The pilot had told them—no. This is normal.
Bastard.
He was a liar. A good one. And now they’d die for it. Did it really matter to her though? She could have died happy—she had had the time of her life on the way here. If the helicopter fell out of the sky and they all drowned, then so be it. At least she wouldn’t be forced to go back to school—to go back to Saul. Ren grimaced. Selfish, much? What had her grandfather taught her about running away from her problems? Oh, right—sprint.
The cabin quaked, the floor dropping from under them as the helicopter lost altitude and dipped nose first. Choking her seatbelt and Mia’s hand, Ren bit her tongue so hard her teeth almost chomped straight through it. Her stomach flew, nosediving and rising before her body could recalibrate and hold her organs in place. Tumultuous wind battered them, smacking them from side to side with so much force that rain splattered their faces from the helicopter’s gaping sides. The pilot whooped, tapping blinking buttons and flickering apparatuses that surrounded him in a colorful sea of flashing lights. Lightning glinted off of his helmet’s black visor as he stole a look at the girls and smiled. One gold tooth gleamed.
Itzel breathed mechanically in Ren’s ear as she tried to control her panic. Itzel hated flying—this only made it worse.
The engine was failing. Ren knew. But the pilot had it under control—right?
Oily clouds swam around them as if they were in a child’s shaken snow globe. The lightning, slivers of the sun outside. The rain, powdered snow. Hail. Ren’s neck twisted as the cabin was battered again, thrown to the left like a whip. Mia tumbled, her seatbelt saving her from dropping fifty feet into the churning clouds below—or farther.
Rippling pain burned through the right side of Ren’s neck. She stiffened, her muscles somehow aching from holding her still. Thunder clapped, booming across the sky. Smacking her hands to her ears, Ren stuck her head between her knees, held her breath and shut her eyes.
The darkness outside broke. The rain, the thunder, the lightning—gone. Disappearing behind them as if it were a monster kept to one point in the sky. Out of the swirling storm’s territory, everything brightened. Peace rained down, sunlight blasted them from above.
“Look at that view!”
Ren opened her eyes.
She was lying on her back, fingers digging into dirt. Feet naked and bare. T-shirt ripped and soiled with blood, sweat, tears.
But she was just flying—getting out of a storm. Flying in a fucking helicopter to—
The Island. She had been flying to the island. Why?
A lush canopy tracked leaf-shaped shadows over her face. Rain plopped between fat leaves, tapping her nose. Her bare skin. Had everything else been a dream? Had they crashed and she was the only survivor? A squawking parrot made her flinch. Made her pull her fingers from the dirt. Why was she here?
The Shamaness. The Shamaness must have done this to her. Was she even fucking real? The Kirabo—the drugs—that could have done this to her. But were they real?
She saw a man control the damned air! The air! This is probably all just a really fucked up coma dream. Nothing’s real. Nothing’s real.
Ren ground her teeth. Sat up in the dirt and hugged her knees into her chest. Her hands were on fire, her tongue cotton in her mouth as she chewed at it. Heart thumping like a hummingbird’s wings, her mind went blank. A parade of curses strung through her mind, looping. Going on forever. You ran. You ran from your failure.
A low growl escaped through the brush, a warning. A challenge.
She ran.
12
Monstrous vines hung like thick spider webs threading through the verdant canopy above. Everything closed in on her like a cotton blanket, humidity thickening the air, causing sweat to bead just about everywhere. Hugging her arms against her chest, Ren crashed through the dense brush. Tripping over tree roots so fat and gnarled that they slunk along the jungle floor like wreathing tentacles. Ren knocked her ankle on one such tree root and didn’t care. Didn’t give a flying fuck. Something in that vision from earlier—her in the helicopter. Mia and Itzel hanging onto her for dear life—made her realize why she had come to this deathtrap of an island, dragging her friends along with her. She was running from something. Saul. The name stampeded through her mind as she wandered. Cool rain drops pitter-pattered overhead, dropping into her frizzy hair but never getting to her steaming scalp. Saul was someone important—someone important enough for Ren to run away from, but why?
Why, why, why?
There were so many whys. There were so many questions that she began to even doubt the significance of them. Why should she care? If she came here to run away—well, then, hadn’t she succeeded? For once in your life, you’ve won. Why were these doubts here? Had she planned to get captured by the Kirabo? Had she planned for Itzel and Mia to get captured as well? The thought made her shiver. Only an awful fucking person would plan for their friends to suffer alongside them. You’re supposed to suffer alone, not bring in the people you care about. Something told her she hadn’t come to the island to be captured. Ren remembered parties. Flashing strobe lights, tight sexy dresses. The bitter taste of alcohol on her tongue made her stick it out, hoping to catch a few drops of rain. But the stinging bite of bugs and other multiple-legged critters made her abruptly close her mouth.
How in the hell was she going to survive out here?
Stopping, Ren lowered her head and stared at her feet. They were beginning to blister as wet pieces of dead leaves stuck to the bottoms. She had instincts—everybody had instincts, right? Okay—water. That’s the most important thing. How long can a person survive without water? Was it three days?
Fuck if she knew. The only instinct she had was knowing when to run and apparently, it’s something she did quite well.
Water. It’s a jungle. Water’s got to be everywhere. Maybe she could find a stream or a pond or something. Maybe follow some animals to a nearby water source? She had heard something utter a growl earlier. Whatever it was hadn’t shown its face and could very well be some sort of big cat that could kill her with one swipe of its paw. She couldn’t search for that—no. Ren turned in a slow circle, looking for monkeys—maybe birds. Anything that would think twice about trying to fuck with her. Of all the squawks and wavering songs she heard swerving through the packed jungle, her eyes couldn’t catch a damned thing. Tiny squirrel monkeys either moved too fast, or rainbow colored wings fluttered and were gone in a blink. Ren sighed, dropping her head again. What could she do?
Standing still wasn’t right. She had to move. But what was the point of exerting energy if she wasn’t using it to find food or water? Fuck.
Pivoting on her heel, she made a sharp right and moved. Moving was better than standing—than waiting to fucking die. Ren may not have instincts, but she did have a will to live. Even if it was a tiny sliver of will—she still had it. She’d hold on.
Still hugging herself, she moved. Couldn’t see a damned thing, but as the humidity thickened and her eyeballs turned to sandpaper in their sockets, the jungle thrummed in hushed silence. Was it because of her? The failure? Was it because she didn’t belong? Because she felt like she didn’t belong damn near anywhere. The ground depressed and she slowed to avoid tumbling into whatever the jungle was leading her to.
A splash. Water soaked through her bell-bottom jeans, but she didn’t care. Ren choked up. She could have cried as she waded deeper into the sliver of a stream and cupped her hands. Washing her face. Her hands came away murky, sticky. Plastered with water that just wouldn’t move. What the hell?
All at once, the water vanished. Leaves. Dense, wet, leaves. Dirt and broken twigs dirtied her face and arms. Mud pulled at the bottoms of her jeans and she gasped, jumping out of the brown puddle as if it were made of fat skittering roaches. Was she seeing things? Duh—but hadn’t it just been a stream of water? What the fuck? Someone’s gotta be fucking with her—or she’s just so dehydrated she’s seeing things. Just my luck. Ren shook her
head, swiped the dirt from her face and imagined deep barrels of laughter wheezing from a nearby bush.
It wasn’t her imagination.
13
There wasn’t a glimmer of eyes or a huff of breath waiting in the bat-winged bushes. Instead, Ren saw black eyes sunken like a depressed pit. One massive horn prodded its way out of the bush. Then, another.
“Moira seeks her twelve. The network is finite. She cannot be renewed.” A voice like gravel. A face like death.
Ren ran.
Stretching her arms out before herself, Ren tumbled through low lying branches topped with spikes and brambles. The creature crashed after her, the jungle howling its descent as the thick skull of a bull wove after her through the overgrown brush.
“Purpose. The cockatrice comes home.”
What in the fuck was this thing talking about? Ren’s eyes widened as she shook her head in disbelief. One thing after another—something told her her life had always been like this. Minus the magic, of course. And the strange nightmare-beast-things. She didn’t even bother looking behind her as her path split into three. She stopped, catching her breath. Panting as the thing’s crashing footfalls rocketed through the foliage behind her. Which way? Fuck—did it matter? It wasn’t like she knew where she was going. Ren took a sharp right.
The thing wheezed behind her, catching up as she slid past thick trunks and below hanging vines. She vaulted forward and slammed into the ground, skidding on her shins, avoiding a monstrous tree root in the process. She could only hope it would trip that thing up.
Ren crouched. Listening.
“You run from it. But, everything dies. Everything dies—”
Fuck. She sprinted forward. Running with her fists clenched, her thighs crying out—burning her just like her fever. With lungs turning to sandpaper, she scanned the jungle—slowing to a jog. She couldn’t keep this up. At least she learned one thing: she hadn’t been a runner in the past life. Great. As the ground dipped sharply, Ren came to a skidding halt. A black gorge stared back at her. Might have been a riverbed at some point, but now it was just a deep dark line that cut through the jungle. Ren didn’t know how deep it went and wasn’t pressed to figure it out. She tossed out the idea of hiding inside it. Crouching low, she stared into the abyss. It seemed to go on forever.
Thudding footsteps pounded through the spidery thicket, the creature almost right on her heels. It was now or never. She could jump or fall in—something told her it didn’t matter. She was probably going to die here anyway. Standing, she vaulted back. Murmured a prayer and sprinted forward. Jumped. Soaring. Kicked her legs through the air like she was riding a bicycle and stretched her arms wide.
She landed on her forearms, rolling forward before she stopped herself. “Yes!” that meant to stay inside her head.
The creature heard it.
It stood on the opposite side of the gorge. Staring. Though, could a thing without eyes really stare? Ren was transfixed. Laying sideways on her forearms, she stared back. The thing was human from the legs up, but past the torso hidden by animal skins and yellowed bones…black talons sprouted from each of its fingers. The gargantuan skull of a bull yawned over its head. Horns the size of a chimney funnel dangled on either side of its bleached white head. Talismans hung from its horns, threaded there or knotted near the sharp ends. Its black stare pinned her to the ground, fear snaking around her limbs like territorial anacondas. Her fingers dug into the earth as she tried to stop the shaking that was clattering her teeth. She had never—ever—seen anything like this. A creature that just stepped out of some poor kid’s nightmare. Or, maybe from her own.
“Water.” It said, taking a step toward the gorge. “Food. Fire. Flame.” Spittle dribbled from the beast’s skeletal jawline, dropping into the blood-matted furs on its chest. “Shelter from the acid. It isn’t natural—” its next step fell on nothing but air. It stepped forward and slipped.
Ren didn’t even hear a body drop. With the creature gone, she pressed herself up and shook her head again. The thing she drank—the elixir, that’s what the Shamaness had called it—was it causing her to see things? Running her fingers through her damp, frizzy, hair, Ren let out a sigh.
Talons dug into the mud at the opposite side of the gorge. Her side.
“Oh, shit!” she jumped up, ready to sprint again. But her entire body screamed. Okay—she’d need to hide. It doesn’t have eyes, so how hard could it be to hide from it?
Ren turned and ran. She was getting pretty damn tired of this.
“Hollow ground quakes. Moira wanes. She cannot be reset.”
“Shut up!” she shouted, throwing her gaze over her shoulder. It lumbered after her, somehow able to overtake her strides even though it moved like both sides of its body were working in opposition of the other. Weird-ass thing.
Turning her gaze—she squeaked as a castle-sized tree trunk met her. Face first.
14
Ren’s palms slammed into the tree trunk, her nose knocking against rough bark. Panting, she turned. Gritted her teeth. Whatever comes next.
The creature stopped. Began to pace around her, prowling like a starving tiger. “She has called you here. Reset the network. Reset the network. Renew and replenish. Outsider. Cannot be from Moira. Then where are you? Where are you from?”
Was it…talking to her?
Ren planted her feet into the muck. She chanced a look around her. The tree was just so damned big. It could have easily taken up half a city block. Its branches hung over her like thin, pulsing, veins of spider webs threaded through the jungle canopy and foliage along the ground. Ren closed her eyes and racked her brains for a plan, but all that came back was static. Fuck. She was going to die here.
Maybe she could confuse it. “The sky.” She said. “I’m—I’m from the sky.”
Could it even hear her? Ren didn’t see ears, or holes drilled into the sides of its bleached bull-skull. But it still cocked its head, the trinkets attached to its horns clamoring. “The sky. An Old One? Creator of the network—Black Sun. Humble soul.” It dipped its large head into a bow, then took a step toward her. “A soul the Sun has never tasted. Fresh, humble, clean.”
What in the fuck was it talking about? Old ones? Black Sun? Humble soul?
Was it talking about her? Even the soul part?
Keeping her back flat against the tree, Ren began moving to her left. Slowly, slowly; keeping her eyes on the creature as it glowered at her. “Yeah, sure—whatever. I’m an Old One. Humble soul—all that. Just—yeah.” Keep talking fucker.
“The core requires a new host. The core.” It lifted its taloned hand and pointed, arching its finger past the tree. “Smell of rash. Smell of pain.” It snorted, hissing like a frustrated bull. “Smell of deceit.”
Fuck. At least she knew what that meant. She scrambled—done talking to it, egging it on. Sliding around the left side of the tree, she came to its rounded edge and poked her head out along its side. Stealing a look in the direction of the bull-headed creature, she saw nothing.
A gnarled hand punched into her left shoulder. Talons broke skin, hissing through to muscle. Ren yelped as steam surfaced from her skin. Was her fever doing that? No—it was all in her mind. All in her head.
“The network cannot be renewed. Moira cannot be reset. It will die.” Its breath stunk of decay and death. The thing was too close, its black eyes sinking into her soul. Up this close, she could see little slivers of starlight crouched in those dark pits. Ren smacked her hand to its fingers and tried prying the thing off her, ripping its fingers away one by one. But that only made the creature more adamant—digging its nails into her skin further. Blood bubbled, dripping down her shoulder. Her hands burned like hot coals.
It leaned into her. “I have never tasted the soul of an Outsider before.”
Ren’s jaw dropped, her eyes widened. Her being was being pulled—her soul. From the incision on her shoulder, everything was being ripped from her and escaping from those five broken points along her s
kin.
Overhead, tree branches groaned. Wood splintering and breaking as it reached lower and lower, cascading down like a frozen waterfall. Ren watched with wild eyes as the bull-headed creature kept its sunken eyes glued to her shoulder. With every breath it wheezed from holes drilled into its face, sulfur spewed. Making Ren’s stomach roll and jump. Steam wafted from her hands as the tree trunk behind her sighed.
It fucking sighed.
What was going on in this jungle?!
“Hello? Human girl?” A branch reached to tap the top of her head. “Have I got your attention? Good. This creature is hungry, dear. Why are you standing so still?”
Was the tree…talking to her?
Fuck it—so much weird shit had happened to her already. Why not? Why the fuck not? “Because it’s got me pinned.”
“I see you aren’t a native, so I’ll give you advice—free of any blood price. It’s going to swallow your soul if you don’t move.”
That explained the tugging feeling ripping at her internal organs and escaping through the gaping wound in her shoulder—or did it? Ren squirmed beneath the creature’s weight. It simply froze there, like a statue on a pedestal. “What can I do? How long do I have?”
“Your question should be: what can I do for you?”
She was talking to a tree. Bargaining now, with a tree. “What? Tell me!”
“Take care of something for me. I’d tell you more, but it seems like you may die very soon.”
Ren felt her heart hiccup. “I’ll do it—whatever you want! Anything!”
A deep chuckle rippled through the tree bark. “You should be careful of what you promise.” Thicker branches unwound themselves from the lush canopy above. Groaning as they lowered, they wrapped themselves underneath the bull-headed creature’s armpits. Snaking around its arms like big brown vipers, it wrenched the creature away from her. Fuck—it was flying. The tree wrenched it up into the air and held it there. The creature simply dangled, arms and legs not even moving. Just hanging there. Like a Christmas tree ornament.
Wild Magic (The Island Book 1) Page 4
