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Passing the immense bristly boughs of a big-cone spruce, I slip the harness of the small backpack over my shoulders. The air is crisp and smells of rich earth, of moss and musk. Dewy leaves and spines slide across my arms, and spider webs stick to my skin. The forest is alive with sound even though the sun has just crested the horizon. Creatures scuttle, insects hum, and birds caw. All around me, the woodland is teeming with energy.
The canopy of branches overhead is only slightly thinner than the area around Lucas’s village, still I can make out the first light of day clearly. Weak light filters through the covering, producing thin intermittent beams of pale light. The light highlights motes of dust, dirt and nest filaments that float in the air, hovering and never seeming to settle. I try to concentrate on the world around me. Try to keep my mind in the present. But it’s a challenge. A challenge that if I don’t conquer could cost me my life. Physically, I feel stronger than I have in days. Sleeping soundly and through the night in Ara’s hut, along with a filling, satisfying meal, has done me well in that regard. I wish I could say the same of myself emotionally, for inside I am a wreck. My mind races, filling with thoughts of John, William and Sully. They’re all I can think of. I want to see them. To hold them in my arms and never let them go. I want to keep them safe. But safety, I fear, is not even a remote possibility. If they live, they’re in peril. Too many potential scenarios that jeopardize their lives play out in my head. Each of them makes my stomach pitch.
Twisting and jerking out of the way of a web with a spider the size of my hand, June turns and looks at me. “I could’ve put an arrow through that thing,” she says. “Did you see how big it was?”
“I’ve seen bigger,” I tease.
June laughs. “Yeah, well, I have, too. But I didn’t want that thing on my face.”
“It would’ve covered your face.” I shudder. I’ve hated spiders since June was a little girl. My encounter with one in particular has left a lasting impression. Since then I avoid them whenever possible.
“No kidding.” June shakes her limbs. “I’ve got to make sure I keep my eyes open and watch out for them. The webs seem more numerous on this side of the forest, no?”
“They really do. Hopefully, nothing larger than the one you just dodged is lingering around here.” I look all around me. Luckily, dew clings to the webs, making them more apparent as they stretch between branches.
“Hopefully. I try not to think about what’s scuttling around out here with us. Night Lurkers are about all my mind can process,” June says.
“Me, too,” I say. Though at the moment, even Night Lurkers have been pressed to the back of my mind. My focus has narrowed to a pinprick.
With thoughts of my family rolling around in my brain like a massive burr, June and I continue traveling in the direction in which Lucas instructed. His directions align with Peter’s. Between both sets and the compass, we appear to be on the right path and headed in the right direction.
Beneath my feet, the slippery leaves begin to slope downward. Gradually at first, the gradient becomes sharper without warning. June and I need to lean back and bend our knees as we continue. Once we reach the bottom of the descent, the forest grows so dense, we struggle to navigate between trees. We’re unable to engage in conversation. Breathless and trying to remain keenly aware of every leaf, twig and branch that’s seemingly intent upon connecting with my eyes, the only sounds I hear are the swish of wet leaves at my feet, the ragged breaths from my lungs and the beat of my heart. The forest has dimmed. Darkened as if night has fallen. The obstacles in my way are little more than inky shapes, darker than the world around me.
As we round a bend, a log lying across our path catches my eye. I don’t see it in time, however. I try to jump over it but do not clear it. One foot catches on the rotting wood and I fall forward. I land flat on my chest, without time to even launch my hands forward and catch myself. Stunned, I can’t move or catch my breath. I half expect a creature of some sort to pounce on me or rise up from the ground and rip my throat out. All I’ve seen are shadows in the dense and darkening forest. Shadows like swatches of dark cloth that are fastened here and there by pins and needles of light. Brush. Briars. Climbing vines. All assume a sinister shape. Without the fine streams of light pricking the dark, I’d think June and I had lost track of time and were in the forest at night.
“Are you okay?” June rushes to my side and starts helping me up.
“I’m okay. Just winded,” I wheeze. I slowly rise to my feet and brush off debris that clings to my clothes.
“Do you need to stop for a bit?” June asks.
In truth, I’d like to. I’d like to stop and rest and eat. My body throbs and my empty stomach rumbles. We’ve been walking for hours and I’ve only nibbled a piece of fruit. But there’s no way I’m stopping here.
“No, let’s get out of this stretch of dense foliage. Then we can rest and eat,” I reply.
“We only have a few more hours of light,” June says. “Not that it’s very light right now,” she adds under her breath as her head swivels left then right. “If we find a place we can hide for the night, wouldn’t that be our best bet? Find where we’ll stay for the night and eat then?”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to make it that long,” I admit. “If I don’t eat, I won’t be able to keep moving.”
Worry gathers June’s brows. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s get through this area and find a clearer spot to stop and eat.
“We can eat quickly,” I assure her. “And I agree that finding a place for the night is the biggest priority.”
“Sounds like a plan,” June agrees.
We continue along, passing through a labyrinth of trees and intersecting growth of the most hostile sort. Eventually, the land slopes upward. A small hill is underfoot. Leaves are drier. Dirt is looser. And the trees become spaced farther apart. When we reach the highest point, the sun is far warmer as it spills through the thinnest tree canopy I’ve seen in the forest yet.
“Let’s stop and eat here,” June says. She tips her head back as she stands beneath a wide shaft of buttery sunlight. She closes her eyes, as if drinking it in.
“I was about to suggest we stop here, too.” I strip my pack off my back and set it on the ground. I sit beside it and open it. The rabbit meat that’s inside makes my mouth water. I remember how succulent and flavorful it was last night and can’t wait to sink my teeth into it. With my back leaning against a tree and a bit of sunlight on my face, I take the first bite. The meat is not as good cold but it’s still delicious, especially as hungry as I am right now.
I’ve finished the rabbit meat I allotted myself for the day and am about to eat a piece of fruit when something rushes up the lightless trail behind me. A scrabbling noise, then a clatter of dislodged stones follows a faint rustle of dried brush in quick succession, causing my heart to skip a beat. I spring to my feet and spin in time to see a boartling scamper out of the brush. It waddles up to my pack, its wet snout quivering as it sniffs the food inside it.
“Hey!” I say.
My voice should be enough to startle it, but instead of being deterred, it trains its beady eyes on me defiantly, chuffing, then returns its attention to the contents of my pack.
“Get out of there!” I yell.
It ignores me again and continues its investigation of my backback. Its head has disappeared inside my bag when I pick up a small rock and toss it at the boatling’s backside. “I said get out there!” The rock is too small to hurt the animal but should sufficiently scare it off.
Wriggling out of my pack, the boartling snaps its head up and stares at me. It doesn’t run away and it doesn’t look away either. Instead it starts to squeal. Shill and loud, it keens. The most grating sound I’ve heard in a long time, the boartling whines and cries as if it’s being tortured.
“What the heck?” June turns to me and says.
“Get out of here!” I yell and start to move toward the beast when the bushes part suddenly.
Between the bushes beyond the baby boart, I see the outline of a creature. A large creature. It advances a step, revealing itself. Small, closely set eyes glint in the sunlight and glow red, glaring at me. Saliva drips from its wide mouth, over pointed tusks that protrude like deadly spikes. A bristly tuft of fur at its nape stands on end and quivers like quills. It grunts first then emits a sound that can only be described as a wail. The sound freezes the blood in my veins. It is a familiar one. One I haven’t heard in some time. Reaching for the hilt of my sword at my back, I unsheathe it and clutch it between two hands, ready to act against the largest boart I have ever seen. Even larger than the one that chased me over a decade ago when June and I lived in the forest. It stops for a moment, rotating its bulky shoulders and scuffing its front hoof against the earth. Its eyes narrow to gashes, and then it lets out a guttural cry. Beside the massive beast, the boartling, small and plump, continues to squeal and squawk.
June reaches for her bow, though judging from the size of the beast before us, I hardly think one arrow will even slow it. It’s the size of a small vehicle. Still, June slowly retrieves an arrow from her quiver and loads it in her bowstring when suddenly, there’s movement all around us. Two more come through the bushes on each side of us and one from the rear. Each are gargantuan, larger than any I’ve ever seen. And each looks rage-filled. Fierce and eager to gore us with their scythe-like tusks.
The angry chuff of the boarts is a bone-chilling sound. They scuff the ground, rallying each other. The boartling squeals again, as if tattling on June and I for throwing the rock at it.
They will charge at any moment.
“Avery, what do we do?” June asks over the ear-splitting cries of the boartling.
“I-I don’t know!” I reply as my mind spins in dizzying laps around any possible escape. But we’re surrounded. There’s nowhere to run. The beasts know the forest. We don’t.
Sickened by the circumstances, I can't believe this is how June and I will die. After everything we’re survived. Every obstacle we’ve overcome. Boarts, of all things, will be our demise.
Gripping my sword tightly, I resolve to fight, fight to the death if need be, when something in my periphery catches my eye.
A spear.
A spear is hurtling through the air. It flies past my head, narrowly missing removing my right ear in the process and lodges deep in the neck of the boart behind me.
The boart howls out and runs in circles, trying in vain to remove the spear. But within seconds, the blood loss it too great. It collapses to one side and writhes before falling silent, succumbing to death.
A second spear carves the ether and sinks between the shoulder blades of the boart at our side. The beast shrieks, wailing in abject pain. It yowls and cries and sends the boartling and the two others retreating to the woods.
Whirling and looking all around me, I fear a spear will launch from the watchful woods and lodge in my skull. Heart pounding a frantic rhythm, I turn to run when I’m met with a familiar sight. Turquoise eyes stare out from a bronze complexion, focused and looking just as fierce as the boart’s.
“Lucas!” I call out. Just saying his name aloud floods my system with relief.
He dashes from the brush, his movements so agile they are graceful.
When he’s standing before June and I, his features soften. He smiles and says, “I told you you might need my help,” with a waggle of his brows.
I want to be angry. I want to be mad at him for following, yet I can’t seem to find that emotion within me at the moment. I’m too thankful to feel anger. Thankful and grateful that he saved our lives. If Lucas hadn’t left the village and followed us, June and I would be dead right now.