Poisonous Redemption.
By Kate Martin
Razor sharp
teeth are not the easiest thing to avoid.
Especially when pressed against exposed and vulnerable skin. Saliva dripped down each elongated tooth,
oozing onto Rica’s arms, thick and warm.
She had to remind herself over and over again not to move, not to
flinch. Innate instincts made every
fiber of her body scream to flee, to fight.
But this wasn’t
her enemy. This was her friend.
The point of one
canine nicked the inside of her forearm.
She jerked against her restraints involuntarily.
“Ow! Damnit, Weylin, be careful!”
His teeth bit
closer, and finally the rope around her wrist came free. Rica quickly reached across and undid the
sloppy knot around her other arm while Weylin worked on her ankles. He managed to only puncture her skin one more
time.
She rubbed at
her sore appendages before wiping the sweat from her face. The humidity was unbearable; not yet midday, and
it would only get worse. Dawn,
apparently, was the perfect time for sacrificial offerings.
Though Rica was
fairly sure it didn’t count when the offering was an abducted traveler and not
one of your own. The townspeople who had
ambushed her were in for a world of trouble.
Either from the unappeased creature, or from Rica.
If they were lucky
the creature would kill Rica first and they would be spared her wrath.
But really,
their immature attempt to sacrifice her instead of tying one of their own
daughters to this gnarly and ancient tree was nothing more than a small
hindrance in her overall scheme.
She had come
hunting what they planned on feeding her to.
Weylin whined,
impatient. Rica still thought the sound
seemed unnatural coming from the giant grey wolf. His broad shoulders stood as high as hers,
and every muscle beneath the thick fur stretched and flexed with each tiny
movement. A creature as physically
powerful as that should never be caught whining.
Rica cracked
her back to ease the pain then lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the bright,
but rare, rays of sunlight that poured in through the canopy of the
forest. The sky above was clear
blue.
What she
wouldn’t have given for rain.
“Where did you
stash my things?”
Weylin jerked
his massive head to the left and Rica spied an opening in the foliage. They knew each other well, having done this
together countless times. They took
turns, one remaining human while the other shifted. Rarely did they occupy the same shape at the
same time. She could barely remember the
last time her human eyes had looked upon his for longer than a few
moments. Weylin had shifted three days
ago. Tonight he would change back and it
would be her turn.
They had until
then to kill the beast she knew lurked in the dappled shadows, or she would
lose her chance for retribution.
Weylin had
dragged her sword and bow into the jungle when the villagers had surprised her
and manhandled her into the jungle. Had there
been any danger he would have intervened, but otherwise they couldn’t be
allowed to see him. Shape-shifting was a
forbidden evil in these parts.
Regardless of the good it could do them against man-eating, poisonous
monsters. Rica retrieved her blade and
strapped her bow to her back, securing the quiver last.
She took one
last look around. The clearing was
small, barely more than twenty paces in each direction, but it served as a good
focal point nonetheless. The villagers
had tied her to the tree facing the north, so north they would go.
Weylin pressed
against her side. His body heat was
nothing compared to the air around them.
They were used to a colder climate.
Home seemed impossibly far away. Rica
hadn’t seen the pure white landscape in nearly five years. Not since that fateful day when she had
returned from hunting to find the front room of the small log cabin covered in
her sister’s blood and her nephew’s cradle empty. She remembered running with every bit of
strength she had to reach the town square in time. But she was too late. Immy hung from the gallows, pale and dead. That day had led her to this jungle.
Weaving her
fingers into Weylin’s soft fur Rica took a deep breath then forged ahead.
This jungle was
the largest in all the five empires, spreading out over the borders of two. They had been traveling through it for nearly
a month and had barely penetrated its true depths. All the same, Rica felt fairly confident that
she had learned at least the basics of its defenses and dangers.
Snakes
disguised themselves among the branches of nearly every tree. Some were no bigger than her forearm, while
others could swallow her whole and still have room for more. The tiny red snakes that hid in the fallen
and decaying leaves on the ground were by far the most bothersome. They latched onto the ankle with their sharp
and poison-less fangs before curling their bodies around the leg and going
along for the ride. They couldn’t kill,
but they were annoying. In most cases, Rica
kicked them off and Weylin ate them.
The smaller
mammals, rodents and the like, gave them a wide berth. Giant wolves were good for warding off
pests. The larger animals, mostly big
spotted cats, followed at a distance, curious.
They would attack if they got the chance, or feast themselves on the
prey that, in their concern with avoiding Weylin, would foolishly not notice
the secondary predators.
Oddly enough,
what posed the greatest danger in this gods-forsaken jungle were the
trees. Vines clung to their trunks and
branches, choking the ancient plants into submission. They were no longer anything more than
grounding points for parasites and poisoners.
The vines had a life of their own, reaching out in unsuspecting moments
and brushing against Rica’s exposed skin.
Since coming here she had been the victim of numerous rashes and burns. More than once, she had considered changing
shape even when it wasn’t her turn. Fur
made an excellent barrier. But the
rashes weren’t even the worst of it.
Some of the
vines bit. And those were
poisonous.
It was for those
flesh-eating plants that she kept the sharpest eye out as they crept into the
jungle. The leaves of the trees pressed
close, and the vines slithered up and down their perches like snakes. She had never thought it possible, but she
couldn’t wait to return home.
Unfortunately,
she couldn’t go home without proof. One
step over the border without tangible proof that she was who everyone claimed her
to be and she would have no hope of rescuing Immy’s son and dethroning the
tyrant who had taken him. She and Weylin
had fled the moment they learned the reason for Immy’s death. The king had discovered that the youngest
daughter of the former rulers had survived his attack a decade earlier. A link to the legitimate royal bloodline
meant power for those who opposed him. Power
and a right to the throne.
Rica had long
been a part of the resistance. The man
and woman she called Father and Mother had allowed her to train from a young
age. Rica had no illusions of them being
her real parents; Immy was a mere month younger. Rica’s true family had been killed in the
takeover. A reoccurring nightmare
allowed her to relive that over and over again.
The details were fuzzy though, save for one. A giant black wolf, bursting through the
flames that surrounded her hiding place.
Each time, the creature snatched her up with such gentleness and carried
her through the smoke and debris to safety.
That image of her savior had been the reason Rica had insisted on
learning to shift shape. That was how
she had met Weylin and his father. And
it was that ability that had allowed her to flee their homeland without being
seen. Immy hadn’t been the one they
wanted. Rica was the supposed heir.
Weylin left her
side, searching further west. Rica knew
he wouldn’t get far enough to lose her scent, but in human form she quickly
lost his. Not that it much
mattered. Once they found the creature,
it would be all up to her anyway. Teeth
and paws wouldn’t stand a chance. Hands
and weapons would have to save them both.
Insects chirped
and sang from every corner of the jungle.
She couldn’t stand it. Home
didn’t have such things. Too cold. Rica wiped the sweat from her face yet again,
then side-stepped the angry hiss of a particularly large snake. Its head hung in her path from the nearest
tree, almost the size of her fist. Not a
threat, but a pest. In her haste she
bumped the blossoms of another tree’s vine.
The skin on the back of her shoulder burned. She jerked away and swung her
sword at the plant just for good measure.
The bright pink flower shuddered and hit the ground with an audible
thud. Much too heavy for any normal
flower. Curious, she stuck the tip of her
sword into its fat leaves. Purple blood
oozed out bringing with it a foul stench that caused her throat to
constrict. She clamped her hand over her
mouth and moved away carefully, but quickly.
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