Chapter 61, Iolanthe

61It’s the rain that brings me back, gushing down in a steady torrent along the rocks over my head. Awareness returns, flooding into my mind like a river released from a dam, and with it comes sensation—light and smell and sound—and pain. Pain everywhere, so acute I can barely breathe. I try anyway, taking in tiny sips of air through ash-encrusted nostrils. My lips are dry and cracked, and on my tongue sits the acrid taste of burnt flesh. Images flash through my mind, senseless and strange, and I struggle to make sense of them despite the throbbing in my head. Falling trees, orange-lit waters, black smoke everywhere. Memory hits me in a rush, and my eyes fly open.

The fire!

I sit bolt upright with a gasp. Air rasps into my swollen throat, burning my flesh like a thousand tiny fléchettes, and I cough. The agony intensifies, and I cough again and then again, each hack only serving to wring the next from me. One hand over my mouth, I cling to the rock beside me, helpless to do anything but ride out the storm. When at last the spasms pass, black flecks cover my palm and tears of pain stream from the corners of my eyes. Exhausted, I slump back against the rocks.

Consciousness flees, and then returns, and for a long time I simply lie there, drifting between dreams that feel like reality and reality so surreal I think it must be a dream. Sometimes it’s light when I awake, and sometimes it’s dark, but the rain, at least, never stops, streaming down in a soothing rhythm that reassures me even as it lulls me back into unconsciousness.

When I finally open my eyes again, it’s day. Light filters in through an opening in the rocks, pale and flickering. I watch it play over my blackened fingertips. The patterns it makes across my flesh seem strange and nonsensical, as though it’s not my suns that are making them but someone else’s. I continue to watch it ebb and flow along my oozing fingernails; then, slowly uncurling my hand, I reach out toward the light.

Water pours down over the tops of my fingers, oddly cool against my seared flesh. I draw back in surprise, not expecting the sudden onrush. Still moving slowly, I carefully lift my pounding head just enough to see past my hand. A wall of water gushes before my eyes—not rain, I realize now, but the river, streaming down over the rocks in a natural waterfall as it flows through the channel.

The river.

Vague recollections from the fire come swimming up from my memory.

Billowing smoke and flaming forest, burning, burning all around me . . . running, running, and then the river, closing over my head as I sink down, down beneath the water, and still the fiery debris keeps falling and falling . . .

I’d only meant to stay in the shallows until the danger passed, but then the current caught me, and I was swept away. If not for my puffer sponge, I would’ve surely drowned, smothered by the Shoqua’s raging current and massive swells. Eventually, I managed to push my way into one of her smaller branches where, burned and exhausted, I found refuge in this space behind one of her multitudes of tiny waterfalls.

A glimmer of orientation comes back to my confused brain. Emboldened, I reach out for the water again. My hand shakes, but I manage to bring a small palmful back to my mouth. Particles of silt, ashen and gray, float atop the water. They stick to the inside of my mouth when I gulp it down, coating my tongue in a thick film. The water is acrid and tastes like ash. Cinders notwithstanding, I keep drinking, bringing handful after handful to my dry mouth until my body finally revolts. Ash chokes my throat, and I gag, disgorging in seconds what it took me minutes to drink. Regurgitated water slops down my chin, but strangely enough, I feel a little better. Everything hurts, but it’s a bearable hurt now, and though my head still aches, I feel more alert than I have since I woke up. Alert enough to remember—

The spaceport.

The ships full of Sinesensu, the enemy’s plan to escape, our last-minute attack, culminating in the fire that eventually drove me to the river.

Shar.

The others.

The enemy.

Sudden panic seizes me as I realize I have absolutely no idea what happened. Where’s Shar? Did the enemy manage to escape with the Sinesensu? What happened to the others? All of my weariness, all of my confusion, all of my pain falls away as the world narrows down to a single purpose.

I have to find them. I have to figure out what happened.

Bracing myself against the rocks, I carefully push myself up into a sitting position. Pain flares up in my hands at the contact, but I ignore it, intent only on finding the truth. Raising my chit hand to my face, I flick a finger to activate my com.

Nothing happens.

I flick it a few more times. When my chit still refuses to activate, I push down on the manual power switch at the center of the device and hold it. The metal disc bites painfully into my burned flesh, but I continue to press down until finally the main holo screen pops up over my hand. Crackles and sparks run through the feed, and the picture is fuzzy, but otherwise it functions. I thumb through the menu to the com and link Vida. Seconds later, a low buzz vibrates through my hand.

I stare at the message in disbelief. No connection? That’s impossible. Even if Vida couldn’t answer the link for some reason, it still should have gone to holomail. Certain there must be some mistake, I link her again.

The same error message comes up.

Dread seeps through my stomach. Though once upon a time Vida would’ve reveled in ignoring my links, we’re long past those days. I check my sat-link, but despite my initial start-up problems, it’s fully operational. Is it possible Vida’s link was damaged? That would certainly explain why she’s not answering.

I try Kieran.

Trey.

Xylla.

Megumi.

Trepidation trickles through me with each failed link, and my pulse speeds up. Where is everyone? I check my sat-link again, as well as my chit, but as far as I can tell, everything is operational. I flick through my contacts, fingers flying as I try one after the next.

Hegit.

Ri.

Divya.

Amilee.

Sweat beads over my brow as my trepidation morphs into full-blown agitation. My hand shakes, but I refuse to stop now. Down the list I go, linking one person after another, and still the errors keep coming. By the time I finally get to the last name, my arm aches and my hand is shaking, and still those dread-inducing words will not go away.

A chill washes over me, creeping through my body like morning dew frosting across the grass. I rub my palms together, as though the friction could somehow ward off the cold seeping through me, and desperately try to think of all the perfectly legitimate reasons why no one would answer, but no excuse, no matter how logical, can cut the terror rising in me.

I have to get out of here. I have to find them.

Shutting down my chit, I brace myself against the rocks and scoot toward the opening. The water gushes full and fast into the channel below, a solid sheet of raging current that knows no mercy, and my heart pounds as I realize I have no idea what’s on the other side. For all I know, the others have been captured, and now the enemy is zeroing in on me. There could be a delusion of squatters out there waiting for me, or worse, a shiver of ghouls!

My body involuntarily shudders at the thought. Injured, burned, and exhausted, I would be easy prey for anyone—alien or animal, corporeal or incorporeal—that wants to take a shot at me. My courage falters. Hands white-knuckling the walls of the cave, I sit frozen on the edge of the rock while my body shakes and my heart pounds and my lungs burn with every breath I take. Squeezing my eyes shut, I mouth a soft prayer. Then, taking a deep breath, I push myself out of the cave and into the river.

The water hits me like a sledgehammer, forcing me under the surface and sending me careening downstream. I struggle against the current, arms flailing as I try desperately to gain control.

My head breaks the surface, and I greedily suck in a breath. Smoky air, heavy with ash, fills my mouth, searing down my windpipe in a white-hot streak. My throat spasms, and a spate of coughs erupt from my mouth. Unprepared for the onslaught, my arms falter and I plunge back beneath the surface. Air bubbles up through the water around me as my frenzied coughing forces out the oxygen I so desperately want to keep in. I feel myself sinking, slipping down, down, down with every second that passes, and I frantically kick my legs. My descent stalls and then reverses, and encouraged, I stroke my arms as I swim for the surface.

Whumph!

I hit the tree a second after I surface. Pain explodes in my ribs, knocking what little wind I had left out of me, but I manage to grab on to the trunk before the current can sweep me away again. My flight arrested, I cling to the blackened wood and try to breathe, struggling against the paralyzing spasm until finally my diaphragm releases and air rushes in. More coughing comes, but steadied by the tree, I manage to ride it out until finally the spate ends and I can breathe normally again. Only then do I catch sight of a blurry tangle of brown. I blink ash-encrusted eyes at the sight, and my heart leaps as they finally clear enough for me to identify what I’m seeing: a tangle of roots sticking out of a wall of dirt.

The bank!

Hope springs anew. Gripping the wood tightly, I carefully edge my way down the trunk, dragging myself hand over hand toward salvation. Cinders coat my palms, and charred bark peels away beneath my fingers, but I keep going, on and on down the trunk until finally my hand hits dirt. With my last ounce of strength, I reach up, throw my arms over the bank, and heave myself onto the shore. Panting, I lie on my stomach in the dirt as I attempt to catch my breath. My lungs are burning and my ribs are awash in pain, but at least I’m alive. Relieved, I take in another deep breath, and only as the smoky air slides down my throat do I finally register what I’ve been seeing since the moment I woke up.

My mouth falls open. Scrambling to my feet, I slowly raise my head and look around.

All I see in every direction is ash.