Black Knight (14 page)

“What was I doing in the trunk?” Marc asks.

I smile. “A girl can only wonder.”

The thickness of the foliage is staggering, and by the time we reach the top of the hill the gang’s breathing heavily and our green uniforms are soaked with sweat, except for Ora’s. He’s obviously used to strenuous exercise and warm temperatures. I notice him collecting sticks as we walk, a few that could be used for staffs, and long strands of dried-out reeds. I can tell how alert he is, his eyes always scanning in all directions, and am glad he’s up front.

Naturally, I don’t get winded like the others but I’m not immune to the heat. Just a small reminder that changing into a witch did not make me a superhero.

At the top we find another—taller—hill waiting for us, and if the terrain had not suddenly opened up we probably would have sunk to our knees and begged for mercy. Fortunately, the worst of the jungle seems confined to the valley. The trees and shrubs suddenly thin and there are actually areas where we’re hiking through tall grassy meadows.

Near the top of the second summit, flat slabs of rock are added to the environment, and by taking a winding course over the stone we’re able to escape the skin-scraping branches and the worst of the vines and bushes.

The rock is a deep black, obviously volcanic in origin, and it’s etched with lines and grooves that remind me of currents and ripples, making it easy for me to imagine a molten river that long ago froze in place.

At the summit we’re treated to a staggering view.

We’re on an island. Off to our left is the ocean. It’s east of us, five miles away, and in front is a vast expanse of rolling land that leads down to the water. In places it’s thick with trees. Other spots are either covered with grass or more black rock.

A churning river flows down the center of the expanse, a much larger and aggressive body of water than the one we left behind. From our vantage point I’m able to count five separate streams that feed it; and I have to ask myself how we’ll ever be able to cross it—if we’re forced.

The coastline is enchanting: the white sandy beach, the crashing waves, the towering stones that look like ancient statues that disintegrated due to the passage of time or neglect. The swells are a force, the waves easily ten to fifteen feet high, and they send up massive jets of foam as they strike the fallen rocks.

Yet for all its beauty, it’s not the coast that holds our attention. Far to our right and in front of us is a dark mountain crowned with a smoking cloud of black smoke shot through with burning red streaks. It takes time for the truth to sink in. We’ve been left to fight an unknown foe on an island with a highly active volcano.

“That’s odd,” Chad says.

“What is it?” Shira demands.

Chad shakes his head, his face already showing signs of sunburn. “This island—I don’t recognize it. I mean, there are dozens of active volcanoes in the world but I’ve never seen one like that before.” He gestures to the terrain below. “I’ve never seen pictures of a place like this, which is weird. I’m no expert when it comes to geography but I should at least be able to tell what part of the world we’re in. But . . . I can’t.”

“This is looking more and more like
Lost
,” Marc says. “Did any of you watch that show? It was awesome. It was about a bunch of people stranded on an impossible island.”

“I do not know this show,” Ora says seriously. “But I do not own a TV.”

Marc pats him on the back. “Right now, buddy, I envy you. Because you have no idea how bad this can get.”

“Shut up!” Shira snaps. “This isn’t TV. We’re here—this island is real. We have to figure out how to defend ourselves.”

“Good luck with that,” Marc says.

I speak. “Chad, like you said, there’s dozens of volcanic islands spread all over the world, and we’ve only seen a portion of this place. We’ve only just begun to explore. I’m sure we’ll figure out where we are eventually.”

Chad nods. “I suppose. It just caught me off guard is all, seeing that cinder cone. It looks like it’s about to blow.”

“I don’t want to stay up here any longer,” Shira says. “We’re too exposed. We could be seen from miles away.” She nods to the expanse in front of us. “We have to go down.”

“We don’t know who’s down there,” Marc says. “It might be safer to go back.”

“No, Shira’s right, we can’t go back,” Ora says. “We need to find another source of water and a strong place we can defend.” He points to our right, along the edge of the cliff where we stand. “I see shadows along the side of this ledge. They might be caves.”

“A cave can turn into a perfect place to get trapped,” Shira warns, although she speaks to Ora with respect, like one warrior to another.

Ora nods gravely. “It depends on the cave. Let us decide after we have seen what is there.”

We don’t head straight in the direction Ora pointed. Shira insists we hike down lower, decrease our visibility, before turning west, to our right. Since I can’t dispute any of the choices Shira and Ora are making, I keep my mouth shut. For the most part Marc does likewise, until Ora stops and picks up a long sleek piece of volcanic rock and asks Marc if he can carry it in his pack.

“What’s wrong with your pack?” Marc asks.

“It is full,” Ora says. He has been collecting rocks since we reached the summit.

“All right but don’t get carried away,” Marc says, accepting the stone. “These babies are heavy.”

“Why do you call the dark stones babies?” Ora asks.

“A figure of speech, my friend,” Marc replies.

An hour later we encounter—to our relief—the birthplace of a stream that literally bubbles out of the side of a sloping stone wall. I’m not entirely surprised to find it. Like Ora, I’ve been mentally mapping the lines of water that feed the central river far below and knew there had to be a source nearby. But I’m as happy as the others to replenish my water bottles. The heat and humidity are forcing us to drink almost constantly.

I sit beside Li as we take a short break, although Ora has continued on, saying he wants to scout an area that’s caught his interest. Marc and Chad strip off their shirts, boots, and socks, and stretch out in the flowing water, which is delightfully cool. Even Shira takes off her boots and soaks her feet.

But I stay with Li because I’m worried. She’s been falling behind all day and now looks on the verge of collapse.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

She nods as she sips from her bottle. “Fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re beat. We’re all tired but you looked tired before we left that cage behind. Tell me, what’s wrong? I won’t tell the others if you don’t want me to.”

Li hesitates. “I’m diabetic.”

That’s what I feared, especially since we haven’t seen any fruit trees all day. Not even banana trees, which grow practically everywhere.

“Type one or type two?” I ask.

“Type two. I can control it mostly with diet if I can eat a little every hour. But I do take medicine.”

“Insulin?” At least she’s not type one, I think.

“No. I take other medication, but I don’t need shots.”

“I don’t suppose you woke up with your pills in your pockets?”

Li shakes her head. “No such luck. I get dizzy without the meds.”

“Can you manage the condition in an emergency? If you do get enough to eat?”

Li nods. “I can get by. But I need protein, not fruit. And I have to rest often.”

I squeeze her hand. “Is it okay if I explain your condition to the others? They might wonder why you keep falling behind.”

Li watches as Marc splashes Shira when she turns her back to him. For an instant Shira smiles, before whirling and shouting a foreign obscenity at him. Marc splashes her again, in the face.

“I’ll try to keep up,” Li says.

“All right. I’m sure we’ll find something to eat soon.” I say this to give her hope, but also because it makes no sense that those who have organized the “Field” would not give us enough food to stay alive long enough to fight.

Ora reappears thirty minutes later with news. He’s found a series of caves. Better yet, he says one of them has a narrow opening and is well hidden behind a row of trees. Shira acts skeptical but her interest is piqued when Ora reassures her that it has a back door.

“The cave digs deep into this side of the hill,” Ora explains. “And the opening at the rear leads to the other side of the hill.”

“You discovered all that in half an hour?” Marc asks.

Ora nods. “I move fast when I’m alone.”

The hike to the cave takes only a few minutes; and once again I’m impressed with Ora’s eagle eyes when he points out the opening. The entrance isn’t merely camouflaged—it’s virtually invisible. The trees help but it’s the low entryway that makes the cave next to impossible to spot. We have to drop to our hands and knees to crawl inside. If I had been searching alone, I would have missed it.

Ora’s discovery is a good reminder for me. I may be the only witch in the group but each of us has something to contribute. I’m glad we’ve established a hidden base of operations within walking distance of fresh water. It’s my hope that having a
home
of sorts will help our gang bond.

Yet we have a problem. Because the upper lip of the stone entrance extends almost to the ground, the interior is extremely dark. We’re fortunate the narrow cave opens to a decent-size cavern, but move us ten yards away from the opening and we start walking into walls.

“We need flashlights,” Marc grumbles.

“Torches,” Ora counters.

“You’ve been collecting sticks and volcanic rocks,” I say to him. “Can you make us a torch?”

Ora hesitates. “We need another ingredient. But I think I know where to find it.” He turns toward the entrance. “I’ll be back soon.”

I move to follow. “I don’t want you wandering out there alone. I’m going with you.”

“I can move faster when I’m alone,” he repeats.

“Trust me, I won’t slow you down.”

No one else volunteers to accompany us, probably because they’re beat. As Ora and I hike away from the cave, heading west toward the distant volcano, I ask what he’s looking for.

“Tar,” he says.

For an instant I think he’s talking about Cleo and the Council. Then I realize he’s using the word the way most people do.

“Have you seen some?” I ask.

He stops and shifts his bundle of long sticks and rolled-up dried reeds into one arm and points with the other arm toward an area near the base of the hillside.

“Do you see it?” he asks.

As a witch, all my senses are naturally magnified. Still, I’m unsure what I’m searching for. One thing, though, the area’s choked with trees, and there’s a weird kind of fog. . . .

“Is that smoke? Has someone built a campfire there?”

He accepts my ignorance of the outdoors gracefully, although I catch a faint smile. “What you see is steam, not smoke. It can confuse the eye in the bright daylight.”

“We’re looking at a hot spring?”

“Yes. It’s probably caused by lava flowing beneath the ground, mixing with water. But sometimes the lava rises all the way to the surface.”

“How did you happen to spot it?”

He touches his nose. “Smelled it.”

The hike to the hot spring takes time. It’s two miles away and we frequently run into sudden sharp drops that force us to circle around and find another way down. If I were alone I’d jump—I can easily leap off a five-story building—but I don’t want to startle Ora.

Yet there’s something almost mystical about the guy. Of all the people in the group, I suspect he’d be the first to grasp what I am. Now that we’ve spent more time together, I’m virtually certain he’s a latent witch, who only needs to be awakened. Unfortunately, because it takes an initiatory death rite to bring about the change, I’m not anxious to test my theory.

The biggest obstacle to “connecting” a potential witch to his unique genetic code is not knowing whether or not the person in question possesses the healing gene. The power to heal is first and foremost a power to heal oneself. Those who have it usually survive the initiation rite. Those who don’t often die. That’s why Jimmy—in the real world, in Las Vegas—died while gambling to come to our aid in witch world.

If only he hadn’t injected himself with an overdose of opiates behind my back! I’m far from a master healer but chances are, if I’d been with him, I could have kept him alive. Of course I never would have let him take the risk in the first place, and that’s why he didn’t tell me what he was doing. Until it was too late.

The guilt I feel over his sacrifice never leaves me. Never.

Ora brims with abnormal strength and I’ve no doubt that, besides being a latent witch, he has the crucial gene for speed and strength. His endurance is phenomenal; I can see why he wanted to go alone. We don’t walk toward the spring, we jog; and yet I see his surprise at how easily I keep up with him.

“You remind me of Ariena,” he says.

“Your sister—that’s kind of you. How old is Ariena?”

“Fifteen. But she’s strong, very strong. She walks ten kilometers every day to the well, and back again with a large jug of water on her shoulder.”

Ten kilometers is six point two miles. That means his sister walks over twelve miles a day in the heat, and here I bitch about having to get up and feed Lara during the night. No matter how tough I like to think I am, hanging out with Ora is turning out to be a humbling experience.

The odor of rotten eggs hits us half a mile from the hot springs and grows almost overpowering as we plow through the steam toward its source. From high-school chemistry I know the smell is the result of sulfur mixing with the hydrogen in the water. Not that I care—it stinks and it irritates my eyes. But Ora is quick to point out that such hot springs are good for the health.

“In my country they are highly prized. People travel many kilometers to find one. There’s a spring near my village. Take a bath in it and all the scars from spider and snake bites melt away as if by magic. The water also makes a barren woman fertile and old men virile.”

I give him a look. “I’m sure everything you say is absolutely true. Just as long as you understand I already took a bath back at the stream, and that I’m not about to take another one.”