The Proving of Champions, Chapter 17
In which Alexei begins to realize exactly what he has lost along with 87 souls, and fights to preserve his remaining souls while he rescues Fleta's delegation.
"Luckily, we don't have to make it back to camp," Daralis brandished a silvery, circular object with a red needle. The same object Terrell had tried to use to find the Valcot camp. "We need only get within range of this whistle. Bernia, you sheltered overnight before, could you make us a shelter once we're in range?"
Bernia nodded.
Fleta stumbled through the dark with the help of Sebaston. The pain in her ankle and hips grew unbearable and then filled up her vision. She saw and felt and thought about only the next step. The night felt eternal, and the rolling valleys between the trees endless, but Daralis assured her that it was only half an hour when their whistle finally buzzed, rotating in a northeast direction.
Bernia mercilessly ordered them onwards until they found a den excavated from the base of a tree, hidden behind large ferns. Ingrit confirmed that the scratchings and droppings were old, and the den appeared abandoned. Bernia gathered some branches and vines to lash together a grate over the den's opening. Daralis, Marina, and Fleta settled down while Berna led Sebaston and Ingrit in bracing the grate, burying the bottom poles, then bending the edges to alternate one pole outside the den and one inside. The step was lashing vines around the edges of the grate, tightening the grip of the poles on the lip of the opening. Sebaston took up guarding the grate, spear at the ready.
After that, it was a matter of waiting in their small wooden cubby with the tiny beam of light that escaped the lantern's hood. As Daralis whispered to Fleta, Marina watched them, only listening peripherally. The Undora champion maintained a mask of calm while sending out feelings of alarm and danger to ward off chimera. They heard something rustle in the bushes more than once, only to feel a wave of fear and fury that sent the soft steps padding off into the night. Sitting so close to Marina put a sick edginess in her gut. Fleta had a flashback of Marina's huddled form exuding dread in a smaller hollow, keeping herself and Welkris alive while frenzied beasts butchered her friends and colleagues. Being trapped in this den had to be an uncomfortable parallel for the woman.
Fleta wanted to say something to Marina, but her brain was dulled by post-crisis exhaustion and pain. Instead, she listened to Daralis explain the whistle system: how many times to blow to signal distress and how many vibrating responses to indicate someone was on their way. Every so often, the whistle would vibrate, turning the attached compass, and Daralis would blow evenly for a second. This all felt like information Fleta should have been told before they left, but it was hard to care about slights, oversights, or even survival. Fleta was so tired she just nodded her head with sinking eyelids.
Daralis paused for a moment and changed topics. "Who do you think they are going to send for us?"
"Anybody traveling the jungle at night is likely to be torn apart," Fleta answered in a soft, distant voice. "Anyone except Alexei."
"Your many-armed guardian?" Daralis teased. "And perhaps more?"
"Hmf," Fleta frowned. "It's not like that."
"What was it like, traveling with him, alone in the jungle?"
"Honestly?" Fleta asked. "It was nice. Nice to be able to curl up in his arms and let him worry about the jungle. I didn't think I was going to wake up that first time, and I just didn't care. I was so tired." Fleta yawned. "But now it's awkward."
"Why?" Daralis's voice was soft and even, dispassionate. As though she were merely humoring Fleta to calm her nerves. Even sleepy Fleta vaguely resented being managed like a child, but she did nothing about it.
"Before, it was simple. Just him and me, trying to figure out the next step home. Now, there's so many people and so many problems, and he's weird. He keeps saying it."
"Keeps saying what?"
"I will be your sword?"
"Like an oath?"
"That's what I said!" Fleta's falling eyelids perked up for a second. "He says no. He says it's the future. I think it's a part of his whole, 'we must fight the tarasque' thing.'
"You think he can see the future?"
"I don't think so," Fleta leaned against the rough wood of the den. "Not any more than the rest of us. He's just... weird."
"Yeah, I warned you about that," Daralis said. For a moment, she cocked her head as if considering something more to say but sat back after a quick glance at Marina.
Fleta was already slumped against the chewed-up tree trunk with only a tangle of orange hair, fallen from her braid, for a pillow.