The Red Pearl

by C. K. Brooke

  Antonia waited.

  “My father.”

  “Your father?”

  Robin walked alongside her, with Maverick trotting in between. “He’s an inventor. If anyone can think of something, it’s him.”

  “How far out of the way does he live?”

  “He doesn’t,” said Robin. “Live out of the way, that is. He’s just on the other side of the Greyer Woods. Only problem is,” he glanced up, “I have just turned twenty-six years old.”

  The young woman’s brow crinkled. The more this fellow spoke, the less sense he seemed to make. “And?” she prompted.

  “And,” he answered, “if memory serves, I was a boy of nine during the last ciqédo hatching. Not pretty, Annie. There could be thousands of eggs in those woods, and they hatch every seventeen years. You do not want to get caught in the middle of a swarm.”

  Antonia had lived her whole life in Innía, but had never ventured as far as the Greyer Woods. “What are ciqédo?”

  Their shoes marched in unison along the paved road. “Giant flying insects that suck your blood. And if you’re allergic,” he added lightly, “you’ll faint.”

  The notion disturbed Antonia, whose cloistered life had granted her little experience with the elements. “And how do you know if you’re allergic?” she asked, beginning to feel apprehensive.

  “You don’t. Not until you’ve been bitten unconscious, anyway.”

  She frowned. “Must we go into the woods?”

  “If we want to reach my father, aye.”

  “But what if the ciqédo are hatching?” Her voice was higher than usual.

  Robin shrugged his sturdy shoulders as they wound around the road’s bend. “Then don’t get bit.”

  WELL, THIS WAS CERTAINLY UNANTICIPATED.

  In fact, had someone alerted him to his upcoming predicament the day before, Robin Watkins would have laughed in their face. Surely, he’d never have believed that Rowena Wildaison, his steady girlfriend of the last six months, and Jules Adams, his best mate since grammar school, would betray him.

  How long they’d been scheming against him, he could only guess. Why, had any of Wen’s love been true? If so, when had it turned false? And for how long had Adams’s friendship, too, been a farce?

  The man repositioned his rucksack. It’d been a long day carrying it on foot, without the aid of his horse. Not to mention, the afternoon was dragging out for other reasons…namely, the stranger with whom he now traveled.

  It was all her damned fault.

  All right, the kid thought she was only doing him a favor, saving his life, acting the heroine, and all. No doubt the temple priestesses—from whom she was clearly fleeing—had filled her young mind with all sorts of useless, fanciful mythologies about goddesses and lady warriors.

  Then again, Rob wasn’t one to judge a dreamer. After all, had he not spent the better part of his adult life chasing after a boyhood fantasy? Yet now, this Antonia girl, coupled with the dastardly actions of his former friends, had thrown a definite wrench in his plans.

  Presently, his unfortunate companion issued a sigh of complaint. “How much longer ‘til we reach the woods?”

  Robin snapped his fingers, beckoning his dog, Maverick, who’d darted off in pursuit of a squirrel. “You know, Annie, Elat is a lot farther away than the Greyer Woods.”

  She said nothing, only hoisting up her pinkish robes to step over an upturned stone.

  He couldn’t stem his curiosity. “What do you seek in Elat, anyway?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  Something about that baby-doll face wearing such a curt expression made him grin in spite of himself. “Oh, come on.”

  She twisted her lips, her resolve faltering. “I seek my future,” she admitted, “in the King’s courts.”

  “Oh?” Rob heightened his pace alongside her. “And does the court suffer a shortage of priestesses?”

  “I am not a priestess,” she snapped. “And I never hope to be. Nay, I should rather voyage across Otlantica with one of the King’s brave knights, and someday see myself wed and content.” At this, she revealed a small smile, although it soon faded. “Priestesses, on the other hand, remain celibate. And they do not leave their temples.”

  Ah. So she was a dreamer, like him. “You know,” said Rob, betraying a smirk behind his beard, “I’ve never heard of a knight taking a lady on adventures with him.”

  Antonia Korelli’s plump lips puckered with conviction. “My knight will.”

  They stopped for lunch in a meadow, and the girl extracted two pomegranates from her bindle. “These were ritual offerings to Azea,” she confessed with guilt. “I stole them.”

  Forbidden fruit? Rob arched an eyebrow. “Don’t mind if I do.” He plucked the orb from her palm. Wen and Adams had taken most of his food. He was glad, at any rate, that this young woman had had the foresight to bring any with her. Once they reached his father’s home, he was sure they could stock up on victuals there.

  Rob peered into the distance, discerning the mouth of the woods in the valley below. “The good news is, we’ll make it to Greyer soon.” He bit into the pomegranate. “The bad news,” he said through his mouthful, “is that we’ll likely have to spend the night there.”

  Antonia swallowed.

  “I’ve a tent,” he reminded her, indicating his rucksack.

  This did not appear to assuage her. “Just one,” she pointed out. “And I am not sleeping in a tent with you.”

  He sighed, lying back in the grass. Already, he was beginning to wonder whether he oughtn’t to just let the girl go. She made her disdain for him obvious enough. Yet, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to let her off so easily. Not after what had befallen him, with her unwitting assistance. And two heads would serve better than one in regaining his coveted map, wouldn’t they?

  After lunch, they resumed the road. Antonia fell silent, though Rob could tell by the way she kept massaging her ankles that she grew weary. “Must I carry you the rest of the way?” he teased.

  She shot him an icy look.

  By late afternoon, they stared into the entry of the Greyer Woods. His companion squinted through the branches. “Is there a trail?”

  Rob shook his head.

  “Then how do you know the way through?” She sounded dismayed. “Have you a compass?”

  He sighed. Was she serious? “It’s called the sun.”

  Again, those lush lips pouted. Rob waited until she made up her mind, however, and followed him into the forest. They were instantly cooled by the leafy thatch overhead.

  The sun descended late, as it did that time of year. But, as Rob predicted, they’d not yet made it halfway through the woods by evening. Presently, Maverick drank from a stream while the girl splashed water onto her face.

  “We should stop here,” Rob suggested. “It’s only going to get darker. And I need to build the tent while I can still see.”

  Antonia stiffened. “I told you, I am not sharing a tent with you.”

  “Then you can sleep outside,” he offered testily, “with the ciqédo eggs. Which may or may not hatch tonight.”

  She grumbled incoherently, and he would’ve laughed, had he the patience for her. Alas, after that morning, Rob hadn’t much patience for any woman. He extracted the canvas from his rucksack and began erecting the tent, although it proved to be a rather difficult task alone. Meanwhile, Antonia remained by the stream, posing in some odd stance, eyes closed.

  “Annie?”

  She opened her eyes.

  “What are you doing?”

  She blinked. “Meditating.”

  “Oh, of course.” He rolled his eyes, indicating the canvas and poles. “A little help here, please?”

  She sniffed. “Nothing good ever came from helping you, Robin Watkins.” But she headed toward him a
ll the same, and knelt at his side. With his direction, she assisted him in assembling the materials until, by sundown, the tent stood on the stream’s banks.

  “Well,” Rob brushed his hands together, “that should do it.”

  The girl only surveyed it warily.

  He exhaled. “Antonia, look. I’ve no intention of trying to…” But his voice faded at the furious flush of her cheeks. By the gods, what did she think him? What had those priestesses taught her of men? He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ll sleep outside,” he offered, more quietly, “if that would make you feel better.”

  Her chest heaved somewhat as their eyes met. He realized hers were blue, like his, albeit several shades grayer, deeper. At last, she turned, saying nothing, and bowed her head to enter the shelter.

  Rob knelt down to fetch his bedroll. He glanced into the evening sky, his gaze lingering on the leafy treetops. So long as the ciqédo hadn’t hatched yet, he could handle one night outside in the forest.

  ANTONIA THOUGHT OF RUNNING OFF, but it was no use. All was dark, and she wasn’t familiar with the woods. Even if she dared brave them, Robin and his guard dog snoozed just outside the tent. She’d never make it past them.

  Besides, the man had more or less threatened to relay her whereabouts to the Temple of Azea. Antonia couldn’t have that. She didn’t want the priestesses tailing her, attempting to manipulate or elsewise force her return.

  Though she regretted becoming entwined with this Robin person, at least she was free to resume to Elat, once his search for the mysterious map ended. The only question was when, exactly, that would be. Desperately, she wondered how Robin’s father, on the other side of the woods, could possibly help them.

  She awoke the next morning when the heat became too oppressive. The sky was light as she exited the tent. She found Robin already awake, heating a crude pan over a fire he’d built. “Morning,” he greeted brusquely, beads of perspiration glistening on his brow. “Care for an egg?”

  Antonia’s stomach rumbled. An egg? She hadn’t eaten one since before her temple days. Priestesses and their apprentices generally abstained from animal flesh and by-products. Eager, she nodded.

  “Good day for travel,” the man remarked. “Not a cloud in the sky. We should reach my father by evening.”

  Antonia glanced up. Indeed, through the treetops the sky was a clear, unadulterated blue.

  Robin removed the pan from the flames and passed it over by the handle. “Don’t touch the bottom,” he warned. “Very hot.”

  Antonia thanked him and took it, along with the spatula he handed her. “But what shall you eat?” she inquired.

  He indicated the pan with a bob of his head. “I already did.”

  She halted. He’d eaten from the pan in which he was now serving her breakfast? But her stomach groaned lustily, and she slipped the used spatula into her mouth, regardless. Sighing with pleasure, she closed her eyes. The egg tasted every bit as rich and creamy as she remembered.

  Afterwards, she helped Robin disassemble the tent and repack his rucksack. Maverick sniffed at her hands, but she raised them to her chest. “I have already finished my meal,” she told the creature. “I’ve nothing left for the likes of you.”

  Thankfully, Robin whistled, and the dog left her be.

  The woods stretched on for miles, alive with scurrying creatures and bubbling creeks, twigs crunching and leaves crackling beneath their feet. The morning passed rather uneventfully as Antonia followed Robin through the brush, until something collided with the man’s brow. Gasping, he brought a hand to his face as the culprit whirred off, wings sputtering through the humid air.

  Antonia startled. “What was that?”

  She did not like Robin’s expression. “If I didn’t know any better…” he mumbled, when a hum rattled the breeze. The sound was unnerving, a series of clicks and buzzes that echoed through the woodland sky and seemed to reach Antonia’s bones. Robin frowned. “It appears a hatching has occurred in the west,” he whispered.

  Antonia swallowed. “Which direction are we headed?”

  His grim expression conveyed the answer. “It’s only a few more hours, if that,” he reasoned, scratching his beard. “We can power through, can’t we? Think you can be extra swift for me, Antonia?”

  She looked at her hands. There was no getting around it, she supposed. “Aye,” she replied stoutly. She appreciated that he had at least addressed her by her proper name, and not by that ghastly moniker, Annie.

  With caution, the pair proceeded, while the rattling became louder and more disconcerting with each footfall. Antonia dodged out of the way as several fat insects zoomed at her. One brushed her arm and fell to the ground.

  Robin shook his head. “Blind as bats, those ciqédo. I swear, only half the time do they want your blood. The other half, they simply can’t see where the hell they’re going.”

  Antonia shuddered, glancing back at the twitching ciqédo she left behind in the dirt. The insects were enormous, twice as long as her thumb. She didn’t wish to think about something so large sucking her blood.

  The afternoon clouded under the shady trees, making the hour seem later than it was. Antonia glanced up and took in a breath. Hundreds of little black, winged creatures were poised in the treetops, staring down at them with bulbous red eyes. Heart fluttering, she tugged on Robin’s sleeve and pointed up.

  The man craned his neck, taking in the clans of newborn ciqédo. His features darkened. Meanwhile, Maverick trotted ahead, black tail swaying behind him. Another slew of insects swooped down, and Antonia ducked as several more bounced off of her forearm. As though inspired by their neighbors, yet another team leapt from their perches to harass the travelers, forcing Robin and Antonia to run. Maverick, seeming to think it a game, pranced alongside them, snapping his jowls.

  Antonia scratched her arm. It itched beneath her robes. The weather was too hot for the material, she thought, irritated. If not for Robin, she could have found new clothing by then, and wouldn’t be stuck outrunning bloodsucking insects in a forbidding forest.

  They ran until her feet could take it no longer. Panting, she slowed to a halt, and leaned against a tree. Furiously, she scratched her arm again. The itch was unbearable.

  Robin watched her. “What are you doing?”

  Antonia ground her teeth, rolling up her sleeve to drag her bare skin against the tree bark. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Let me see,” he commanded, taking her arm without awaiting permission. She trembled at his rough touch. “Good gods, Annie. You’ve been bitten!”

  “Bitten?” She snatched her arm back, examining the flesh.

  “Multiple times,” he declared, looking upset as he indicated the little bumps and abrasions forming on her skin. “Do you feel all right?”

  “Fine.” She shrugged. “It only itches like a demon.” She leapt aside as another ciqédo dropped onto the forest floor at her ankles. “We’d better get out of here.”

  Robin still appeared concerned. “Are you sure your arm’s all right? I don’t know if that’s a normal reaction…”

  But Antonia barely heard him, for the tree before her dissolved into a kaleidoscope of patterns before reassembling again. She stopped short. “Did you see that?” she whispered.

  He glanced around. “See what?”

  “That tree.” She pointed, but could not recall exactly which tree it had been. “It just…” She tried to search for the right words to describe it, but vocabulary evaded her.

  They carried on, yet Antonia was finding it increasingly difficult to hold onto her bindle. For some reason, the stick kept slipping from her fingers, until she dropped it altogether.

  “Annie,” Robin scolded her, bending to retrieve it, when the girl suddenly toppled down, her knees giving way. She barely perceived the man catching her in his hold, his alarmed cry, his question
ing in her ear.

  “I feel weak,” she mumbled, as the sky above broke apart and rearranged itself, and the leaves turned a strange shade of black.

  “OH, NO.” ROB GROANED, HOISTING the girl beneath her arms as he knelt behind her. Her eyelids drooped shut, and she now lay unconscious. “Antonia Korelli, you are bad news,” he grunted, scooping her up and cradling her like a small child.

  He studied her reposing face, her rosy cheeks blanching, full lips slightly parted, and gave her a small shake. Curious, Maverick sniffed at her limp limbs. “She’s passed out, Mav,” the man panted. Unbelievable. Of all the traveling companions one could have, his was allergic to ciqédo.

  Rob glanced down at the little bindle she’d dropped. With haste, he stuck it into his rucksack. Dog at his heels, he set off again, moving as fast he could while carrying the motionless girl.

  After half an hour, his biceps burned and his hands perspired. Her robes were made of some coarse material that could not be comfortable for her, especially not during that season. She needed new attire. But first, Rob had to get her out of the woods.

  He grimaced as her long yellow hair snagged at another branch they passed—how had it not awoken her?—and felt for her pulse. It still thumped, albeit sluggishly.

  Rob thought he’d be carrying her forever, that he’d never see the end of the Greyer Woods, when a familiar landmark caught his eye: an old willow tree, its boughs seeping to the ground. He wasn’t far now.

  Coming to a halt beneath the willow, he tried to rouse Antonia again, but to no avail. She needed antihistamine, and soon. Repositioning her over his shoulder, Rob bolted from another swarm of ciqédo that emerged from the tree, his boots pounding the way ever west.

  Antonia’s head bobbed against his shoulder, his beard itched, and his rucksack weighed heavy at his back. “You’re a real pain in the neck, Annie,” he muttered, though he knew it unlikely she could hear his teasing. “Literally and figuratively.”