Furies of Calderon (55 page)

“I
will
continue, Aleran. If you are too afraid to go on, then stay.” His lips curled in a mischievous sneer. “It is what I would expect of a child.”

“I am not a child,” Tavi hissed furiously. “I’m older than you. What are you, twelve years old? Thirteen?”

Kitai narrowed his eyes. “
Fifteen
,” he hissed.

Tavi followed close behind him, frowning, struggling to keep the irrational laughter from his lips, his steps silent. After they’d put several dozen more yards between them and the Keeper they’d seen, he reached back and unslung the pack Fade had pressed onto him from his shoulders. He opened it and rummaged inside.

The pack contained two small jars of fine lamp oil, firestones in their two-chambered black box, a small lantern, a box of fine shavings to serve as tinder for a fire, dried meat twisted into braids in a fashion odd to Tavi, two fine, warm blankets, several slender lengths of wood that could be fitted together into a fishing pole, lines, and fine metal hooks.

And at the bottom of the pack, a cruel, curved knife, heavy and with a spiked guard that covered the knuckles. It had a blade twice the length of Tavi’s entire hand. A combat weapon.

Where had Fade got something like that
? Tavi wondered. Why had the slave had this pack stored with such efficiency inside his chambers, presumably ready to go at a moment’s notice? He had returned with the pack so quickly that he could not possibly have packed it. It had to have been ready to go.

Tavi shook his head and almost bumped into Kitai, who had come to a sudden stop in front of him. He came to a halt, close enough to the other boy that he could feel the nearly feverish heat of the Marat’s body.

A Keeper squatted on a gnarled root that rose from the forest floor, draped in a mantle of glowing
croach
, not ten feet away. Tavi looked the other way, seeking the nearest means of moving away from the Keeper.

A second spider-like creature sat on a low, wax-shrouded branch, on level with Tavi’s head. It let out a high-pitched chirrup, bobbing up and down on its knobby limbs.

The first Keeper answered it in a different pitch. It too began to bob in fluid, steady motions. Other chirrups sounded from around them, out of sight. Many of them. A great many.

Tavi shuddered. He hardly breathed as he whispered, “What do we do?”

“I…” Kitai shivered again, and Tavi saw that the other boy’s eyes were wide, panicked. “I do not know.”

Tavi’s eyes flicked back to the nearest of the two Keepers. It shook its head, pale eyes peering this way and that, twitching in independent motion, a dark dot at their center the only thing that resembled a pupil. Then, as Tavi watched, something strange happened. The Keeper’s eyes changed color, right there before his own: They changed from a pale shade of maggot-white to something as bright orange as a candle’s flame.

In that instant, the Keeper went deathly still. Both eyes swung to orient on the boys, and it let out a piercingly loud whistle, something that sounded like a mad bird’s scream.

Kitai’s breath caught in his throat, and the boy leapt forward.

Tavi’s eyes swept left and right, and he saw what the Keepers did very clearly. The further Keeper’s eyes swirled to orange as well, and oriented immediately upon Kitai’s form. It too let out a shrill shrieking scream, and, mirroring the first, started after the Marat boy with a deceptively languid, deadly grace.

In that moment, Tavi saw exactly how the Keepers had detected them, and how they might be able to thwart them. “Kitai!” he shouted, and then bounded after the other boy. “Wait!”

More shrill whistles went up all around them, as Tavi raced to catch up with Kitai. It was all but impossible. The Marat boy carried no pack and moved with the grace and speed of a terrified deer. Tavi could barely keep the Marat in sight as he ran—and all around him gathered the glowing orange eyes of the wax spiders, standing out in sharp contrast to the green glow of the
croach
.

If Kitai hadn’t tripped on a sudden dip in the
croach
, perhaps where one of the wax spiders had recently raised itself up out of it, Tavi didn’t think he’d have caught up to the other boy. Instead, he swooped down and hauled Kitai to his feet by the boy’s wild hair.

“Ow!” Kitai hissed, eyes wild.

“Shut up!” Tavi said, his voice sharp. “Follow me.”

Kitai blinked in startled surprise, and Tavi gave the boy no time to argue with him. He looked to his left and darted forward, tugging the other boy forward a few steps to get him moving, then sprinting as quickly as he could toward the rocky wall of the chasm. A Keeper suddenly appeared on the ground in front of them. Tavi stifled his fear and kept running at the creature.

The wax spider reared up onto its rear sets of legs as Tavi approached, but before he reached it, the boy began a spin, holding the heavy pack out in both arms. The pack almost pulled him off balance, but instead he took a pair of whirling steps and felt the weight of the pack slam hard into the creature. The Keeper was lighter than it looked. The blow threw it to one side and slammed it hard into the wax surrounding a tree. It crumpled into the impact, legs curling up around it.

Tavi ran on, and behind him, around them, the chirps of the Keepers grew louder, more shrill, filled with what Tavi imagined must have been a chill and alien anger.

They reached the stony cliff face, both of them panting. Tavi dropped the pack long enough to put both hands against the stone, staring up and then to either side of the face, studying the dark stone as best he could in the faint light of the glowing
croach
.

“The ropes are far from here,” hissed Kitai. “There is no escape for us.”

“We don’t need escape,” Tavi said. He pressed his mouth to the stone and touched his tongue to it briefly, then spat out the sour taste of lime. “This way,” he said. He picked up his pack and continued on through the green light of the Wax Forest, the rocky wall on his left. He dug in the pack as he went.

Orange eyes flickered on his right, and Tavi didn’t see the Keeper hurtling toward him until it was already halfway there. Kitai’s foot kicked at his own and sent him stumbling to the forest floor.

The spider hurtled over him, missing him by a hair. It landed on the wall, its legs clinging to the nearly vertical surface, then spun on all of its legs, whistling. Its mandibles clicked and snapped against its carapace.

Tavi watched as Kitai drew his stone knife and hurled it. The glassy blade entered the creature’s head, drawing a sudden fount of greenish glowing fluid, mixed in with something dark and acrid smelling. The Keeper hurled its body out again, but unguided it simply bucked in a high arch and landed on the ground, twitching and convulsing.

Kitai hauled Tavi to his feet and said, “I hope it is a good idea, Aleran.”

Tavi felt himself quivering with terror and nodded jerkily. “Yeah. Yeah, so do I.” He started running again, Kitai close behind him.

The sound of trickling water came to Tavi a moment later, and he lengthened his strides, leaping over another twisted root. Before him, the rock wall had parted in a long, narrow fissure. Water trickled out of it in a slow, steady stream, meltwater from the ambient heat of the
croach
. At the base of the fissure was a long, narrow pool, an area where the
croach
had not grown over the bare earth. The pool looked hideously dark, and Tavi could not see how deep it was.

“We cannot climb this, Aleran,” panted Kitai. Another shriek sounded from near at hand, and Kitai twisted in place, body crouching in tension.

“Shut up,” Tavi said. “Give me the oil.” He took the jar from Kitai’s hand, jerked the broad cork out of its mouth. He turned to the area behind himself and Kitai and stomped hard on the ground several times, breaking the surface of the wax and drawing out more of the sludgy, glowing fluid. More outraged, chittering shrieks rose through the glowing forest.

“What are you doing?” hissed Kitai. “You show them where we are?”

“Yes,” Tavi said. “Exactly.” He dumped the oil onto the
croach
, into the depression his boots had made, and took the firestone box into his hand. He opened the two separate chambers and took the firestones into his hand, kneeling beside the oil. He looked up to see the glowing orange dots of dozens of eyes closing in on him with that same weird, alien grace, knobby legs rippling across the surface of the
croach.

“Whatever you are doing,” Kitai half-shouted, “hurry!”

Tavi waited until the eyes were close. And then he reached down to the oil and struck the firestones together. They sparked brightly, glowing motes falling down, into the spilled oil. One of them found a spot where the oil was not deep enough to drown it, and in a rush, the whole of the small pool took sudden, brilliant flame.

Fire leapt up from the depression in the
croach
, as high as Tavi’s chest. The boy recoiled from the flames, grabbed Kitai by the Marat boy’s one-piece smock, and hauled him toward the pool. They tumbled into the cold water together, and Tavi pulled them both down. The water was shallow, no more than thigh deep, and viciously chill.

Tavi and Kitai gasped together at the cold. Then the Aleran boy stared at the Keepers. The wax spiders had gone mad at the kindling of the fire. Those nearest to him had fallen back and were scuttling in circles, letting out high pitched shrieks. Others, farther back, had begun to bob up and down in confusion or fear, letting out high-pitched, interrogative chirrups. None of them seemed to see either of the boys in the pool

“It
worked
,” Tavi hissed. “Quick, here.” He reached into the pack and drew out both blankets. He shoved one at Kitai, then took his own and dipped it into the water. A moment later, he lifted it and draped it over his shoulders and head, shivering a bit with the cold. “Quick,” he said. “Cover up.”

“They saw your heat,” Tavi stammered, lips shaking with the cold. “The Marat. Your people feel like they have a fever to me. You’re hotter. The spiders saw you. Then when I lit the fire—”

“You blinded them,” Kitai said, eyes widening.

“So soak your blanket in the water and cover up.”

“Clever,” Kitai said with admiration in his voice. With a quick motion, he jerked the hem of his smock up out of the water in an effort to avoid wetting any more of it. He tugged it over his hips, then bent to dip the blanket in the water and shroud himself as Tavi had done.

Tavi stared at the Marat in sudden shock.

Kitai blinked back at Tavi. “What is it?”

“I don’t believe it,” Tavi said. He felt his face flush and he turned away from Kitai, drawing the soaked blanket further about his face. “Oh, crows, I don’t believe it.”

“Don’t believe what, Aleran?” Kitai demanded in a whisper.

“You’re a
girl
.”

Chapter 34