Diamondsong 01: Escape Page 5

  With a few crisp words that she hoped every forest creature could hear, she dragged herself, a measure at a time, in what her wristpiece told her was alongside the cliff. With injured limbs and no climbing tools, she had no idea how to get back up. Her best bet now was to find a place to hide and recover.

  As thirsty as she was, she resisted the urge to lick the rotting muddy water that pooled on the ground. Yet it must have come from somewhere. Dragging herself along, and listening for any signs of movement, she compromised on an old tree stump, cradling a puddle of rainwater. Forcing restraint, she ran her tongue across the small pool, not wanting to soil it with her filthy face and hands.

  When it clouded with brown anyway, she gave in, splashing what was left against her face and drying herself on a soft patch of moss, not unlike the moss that grew in the city corners and tower sky alleys. Though, with her rear in the air, she was still glad no one was here to watch her do it.

  Moving at a pace so slow she could hardly stand it, she thought frequently of Dayn and their children. They would tell her to stay calm, not to lose hope. They would tell her they wanted to see her again. Luja would rush to her side and tend each wound. Oh, that she could reach ver to be tended. For that goal, Dime was able to push forward, one wriggle at a time.

  Ahead, she saw a cluster of red. The little dots looked just like the hackberries that decorated so many of the walls of Lodon, painted into corners and over archways with an artist’s eye. But—she didn’t think they were real!

  Moving closer, she pulled a bunch into her reach, pulling until the branch snapped. She almost shoved every one into her mouth, but then remembered it couldn’t be wise to eat a berry she had thought fictional just strides ago.

  As it so often does, hunger won over wisdom, and Dime devoured several dozen of the plump berries, spitting the tiny pits to the side as the tart sweetness filled her senses. She chuckled; as tired and disoriented as she felt—if she was waiting for visions to overtake her or poison to slow her, she didn’t know how she might tell the difference. Going on the convenient theory that she would be just fine, she opened her largest still-intact pouch and filled it with as many of the berries as she could reach.

  As she pulled herself further, she realized that the berries were not a hidden trove, but a common feature here, as tree after tree featured clusters of the tiny but lush fruit. Only when her pouch was bulging with the red berries did she stop harvesting them each time they came into reach. Following their growth, she pushed through the vines and branches to find a trickle of water, not even a stream. She took a long drink, which, even unfiltered, tasted clean and fresh. Her thirst desperate, she ignored her concerns.

  Having lost track of time and unable to see Sol clearly through the towering trees, she didn’t know how far she was now from night. Night had been a long time away when she’d brought her crate back home to unpack, but it was hard to say how long she’d been riding across the plains, and how long she had stayed unconscious in the brush. Even now, she’d dragged through the forest for so long that her focus was as battered as her damaged body. And there were no bells here to reorient her.

  When night fell, it might fall quickly, and Dime would be alone—without lamps, unable to see her way or treat her wounds. She could tell from the pain and blood that her arm was badly gashed. Yet, she had nothing to treat it with. She considered gathering the large leaves to provide a bandage, but she wasn’t sure what she could use to tie them into place. Her pendant hung from her neck, nestled within her shirt, but she was reluctant to remove it, let alone tie wounds with it.

  Oh! Ador’s gift was wrapped with string. Hoping she still had it, and feeling more than emotional on the subject, she struggled to reach the side pouch it was in. After a bit of wrestling with her jacket, the package sprang free and tumbled to the ground. Cursing, she swept it up and cuddled it like the last friend she might ever see.

  She imagined Ador watching over her, one eyebrow raised, waiting to see what she thought of his gift. With a chuckle, she moved to open the small package. Setting the dyed twine to one side, she pried the box open with her scratched fingers, wincing as streaks of blood smeared onto its yellow surface. She wouldn’t keep the box, then.

  Two small objects rolled into her palm: a dodecahedron made of solid onyx and an icosahedron made of solid amethyst. She gasped at the expertly crafted dice, twelve- and twenty-sided, with their precisely engraved symbols. As with Ador himself, Dime appreciated the many facets of his gift. And she was glad he was not here to see her weeping over the tiny objects, which in this moment seemed unquestionably thoughtful.

  Sniffing back her last tears, and glad she had found the water to supply them, Dime tucked the little dice into separate pockets of her valuables pouch, sealing the little clasp. She could roll for luck later. For now, she’d have to pretend she knew how to treat her arm.

  Painfully, Dime shook off her jacket. Her shirt was glued to her skin with dried blood and mud and whatever else she had rolled in, and her injuries were too severe for her to undress fully, yet she knew she needed to clean the wound. She slid her utility knife from her jacket, pulled it open, and—nervous at the blade in her unsteady hand—sawed the sleeve from her shirt.

  Peeling the bloodied fabric off of her arm with gritted teeth, she was annoyed to see that the wound cut right through her best tattoo—a pattern of ice that had crystalized on her window one time during the cold season. She had drawn it out on thin paper and taken it directly to an artist. Now, a crusty swath cut through it, like the window itself had been broken.

  More than the severity of the wound itself, its intrusion across the pattern of her tattoo irritated Dime’s spirit back into action. To resistance. Harm it, she was going to find a way out of this forest and get back to her family. And no fairy was going to stop that.

  “You hear that?” she asked the forest, hoping the fairies would get the message. “You are going to stop bothering me right now. This has been quite enough.”

  With caution, Dime lowered her bare arm into the stream, keeping the deepest part of the cut above water. She moved her arm in small motions, watching circles of filth spread out. Grimacing against the sting of her own touch, she ran her fingers over the broken skin, wishing she had soap or knew which plants had antiseptic properties.

  Instead, she cleaned the wound as best she could with water. She snapped off a few leaves that looked large enough to serve as bandages, wrapping them around and—having to use her teeth and glad no one could see because she always chastised pyrsi who used their teeth to grip—she tied the orange string around it, keeping the wrapping snug. Finally, she drew a sharp breath. Oww.

  As she rolled back onto a patch of soft ground cover, feeling lightheaded, her laughs broke out in bellows. “I make—the worst medic of all time. It’s true,” she said to a disheveled gray squip staring at her with beady black eyes and a quivering jaw. “You had to be thinking it.”

  After a bit, she wriggled her jacket back on and washed the piece of fabric she’d cut from her sleeve in the stream, wringing it and then threading it through a loop on her jacket to dry.

  “Back to it,” she declared with a forced grin.

  Thoughts of her family helped push her onward as she searched for a safe place to rest. Each place she found was too rocky, too exposed, or most often too wet. Her ankle still throbbed, and she knew better than to try putting weight on it, so with her velour pants starting to tear from wearing against the ground, she edged up a hill, realizing she’d have to find a spot to rest amongst whatever was there. She was just, well, out of scooch.

  As she reached the top of the hill, she found a dry enough patch in between a cluster of trees that she hoped blocked her from view. Yet, just as she leaned back against a tree and tried not to think that the leaves were probably now as stuck to her arm as her shirt had been, the shadows caught her eye in an unnatural way, falling in a grid against
the brush. Grumbling, but needing to know if she was about to fall asleep in the shadow of a fairy tower, she shuffled around to the other side of the trees.

  A large net rose overhead, reaching up from the ground and then spreading as far as she could see in either direction, like a massive fence. Constructed of a grid of tightly hewn rope, she could barely have pushed a fist through any of the angled openings. She tugged at the net’s base, but it was secured into the dirt with long spikes.

  If she had her notebook, her legs, the use of both arms, or more than a spice spoon’s worth of strength, she would have explored the enigmatic structure. She would have investigated what it protected her from, or what it protected. Even if she was now a former IC agent, it was still in her nature to know.

  Yet, her pants were torn, her leaf bandage was a sad excuse for medical treatment, she’d felt more pain in the last bells than she’d felt her whole life, and she wasn’t even mad at herself for blatantly whining about it.

  If it weren’t for all that, she knew she’d be more disturbed by the large ominous fence. She also knew that she should be, but right now, her energy was focused on survival. Energy that was running out.

  Crawling back toward her patch of grass, she decided this place was as safe as any she could reach, and she was best off getting some sleep. Maybe her ankle would begin to heal and she could walk again. She’d sprained hers only once before, back in her Aoch, playing ball with the other ch’pyrsi. She remembered her father telling her to stay put until it was better.

  As she leaned back into the soft moss, she wished again that Luja were here. Luja would know what to do; ve always did. Even if ve didn’t know, ve’d act with all the confidence in the world, daring you to doubt ver. Even more than most pyrsi vis age. And then Dime thought of Tum also. Her little child had never had legs. How unimpressed Tum would be with Dime’s dilemma now. She’d tell her, Come home, Ma-ma. Find a way.

  “I’m coming home, Tum. I’m doing my best. Tum, I’ve got a hug for you. Luja, you can fix my bandage. I love you. Ma-ma loves you.”

  Keeping her eyes open as long as she could, not knowing for certain if they would ever open again, she thought for a moment of Dayn, wishing she could show him this place—that he could join her in the shadowed glen, amongst the most spectacular sights she’d ever seen. Trunks rising to Sol verself. The songs of birds, insects, and all the furry creatures, sniffing her way while keeping their distance. Smells and whirrs and soft ground, not rocky. So soft it required no mat.

  As she drifted into an exhausted and painful sleep, Dime began to have the strangest dream—of a screeching noise, and of wide, scaly arms cradling her and carrying her away.

  Content, Dime snuggled into the warm chest, the softness of its feathers a welcome rest.

  Dime awoke to great number of alarming changes. She fought back pangs of terror at the feel of sand in her fingers. Her first thought was that the fairies had found her after all. Her second thought was that she was completely naked. Her third thought was that a huge rough tongue was licking the side of her neck.

  Sitting up with an involuntary yelp that caused the tongue to withdraw, Dime was enveloped by the complete and unyielding darkness around her. Sick from the pain still permeating her body, she wanted to escape, but had no information to aid her. Where was she; which way was out?

  Calm, calm, calm, she urged herself. Gather facts.

  Naked she was, though relief flashed through her as she found her diamond pendant still in place, as was her compass wristband. Catching her breath and swatting helplessly in the direction of the tongue—the huge tongue could not be underplayed—she gathered what information she had.

  She was not dead; whether or not one believed in an afterlife, this was not it. She had been placed on a mound of fine sand, perhaps like a bed. Her injured arm was caked in dried mud, and the tongue had been wildly disgusting, but not unkind. So, something was caring for her, and she had a pretty good idea it was not the fairies. In the stories she’d been told about the fairies, they had flown like bugs, wielded their valence, and selfishly hoarded the forest.

  There had been no stories about licking in dark caves. Thank Sol.

  The pain had not subsided much, but at least her mind felt a little clearer now. She squeezed her ankle. It was smaller and less tender, though not healed. It would be foolish still to put any weight on it. The pain from her arm was dulled a bit, though she wasn’t sure what a glop of mud was going to do to it. And, she surmised, the creature that watched her now could probably see in the dark. Shapes began to form in Dime’s vision, but she could not make them out.

  At this point, Dime really missed her home. But, as she had always told her children, there were times in life where the only way out was through.

  “Hello,” she offered, working to keep her voice calm. “Thank you for your help. I am scared here in the dark. Can we go outside?” A weight shuffled in the sand but did not otherwise respond. Dime reminded herself that the being could see. She tried again.

  She waved toward the large shape in front of her and then to her own eyes. “I can’t see in the dark.” She pointed away. “Please, take me where I can see.” She pointed to her eyes, and this time moved her hands about in different directions, hoping to illustrate her dilemma.

  Forcing terror back down her throat, she tried not to make any sudden moves as the large shape shuffled toward her, and then a pair of large arms picked her up and carried her away. Yes, she remembered now. These same arms had taken her from the glen. They were smooth, with scales like a lizard. Larger than a pyr’s arms and notably stronger. And yet, soft feathers tickled at her from the side. Scales and feathers?

  Newts! Dime’s threshold for what she was willing to consider had dropped substantially throughout the latter part of this turn, as the only creatures that she had grown up being taught to fear more than the wicked, flying fairies were the grotesque and primitive newts that shared their lands.

  Depicted as monsters in tales meant to teach ch’pyrsi good behavior, it had not taken Dime much convincing to avoid thinking of the unruly beasts. Her teachers used to warn their young students that the newts might eat their mid-lesson meals if they didn’t finish them, but even then, Dime had thought they were a parable, exaggerated for effect. By instinct, she struggled, but the arms held her close.

  A soft breeze met them as the light of the skystones revealed a barren field. It was night now, so she must have slept, or even fallen unconscious, for a long time. If being cradled in a newt’s arms wasn’t enough of a shock, the complete change of scenery floored her. She couldn’t imagine where this place was. It bore no resemblance to her former perception of the Undergrowth nor to what she had seen herself in its tall, green forest.

  But she knew Sol’s Reach from corner to corner, and this was not in Sol’s Reach. Where was she?

  The landscape gained detail as her eyes adjusted to the diffused nightlight. The field extended from the edge of a vast body of water, its waves gently lapping against a sandy beach. Large burrows were dug into the sand, fortified by mud and sticks and debris, creating an orderly row of bumps, each more than a stone’s throw apart. Away from the water, she saw a large stretch of mostly flat land fading into a dark horizon.

  Dime had never seen the edge of the land before, nor the great Sha that surrounded it. Sol’s Reach was bordered on the nor and to the eas by mountains of increasing height and severity. While most speculated that they didn’t truly go on without end, there were limits to how far pyrsi could travel before the conditions became too harsh. To the sur loomed the cliff beyond which the fairies lived.

  The wes was the only potential path to the edge of Ada-ji, but it was flanked by a series of steep, tree-covered ledges known as the dark woods, for which the dangers and general superstitions were so great as to prevent the Ja-lal, thus far, from exploring the area or harvesting the old trees that grew within it. A
few adventurers, though, had reported it ended directly at the Sha, with stunning cliffs against which the waves crashed and churned.

  As certain as she could be that this land was nowhere in the borders of Sol’s Reach, she had to assume that she was on some edge of the Undergrowth. And these—they must be newts.

  The arms nestled Dime into the sand, shifting her back and forth as if stabilizing a shaped rock within a sand garden. The large figure moved around to her front, plopping down across from her. As Dime’s eyes adjusted further to the dim light, they fell on a creature resting patiently in the sand, stabilized by its long arms. Bulky and muscular, it was at least half again as large as a tall pyr, and covered with feathers, their ruffled outline tracing the nightlight.

  The newt stared at her with an expectant gaze.

  “Hello,” Dime said. She pointed at her own quite bare chest. “Fe’Dime. Er, Fe’Diamond. I am honored to meet you.” She felt a sense of formality, as if making an introduction on behalf of her kind.

  The feathery newt, who appeared of female sex, reached forward and rubbed Dime’s chest. Dime tried not to jump. “No, no,” she corrected, leaning back, and almost falling over before balancing back up with her stronger arm. Trying again, she pointed at her chest. “Dime.”

  She reached toward the newt’s chest, noting what looked like a shawl of white feathers over the darker colors that covered the rest of her body. Darker lines sprung from her shoulders. In the darkness, they looked like sprigs of dried juniper. The hardy plants were popular in Lodon; she was surprised they grew here also.

  Dime pointed at the newt’s chest, then looked up inquiringly. The newt seemed to understand, as it bounced in place, responding with a combination of moans and clicks. Dime made exactly one attempt to replicate the animal’s name, which she thought started with some sort of a ja sound. Whatever she did say appeared to cause some offense, so Dime motioned toward the dark sprigs. “These are beautiful. Juniper, right? Can I call you Juni?” she asked. “Juni?”