through her flight, realized she should be fairly close to the forest’s edge now. Colibrí pulled her own conch free from her satchel, took a deep breath, and blew a response—a warrior in need of aid.
They returned an acknowledgment and Colibrí settled back against the tree-lord to wait. Warrior discipline kept her calm within the dark gloom of the forest, but she still clutched her knife tightly enough that her arm trembled.
It took the sentinels a little while to reach her, but they arrived sooner than she had expected—maybe she was closer to the edge of the forest than she thought.
They approached from the east in a loose formation; there were only a dozen or so of them in the warband. Each of them held a coral lantern, the chosen color a gold that was like sunlight.
Colibrí wasted a fraction of a heartbeat wondering if this had all been an attempt to mend the oaths left broken by the former cacica, then shook away the thought. Yabisi would look her in the eyes and tell her so before having Colibrí executed—not send spiritseers and sentinels to murder her in the dark.
The hunter was acting on their own, if they were even Islandborn at all.
The sentinels reached her and formed a perimeter, swinging their lanterns behind their hips to keep from being blinded. Those closest to Colibrí frowned at what they found, their displeasure obvious.
“What are you doing out here?” one asked. Everyone knew who the last three remaining Halfborn were, of course, but Colibrí didn't recognize any of the sentinels, herself.
“Oh, I'm on my way back to my bohío.” Colibrí laughed. “You?”
“Patrolling, obviously. Seemed like something was moving through the forest in a hurry and making an awful amount of noise.” The sentinel glanced around with sudden disinterest. “Were you separated from the sage or your son?”
“No… I...” She paused to collect her thoughts, ears limp, her tail hanging low. “I was prowling alone, searching for corruption, then I was attacked by someone. I fled, they chased, and now they’re caught over there in the veilch.”
It wasn't until after she had voiced her story that she realized how ridiculous it sounded. The night sentinel’s expression told Colibrí that she thought the same, but she still waved some of the other sentinels forward.
“Where is this person?” the woman asked. The others seemed to defer to her, which probably meant she was their leader—the warband’s pathfinder.
Colibrí motioned in place of giving directions; it wasn't far. “Go with caution. Whoever it is has a bow and can use the Unseen Flow,” she added, wincing at how much worse that made her story sound. “One of the foreigners’ magi, maybe.”
The sentinels that came forward paused and gave her a skeptical look.
“Go and make sure,” the pathfinder snapped. She watched them mutter as they left, then glanced over at Colibrí with a mild expression. “You're wounded.”
Colibrí nodded and let out a sharp breath. “I… need a mender.”
The pathfinder actually laughed. “So this isn’t all just some grand lie, then?”
“Eh? Why would I be lying? Seas aflame, I’m bleeding—there’s an arrow in my shoulder.”
“Maybe you just annoyed the wrong sentinel.”
Colibrí blinked. “Annoyed?”
“Oh, yes. See, the cacica has called more warriors and sentinels to the central island than ever before—all to hunt corruption.” The pathfinder tapped the butt of her spear against the ground for emphasis. “Because of the warnings from you and your sage.”
The words sank in and Colibrí found herself slowly glancing around. She couldn’t see far beyond the light of the lanterns, but then she didn't even know what she was looking for. “And you've found…?”
“Nothing, of course. The war is being fought at the heart of the forest; you know this as well as any warrior. You also know that corruption is both rare and shallow this far out.”
“But I’ve found corruption every day, and all of it close to rooting! The Stillness—”
“Sssh,” the pathfinder snapped, swatting Colibrí on the hip. “Don't name the corruption so casually.”
It was warrior superstition, but she was right, so Colibrí frowned and nodded in apology. “You've found nothing? Truly? What about halja?”
“What did I just say, eh? We found nothing,” the sentinel pathfinder replied. “But somehow you’re finding corruption every day? Alone? Do you see now how some sentinels might not be pleased with you pissing on their oaths?”
Colibrí hugged herself, ears springing upright. “Yes, I do,” she said defensively. “But I’m telling the truth.”
“I'm sure.”
“Again, why would I lie?”
“Eh, none of us know how you Halfborn think; one moment you're at our shoulders, true as any other war sibling, and then the next you're devouring—”
“I’ve betrayed no one,” Colibrí snapped loudly, her warrior discipline breaking. The other sentinels looked at her with slight concern, and she realized—somewhere far in the back of her mind—that she was only feeding the myths and rumors, but she didn't care. “And you've never seen a Halfborn warrior do so, either.”
“True, but then there are only three of you, eh? Two, who are so very young.” The pathfinder gave Colibrí a smile. “There were none before Cacica Anacaona’s mistake.”
Colibrí whirled to face the sentinel head on, ears perking, nails digging into her palms as her hands balled into fists, and stepped close.
The pathfinder stared back without flinching, her nose a finger-width away from Colibrí’s.
All the pain and exhaustion fled Colibrí, and even though she knew she was being baited, she couldn’t help but tremble from what shuddered awake inside her. The swirling screams rushed closer toward her spirit with glee, and those same shrieks felt like knives being plunged into her head, hot and fiery.
The screams didn’t urge Colibrí to attack the sentinels; they simply let her know that she could, and that it would be an easy thing to do. The sentinels would all die, likely without landing a single claw on her. The screaming storm forced this knowledge into her mind, but did so without cruelty or malice.
The storm was simply reacting to the thoughts already in her head, thoughts throbbing with the same furious rhythm as her heart.
Colibrí closed her eyes as dark memories resurfaced and words lodged in her throat, familiar and comforting. They were the words of her long-abandoned mantra, one she had sometimes whispered from behind a veil of tears and at other times screamed. She had needed the mantra back then, had needed it to be louder than the swirling fury that was always there, waiting to devour her—
—I am not a mistake. I am not a mistake. I am not—
The sentinels rushed back, breathless, to report to their pathfinder. Colibrí reopened her eyes, exhaling slowly, tail thrashing—and then all the tension in her spilled away, leaving her as exhausted as before. Maybe even more exhausted.
The screams remained in her head with their usual apathy.
“Pathfinder, you need to come see this,” one of the returning sentinels said, the words rushed. “Now.”
The sentinel pathfinder eyed Colibrí and waggle
d her eyebrows, then gestured for Colibrí to follow. The other sentinels came with them, their eyes remaining on the forest. It was dark, and getting darker. Soon, it wouldn't be safe to stay in the forest.
“Do you think I’m lying about being attacked, too?” Colibrí asked the pathfinder as she fell in step and took control of herself.
The pathfinder shrugged. “It’s not my duty or my business to care either way, but… Well, let me be blunt: I wouldn't trust much of anything you say. Someone hunted you using sorcery? Well, that’s a story told, but not one actually lived.”
“But my wound—”
“What of it? You could plunge an arrow into your own shoulder or have someone else do it. Then, there’s the fact that you’re at the edge of the forest where it's safer, and more likely for us to find you! Especially now, with all the warriors and sentinels the cacica is flooding the forest with. Again, because of you.”
Colibrí sulked all the way back to the field of veilch pools.
“So?” the pathfinder said to her sentinels, who had spread out, their spears raised. “Did you find her mysterious predator?”
The sentinels exchanged glances, then said, “No.” Their pathfinder might have used that moment to nip at Colibrí, but their expressions and obviously restrained fear gave all of them pause.
“What did you find?” Colibrí asked. It was rude to speak in place of their leader, but her impatience kept her from caring.
They gestured as they drew near to a particular pool. There was a deep indention in the pool, and it was obvious that something had been it in. But now, the veilch was corrupted, made gray, hollow, and motionless, the space at the center left ragged as if something had torn free from the corruption. The Stillness had not yet reached far, but it ran deep; the ground around the pool already looked like sea sponge imitating true soil—sturdier than a halja’s flesh and able to bear weight, but hollow and meaningless all the same.
Cradle of Sea and Soil Page 5
