by ReGi McClain
“It’s okay. I understand. Leave the search to Zeeb and me. Just try to enjoy your vacation as much as you can. If you manage to pick up the names of a few plants along the way, so much the better.”
Gratitude warmed Harsha, and she smiled. “Thank you.”
Seraph returned the smile. “It’s my pleasure. Truly. And Zeeb’s. I know he looks intimidating, but he’s as sweet as a puppy when you get to know him.”
Zeeb, several paces ahead, stopped to throw Seraph an odd look and waited while the women caught up. “What are you two whispering about?”
“Faerie hunting,” Seraph answered, light teasing in her tone.
“Why don’t you lead the way for a while?”
Harsha wanted to hook her arm through Seraph’s and insist on staying close to her. Instead, she let the guides trade places and fell into step next to Zeeb. Ahead of them, Seraph took up the no-bears to make up for the silence hanging between Harsha and Zeeb, while Harsha wondered why he wanted to walk with her.
Probably to keep Seraph and me from whispering about him. He heard us somehow.
The realization brought warmth to her cheeks, so she turned her face away from him and pretended to be looking for more… whatchamacallits. Blue flowers with yellow and white stars in the middle.
They came to a squashy patch of ground requiring careful maneuvering across fallen logs and under low-hanging tree branches. Zeeb took Harsha’s hand and guided her down the slope while she braced against branches and rocks with her other hand and tried to follow his steps exactly.
“You’re doing great. Keep coming.”
Busy concentrating on getting down the hill without killing herself or sinking knee deep into a hidden mud puddle, Harsha left his comments unanswered. When he tried to let go of her hand to jump the last several feet to firmer ground, she kept hold. She squawked in surprise as his momentum pulled her off her feet and plunged her toward a cluster of rocks, fallen branches, and moss-covered mud. But he caught her around the waist and swooped her to safety, backpack and all, as though she weighed less than a child.
“Are you okay?”
He kept his hands around her waist, steadying her while she processed the lightning-quick rescue. She gripped his forearms for stability. Her heart pounded with the shock and disorientation of one moment preparing herself for a painful landing and the next finding herself standing upright as though she had never fallen at all. Her limbs trembled as the adrenalin she no longer needed looked for a way to use itself.
Gradually, the unnecessary panic ebbed and her legs firmed underneath her. When she caught her breath, she released him. “Yes. I think so.”
Zeeb nodded and let go of her waist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to throw you off balance.”
“Don’t worry about it. It startled me, that’s all.”
“What have you done to our poor client, Zeeb?” Seraph looped an arm through Harsha’s and shot Zeeb a dirty look. Zeeb’s shoulders drooped.
Harsha felt awkward about the situation. She had caused her fall by hanging on to Zeeb, but he looked ashamed of himself. “It was my fault. Zeeb let go to jump the last few feet of the hill but I held on.”
Seraph lifted her eyebrows. “Really?”
“I was afraid of falling. It’s all right. He caught me. I’m not hurt.” Physically. My pride is smarting.
“So I can trust him to look after you while I go on ahead?”
Please don’t. It’s so awkward being with him . With no good excuse to keep Seraph with her, Harsha nodded.
“Good. I think I see something interesting over there. I’m going to go check it out.”
Harsha watched Seraph disappear into the woods before addressing Zeeb. “Thank you for catching me.”
He shrugged and bent to pick up her sprig of whatchamacallits. “Here. You dropped your forget-me-nots.”
Surprised they’d survived the tumble, Harsha tucked the flowers back behind her ear. Forget-me-nots, forget-me-nots, forget-me-nots. They’re called forget-me-nots. “Thanks.”
“Let’s catch up with Seraph. She might have found evidence of fae.”
“That would be cool.” She said the words to be polite. She doubted Seraph had found anything more illuminating than a pile of moose droppings.
Zeeb started walking, slower this time. His eyes swept the forest and he called a no-bear on occasion. Not as often as the first time he’d taken her out, thank goodness.
When they reached Seraph, she pressed her lips together and shook her head. “It’s nothing.” She pointed to a cluster of yellow flowers. “From a distance, I thought they were pansies.”
“Hmm.” Zeeb bent to finger the leaves of the plant. “There’s no insect damage. A fae passed by at some point.”
“A hundred years ago, perhaps.”
“Or longer. Let’s keep going this way for a while.” Zeeb picked one of the flowers and handed it to Harsha. “These are violets.”
He walked off, so she addressed her protest to Seraph. “But they’re yellow.”
Seraph shrugged. “Don’t blame me. I didn’t name them.”
The trio continued on, with the guides taking turns scouting ahead and walking beside Harsha. She and Seraph talked about whatever took their fancy, their topics ranging from hairstyles to interest rates. Zeeb seemed determined to teach Harsha plant lore. He stopped to pick samples of new flowers they passed. By the end of the day, she carried a bouquet representing nine different species, all of which she termed whatchamacallits.
The next several days passed with little variance. The daylight stretched out further each day and, with it, the time they hiked. Harsha found it harder and harder to drag her legs to the end of their day. Seraph and Zeeb kept up the show of finding possible faerie evidence, or being disappointed in the lack of it, and she humored them. When they finally stopped each night, she found it difficult to convince her mind to fall asleep, despite her exhausted muscles. By the end of the month, she suspected her weary body and busy brain had agreed to part company when she wasn’t looking.
She sat up for the seventh night in a row, yawning but unable to quiet her mind. The early-June sun refused to set until close to midnight and, try as she might to dismiss it, at eleven o’clock she felt as though she should be loading her dishwasher or balancing her checkbook, not sleeping. To her greater frustration, the extra hours of daylight failed to warm the nights to a reasonable temperature. Dampness and cold seeped through her skin to find shelter in her bones. Seraph’s nearby warmth helped, but, like any other source of heat, it warmed one side at a time.
Defeated, she decided to get up. “If I’m not going to get any sleep,” she whispered to herself, “I’m at least going to make a hot cup of tea, so I’ll be warm and awake instead of just awake.”
Seraph opened one eye. “Hmm? You okay?”
“Fine. I’m going to get some tea. Sorry for waking you.”
Seraph made no reply but to shut her eye and roll to her other side. Harsha put on her thickest sweatshirt, unzipped her sleeping bag, and wrapped it around herself as well, before she poked her head out of the tent. No dangerous-looking beasts lurked about, so she wriggled out, careful to keep her sleeping bag off the ground.
After a few minutes, she sat with a hot mug cradled in her hands, breathing in the spicy-sweet steam. A shiver crawled up her spine as if the cold in her bones knew it needed to flee its impending doom. The tea was starting to work its magic. She began to feel comfortable, though the cool night air drained the cup of its warmth faster than she could drain it of its liquid. She finished the tea in big gulps and stood to return the cup to her pack.
She halted. A few yards away, a huge wolf stood with its back to her, pale gold fur shimmering in the twilight. Shock froze her in place. She stared, unable to breath, heart fluttering, trying to remember what Seraph told her to do when faced with dangerous wildlife.
Stay calm. Don’t be scared. It’ll smell you if you’re scared. Deep breaths. Regardless of this sens
ible advice to herself, her heart found its rhythm and started pounding to get out of her chest and sweat started trickling down her back.
Harsha lost track of time, but even after what felt like hours, the wolf still seemed not to notice her. She decided to tiptoe back to the tent before it did. She took one silent backward step, keeping her eyes on the large predator, then another, and a third.
She moved faster, gaining confidence with every step she took closer to safety. Then her left heel caught on a rock. She flung her arms out and flailed to catch her balance. Her mug flew out of her hand. It clattered against a tree at the same instant she lost her battle with gravity and landed on her backside. The wolf whipped its head around. Its eyes met hers like well-aimed bullets. Harsha squeaked, abandoned her sleeping bag, and scrambled into the tent. Seraph stirred and muttered a few incoherent words. Harsha ignored her tour guide, zipped up the tent, and curled into a ball with her eyes shut tight.
Chapter 10
The next morning, she awoke with stiffness rivaling the first days of the trip lodged in her joints. Groaning without reserve, she crawled out the tent door. Her sleeping bag hung over a tree branch.
Seraph bent over the fire, frying fish. “Morning, Sunshine!” Her voice sounded sweet and pleasant after a good night’s sleep. Today, however…
“Uuuugh.” Harsha pushed her body into an upright position and hobbled over to sit on a rock near the fire.
Seraph held up the broken pieces of Harsha’s mug. “Looks like you had an adventure. Bear?”
“Wolf.”
“Did you get a picture?”
Harsha lowered her chin in a wry expression. “Oh, yes. I was so thrilled to see a wolf in the camp last night, I dropped my mug to grab my camera and spent hours photographing it. It posed and everything. I plan to submit the prints to National Geographic.”
Seraph laughed. “Some people do. One woman almost got trampled because she thought a moose looked like it wanted petting. Zeeb barely managed to get her away in time. Speaking of Zeeb, he hasn’t come out of his tent all morning. I don’t think he’s feeling up to snuff, so we’ll stay put today. We can look for someplace to swim and get a bath.”
At that moment, Zeeb started to crawl out of his tent. His hair sported several twigs, imparting a feral wildness to his dreadlocks. His broad shoulders squeezed through the tent opening and his torso eased into view.
Harsha tried not to stare. On Kauai, well-toned, shirtless men adorned the beaches at all hours, but she had never seen one covered with so much hair before. In spite of the chill in the air, sweat plastered it to his body. It looked like a drenched angora sweater.
She shifted her eyes to the fish in the frying pan, ashamed of her shallow repulsion. “Are you all right?”
Zeeb moaned. “Rough night. We’ll break camp tomorrow.” He gave up trying to crawl out of his tent and propped himself up with his elbows in the dirt instead. “Seraph, did you bring the sore muscle balm?”
“Yes. Let me clean up first and I’ll help you.”
He nodded and slithered back into his tent like a snail going into its shell.
Harsha pouted at Seraph, indignant and, if she admitted it to herself, hurt. “You brought medicine for sore muscles, but you never told me?”
Seraph put down her cooking utensils to rummage in her backpack. She pulled out a tin of peppermints. Harsha almost squealed with delight; she’d run out of peppermints a week ago. Seraph opened the tin.
Harsha clamped both hands over her nose, no longer hurt at being left out of the treatment, but grateful. Extremely grateful. The foul stench coming from the tin smelled like bird droppings in profusion. “Ugh. What is that?”
“Medicine for the desperate.”
“There’s an understatement!” She pulled her sweatshirt over her nose, but the disgusting odor filtered through the knit. “What do you think happened?”
Seraph shrugged. “You have your ailments, he has his.”
“You go help him. He must be miserable to want that stuff. I’ll clean up. Did you make a plate for him?”
“No. I doubt he’ll be hungry, but he might like some of your tea if you’re willing to share.”
Harsha put the kettle on as Seraph disappeared into Zeeb’s tent. Hoping to deter the wolf and any other large wildlife lurking around, she whistled while she cleaned. It felt good to do homey work. Normally, Seraph or Zeeb took care of the cooking and most of the cleaning. While Harsha appreciated this in light of the fee she’d paid, it made her feel like a slovenly layabout.
When she finished tidying up, she scratched at the side of Zeeb’s tent. “Tea’s ready.”
Seraph poked her hand out, but Zeeb said. “It’s okay. She can come in.”
Harsha wrinkled her nose. She disliked the idea of being in a cramped, enclosed space with the sore muscle balm. Before she found a tactful way to express her preference, Seraph pulled back the flap.
Zeeb looked pitiful, sitting in his shorts with goop slicking his hair to his skin, twigs still stuck in his dreadlocks, his smiley eyes drooping in a puppy-like expression of complete woe. Avoiding foul reeks failed to justify hurting such a pathetic creature’s feelings. She ducked in.
The odors of wet dog and bird poop enveloped her. Clenching her teeth, she held the cup out to Zeeb, afraid if she opened her mouth to speak, something besides words might come out.
She must have looked ill, because Zeeb asked, “I need a bath, huh?”
Harsha shook her head in a vigorous no , smiling wide to suppress a gag. It didn’t work.
Zeeb laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s sit outside.”
She dove through the tent door, grateful to breathe fresh air.
Seraph made conversation, mostly about previous clients who tried to get snuggly with the wildlife, while Zeeb sipped his tea. He watched Harsha while she and Seraph talked. She shifted under his gaze, wondering what fascinated him so much and whether he knew most people considered it rude to stare.
When the prattle between the women lulled, he spoke. “I hear you saw a wolf last night.”
So that’s it. He wants to hear about my first encounter with dangerous wildlife. She wrinkled her brow in irritation. “I broke my mug because of him.”
He looked impressed. “You could tell it was male?”
Seraph guffawed.
Harsha rolled her eyes at her guides. “I didn’t take the time to check. I just assumed. There was only one, and lone wolves are always male, right?”
Zeeb shook his head in the negative, but replied, “I guess so.”
Seraph scooted closer to Harsha. “Anyway. We’re getting close to Don’s place. I think we better skip the minutia-scouring tomorrow in favor of getting to his place by supper time.”
Zeeb nodded. “Good idea. There’s a fae near here somewhere. He might have an idea where it lives.”
Harsha looked back and forth between her guides, waiting for one of them to explain who Don was. Neither volunteered the information. “Who’s Don?”
“Donahue Yazzie. He’s the sasquatch I told you about. He lives about ten miles from here.”
“Oh.” It has a first and last name? “Okay.”
The next morning, they all started early and broke camp without wasting time. Zeeb yawned and grunted, swinging his arms around to produce disturbing pops originating from his spine. Harsha felt more rested than the day before, but wished she’d gotten more sleep to make up for the wolf incident. Seraph acted bright and cheery, and delighted to have Zeeb’s unusual sluggishness as an excuse to tease him.
She started out with Seraph while Zeeb brought up the rear. As the day waxed, Zeeb found his energy and moved ahead of the women to scout. Meanwhile, Harsha’s energy plummeted. The day of rest seemed to have reminded her body of all its weaknesses instead of refreshing her. She started daydreaming about a second cup of coffee by nine in the morning. By nine forty-five, her pace had slowed to a crawl. Around ten or so, Zeeb had gotten so far ahead of her and
Seraph, his call of “found something” was faint and Harsha had to guess at the words.
“We’re coming,” Seraph called back. She hooked an arm through Harsha’s. “It’s gonna take us a bit,” she added.
Harsha waved Seraph off. “Go ahead. I can see him from here.” She pointed at a tiny splotch of blue plaid many yards ahead of them. “And there’s no way I’d miss your hair.”
Seraph’s brow crinkled. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Zeeb’s comment about Seraph coddling came to mind and Harsha rolled her eyes. “I’m not a baby. Go on. I’ll catch up.”
Seraph still looked doubtful. “If you’re sure…”
“Positive. Go see what he wants. You can probably get there and back before I go another ten feet, anyway.”
Seraph nodded and jogged toward Zeeb, navigating the dips, rises, and hazards of the forest floor without breaking her pace or ankles, much to Harsha’s envy.
Tired and distracted by the beauty of the woods, Harsha took her time following. Birds twittered in the branches above her head, flitting from ground to nest with squirmy munchies for their fledglings. A stream on her right giggled its way toward the ocean, happy to escape from its source. Sunlight lanced through the spruce and birch, spouting rays glistening with pollen. Once in a while, a squirrel darted across her path, flitting over fallen logs and up tall trees. Her footfalls squeezed the green aroma of leafy ferns and the deep scent of moist soil into the air, where they mingled with the fragrance of blueberry bushes, which grew in such profusion she’d learned to identify them. She squatted to look under the leaves of one bush and smiled at the clusters of white flowers destined to become berries.
When she stood up again, she couldn’t see her guides. She was tempted to panic, or at least call to them, but the peaceful solitude of the wood seemed too holy to profane with her voice. Her stomach felt no such compunction. It grumbled. She decided to break into her precious supply of Turkish Delight to celebrate the quiet beauty of the woods. She tested a fallen tree trunk for stability. When she assured herself it wouldn’t roll, fall, or crumble under her, she sat down and dug in her backpack for the box of confections. She took a moment to breathe in the citrusy fragrance. As her teeth pressed into her first piece, she heard a crash in the woods behind her.
