“Rest now,” the woman said. “Sleep, Vendaeva.”
Why am I fighting this? The pain dissipated like a cloud. My muscles relaxed, tension leaving my body. It was easy to let it go; to forget the freakishness. Everything is fine. I’m safe.
“This is what death feels like,” another voice whispered, this one a dark, lulling note that filled my blood with ice chunks. Snuffing out the last of my consciousness. I didn't try to struggle.
2
A Tiny Misunderstanding
For the second time, a pounding headache greeted my waking mind. Shivering, I tried to pull my blankets up to my neck only to find a thin sheet my one source of warmth. What the—? Wait, I wasn't in my bed.
Stars glittered overhead and I stared, waiting for their explanation. The sky was so lit up with tiny white lights that they almost touched each other. It never looked like this back home.
I tried to raise my head, but nausea poured over me. Bile scorched my throat. With a moan, I fell still, willing my head to stop banging and my stomach to settle. I squeezed my eyes shut until the nausea passed, then shivered again.
“Take care, Vendaeva,” a gentle voice said from overhead.
Opening my eyes, I recognized the alien woman from before standing on my right side. I was lying in soft grass far beneath her lithe form. It hurt to look up in the gloom. As though she sensed that, she knelt beside me.
“You are awake. That is a good sign,” the woman said, her voice low. “Still, your body has experienced a great deal of trauma. Stay still and let yourself recover.”
Trauma? Oh, red furry things, right. But why was I still dreaming? Things like this don't happen in real life to real people. Sure, in fictional books, comics, and movies, such an adventure was plausible; the keyword being fictional. But there was no way this was happening to me. What I meant when I craved “out there” was winning a million bucks in the lottery or taking a Caribbean cruise. I didn't actually want to live out a video game.
The woman reached beyond my view. Water dripped. She turned and held up a damp cloth. I didn't protest as she laid the cool cloth across my forehead, though it made me shiver. The pain ebbed a little.
“Are you cold?” asked the woman. She reached forward, claws flashing in the moonlight (I like to think I didn't wince), pulling the glistening sheet closer around my neck.
—Wait, glistening? I tried to look down, going cross-eyed in the attempt. I suspected I was wearing the woman's silver shawl. Glancing at my savior, I sighed. In the moonlight, I could tell her shawl was missing.
“So,” I croaked. Horrified by how much like a frog I sounded, I decided the questions could wait.
The woman watched me, and I realized something was wrong with her eyes. One was silver, the other was gold. Was I imagining this? —Of course, I had to be. This wasn't real, so why was I concerned? (Aside from the fact that my imagination had never been this wild in my life and I doubted I could conceive a world like this on my own.)
The woman turned again. I heard water slosh in something, then the woman produced a leather flask.
“Thirsty?” she asked, shaking the flask to slosh the water more.
My mouth felt drier than a desert. “Yeah,” I said hoarsely.
She scooted closer and slipped her deadly nails beneath my aching head. Thankfully she avoided my massive bump, and she lifted me up enough to sip from the flask.
“Slowly,” she said.
Despite her warning, I guzzled, determined not to sound like a frog ever again—until I choked. Sputtering, I scrambled to sit up. The woman helped me, keeping a hand on my back as I wheezed and coughed the water from my lungs. Remembering her inch-long claws, my spine stiffened away from her touch. She withdrew her support. I fell backward, weaker than I'd thought. She caught me again before I hit the ground, easing me down, cradling my head in the grass. I caught a whiff of dew and peppermint.
“I warned you,” the woman said.
I tried to shrug. Big mistake. “I was thirsty,” I said, ignoring the renewed pain in my head. My voice was now the creak of a door, rather than the croak of a frog. Hurrah for small victories.
“Sips best quench thirst,” she replied, rising to her feet. “Sleep now.”
I wanted to, badly, but the fact that she'd told me to made me want to resist. She was not my mother.
She exhaled and shook her head. “You would be headstrong, of course.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Take it as you please.” Her metallic eyes flashed in the moonlight as she glanced into the night. She turned back to me, meeting my eyes, holding me captive with her intensity. “Rest. Your body is weak.”
She struck the wrong chord. Gritting my teeth, I bolted to my feet, determined to show this slender (albeit tall) woman that I was every bit as strong as she. “I'm not weak!” My voice cracked. I began coughing, doubling over under the pain and shivers that racked my body. My legs gave out and I fell forward, again humiliated as the woman caught me and lowered me to the ground.
“It's all right,” she soothed. “You will not be so hot-tempered when your fever has fled.”
I had a fever? That might explain a few things...
“Now, rest. Please.” She covered me with her blasted shawl. “I will build a fire to keep you warm.”
I nodded, careful not to make my head worse. “Th-thank you,” I murmured as my consciousness began to slip. She had only been trying to help, in her strange, alien way. I, on the other hand, had been acting like a crazy jerk.
“There is no need for thanks,” the woman said, offering a flash of pointy teeth.
I tried not to panic. Luckily, I was feeling a little drugged now (I wondered if the water had something in it to calm my nerves) and I couldn't bring myself to care about this creature's inhuman appearance.
“Key,” I offered as the stars flickered out of my sight.
“Key?” she repeated, but I didn't answer. Somewhere above me, someone began to snore.
“If you sleep any longer, I will throw you into the puddle and leave.”
My eyes snapped open.
“Awake now, are you?”
I freaking was now. But there was no way the voice I was hearing was real. Right?
“Your fever broke last night, but you will still be weak for a few days. If you push yourself, you will become sick once again. I advise you lie still and keep your temper in check.”
I didn't think I was going anywhere of my own accord, anytime soon. My headache had spread like mushrooms throughout my entire body, making me feel like one large purple bruise. I didn't want to know how I looked at the moment. Still, one good sign of my improvement was, despite her taunting, I wasn't angry with the lady. Just annoyed.
“Are you hungry?” asked the woman.
Unsure how my voice had held out during my fever's tirade, I offered a minuscule nod and waited as patiently as my roaring stomach allowed while she rummaged for breakfast.
She soon appeared above my head. In the morning light, she was paler than ever. “I will not give you anything solid to start. Your stomach cannot handle any more heaving.”
Any more? Had I thrown up already? Considering the acidic taste in my mouth, probably. Man, that was one wicked illness.
She seemed to read my thoughts, or, at least, my expression. “You have no immunity to the sicknesses of this place; I am not surprised the venom affected you so savagely. If you dare to touch a furapintairow again, the fever will not be so bad, although you'll probably die. I won't treat you again.”
Gee. Her bedside manner was one of a kind.
“Furapin—what now?” I whispered, grateful when it didn't come out as “ribbit.”
“Fur-uh-pin-tie-row. The sacred animals you so disrespectfully touched two days ago.”
Two days? Had I seriously been out that long? Was the fever really that bad? Did I have any substance left to my body, or did I resemble a skeleton now?
“Relax. You will mend.” Th
e woman touched my shoulder. “Two evenings ago, you spoke of a key. I searched the length of the meadow and inside the puddle, but there was nothing there. It isn't in your pockets either. Do you have any idea where else I might look?”
Key? Oh, wait. I’d been trying to tell her my name, so she'd stop calling me weird things. “Hang on,” I said. “Not a physical key. It's my name. Key.”
She stared, then sighed. “Is that so? Then it is true.”
True? Well, not really, but I preferred Key to Jason. There were five other Jasons at school, and none of them appreciated any sort of association with me. I’d always had a fascination with skeleton keys, so I decided on Key for my nickname, but it didn't stop the bullying. If anything, I was treated worse.
“And you came from the puddle,” the woman said, breaking me from my thoughts.
“Er, well, it certainly felt that way.”
“I can hardly believe it, but,” she smiled, “I should not question fortune.”
I certainly could. Fortune was apparently not on my side, like always.
The woman helped me sit up. The shawl slipped from around my neck and shoulders, into my lap and I stared at the shimmering material. “Uh, thanks,” I said when my head righted itself again.
“There is no need for thanks. I did what I would want in return, if I were foolish enough to touch a furapintairow.”
I gritted my teeth to prevent a retort. There was a chance, slim though it was, that she didn't know she was goading me. Maybe it was in the nature of sharp-toothed, shawl-wearing, mismatched-eyed, pointed-eared alien women to throw out insulting remarks as quick as she could conjure them.
I forced a smile and turned to meet the woman's eyes. “You know my name, but I don't know yours.”
She hesitated, glancing at the maple pines. “My name is Jenen.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, uncertain whether I meant those words.
She inclined her head, black strands of hair falling in her pale face. She didn't bother brushing them away as she twisted to lift a steaming bowl. “Drink this. It will help you gain your strength back.”
I took the bowl. Raised it to my lips. The scent of rotting fish or garbage that's been sitting in the sun for days rolled over me like a reeking avalanche of filth. I gagged, bile burning my throat as I dropped the bowl, spilling its hot contents all down my front. I gasped, wheezed, and clamped my mouth shut to stop from vomiting.
Was this Jenen lady trying to kill me?
Ignoring the scalding wrath of the foul broth, I twisted to my side, in case I heaved up the roiling acids in my stomach. False alarm. I let out a moan as I sat up again to deal with the burns forming beneath my clothes. From bad luck to worse. Go figure.
Jenen stayed silent as I patted my broth-stained t-shirt. My red jacket had mysteriously disappeared, unless...I glanced behind me and spotted it where my head had been resting. Case of the missing jacket solved.
Turning back to Jenen, I found her considering me, eyes glistening in the eastward sunlight. “The broth tastes very bitter—”
Didn't she mean “rotten”?
“—and it smells unpleasant—”
She seemed to have a knack for choosing all the wrong words. The proper choice here would be “revolting.”
“—but it would have helped sooth your pain.”
Probably because it would kill me and end my pain entirely.
“Look,” I said, grabbing my jacket and dabbing at the damp spot on my shirt. I picked up the shawl. Jenen snatched it from my hands before I could blink. “I really do appreciate all your efforts to make me feel better, but I'm pretty sure that broth would've done more damage than the poison in those red...things ever could.”
“No wonder you're short,” the woman said, shaking the wrinkles from her shawl then wrapping it around her shoulders with a swift motion of her arms. “The healthiest things are often distasteful to the tongue. No doubt your diet sadly lacks the proper nutrition to help you grow.”
I scoffed. “Are you suggesting sugar has somehow stunted my growth.”
Jenen knitted her brows. “Sugar?”
“You know, the sweet white powdery stuff that makes food taste good?”
Jenen's eyes dropped as she considered my words. “Is that what you call it? Here, we call it swensi.”
She brought up an interesting point. “Where exactly is here, anyway?”
“You do not know?”
“Nope,” I admitted, not bothering to lie. There are moments (few and far between) when the truth is better. This was one of those times.
“You are on the north-eastern side of Paradise, in the Resej meadow where medicinal herbs grow.”
I nearly choked. Paradise? Was she kidding?
Not that this was real, despite the pain, despite the whacked layout I couldn't imagine on my own. And if by Paradise she meant something other than Heaven, there still hadn't been anything peaceful or serene about my time here.
“You look ill again.”
Case in point.
I shook my head. “I'm fine,” I lied, meeting her metallic gaze.
Again, we sat in silence, probably both wondering the same thing: Now what? I was pretty well recovered so long as I took it easy for a while, and we couldn't just sit in the meadow and hear the birds twitter forever.
Actually, we probably could, but I wasn't a fan of that option.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Rest,” Jenen said.
My eyes narrowed. “Again? I just woke up.”
“I siphoned the venom from your blood stream—”
How'd she manage to do that?
“—but there are still traces that will only leave with time. Exert yourself too soon and the venom will heat with your blood, causing a relapse.”
My eyes narrowed. “How long is with time?”
“Only time will tell.” I could’ve sworn I caught a glint in her eyes as she replied, but it was gone before I could confirm anything.
Scowling, I returned to my shirt stain, rubbing for something to do. I doubted even bleach could take this sucker out. What was in the nasty stuff?
“Are you going to rest?” Jenen asked.
What was she, my mother? “Look, lady, not that I don't appreciate what you've done—” I was about to ask her to back off, to let me take care of my own body, thanks, but mid-speech I noticed a drastic shift in her presence. I shrank before what looked like a terrible storm brewing over her head. Her face had darkened, glittering eyes narrowing, and she slowly rose to her feet, towering above my sitting form.
“I. Am. Not—”
Mind racing, I tried to understand what I’d done to offend her. Whatever it was, I was about to die.
“—A WOMAN!” she — excuse me — he screamed.
Have you ever jumped into a river in the dead of winter? Neither have I, but I imagine it can't top the chill that swept through my body and shook me to my feet as her—his words sank in. Panic drove me, and I didn't register that I was running until I'd already broken away from the meadow and plunged into the forest. The deeper I went, the darker it got, and I had trouble seeing as I whipped through brambles and ducked under thorny branches. The scent of peppermint and damp earth caught in my nose. I tripped more than once but got up and kept running. Adrenaline flooded my body, not allowing me to stop if I wanted to—though I didn't.
After centuries of endless running, tripping, and running some more, I heard the snap of a twig.
Jenen’s chasing me. I’m gonna die!
My mind conjured up horrific deaths; most including inch-long claws or two rows of glistening pointed teeth. But how was I supposed to know he was a man? He didn't look like a man! He was prettier than my freaking sister, and she hadn't been one of the most popular girls in high school for her intelligence.
And, aside from a sickeningly pretty face, how could he expect people to know he was male when he wore a freaking shawl? It was preposterous! What the heck sort of man wears a silve
r shawl? Maybe it’s some sort of order; like an elite group of girly ninja men with brightly colored shawls.
Right. Get a grip, Key. You sound like a moron.
Another twig snapped. This time the sound didn't come from behind, or ahead, or either side. It came from above.
Was he seriously leaping from branch to branch to kill me over a tiny misunderstanding? He was a ninja—what other explanation was there? (Never mind that a ninja was a far-fetched explanation all on its own.) Sweat dripped from my chin. My breath ran short. I tripped again, face planting in a puddle.
Another freaking puddle? Give me a break!
The rustling sounded like a wind torrent right behind me. Pulling myself from the murky water, I groped in the puddle for a doorknob, something, anything that might get me out of this insane place and away from the man-lady.
I didn't find a doorknob. I did, however, find a foot. It had long sharp claws at the end of five toes.
Jenen had caught me. I was going to die.
Heart scraping against my ribs, I held very still. Not because I thought it would help, but because I couldn't get my legs to work.
“Well, well, well,” a gleeful voice hissed in the forest's gloom. “Look what we find here. Tell us,” I felt clawed fingers wrap around my shirt collar and I was pulled to my feet, “where is Sick Nasty Dog?”
3
Sudden Servitude
This wasn't Jenen. That, or he was a schizophrenic psychopath whose other personality had a speech impediment. Either way, instinct assured me I was a goner. The fingers holding me up by my collar flexed. I cringed.
“Answer us or we kill, yeah?”
I pried my stare from the ground. Swallowing, I met the gaze of my captor. Though it was too dark to make out most of his features—that, or my vision was failing—I could easily see the mismatched eyes, one vibrant gold, the other molten silver. It was Jenen—or did all the people in this make-believe world have eyes like these?
A Liar in Paradise Page 2
