Sunborn Rising (15 page)

A creature fell back to travel beside her. It was hunched over slightly, and covered with growths of twigs, molds, and flowers. The creature had Tory’s proportions, with long limbs ending in huge hands and feet, and no claws Barra could see. Wrapped all over its body were vines that looked like exposed veins, and there was fuzz growing in layers on its shoulders and head. As the hunched creature moved its molds bunched and pulled like muscles while the vines slid like tendons. The movement disturbed, but also, captivated. Barra couldn’t look away.

Slowly, the hunchback faced her. His large, pale-green saucer eyes locked with hers. Barra was terrified, but as she gaped at the creature, she thought there was something sad about him. Unexpected as it was, she felt sympathy toward him, and then even more surprising, she saw her sympathy reflected back. The creature’s head bobbed gently, eyes never wavering from hers.

Barra whispered, “Help me. Help me,
please
.”

The creature stared long enough for Barra to believe he understood, and then he looked away. He stared at his feet, his head bobbing weakly in time with his steps. Betrayed, Barra tore the air with a hiss until her lungs were exhausted. The fungus-covered puppet-monster seemed not to notice. The caravan kept going.

After a time, there was some commotion among the creatures. Barra was jostled and thrown around. She saw Tory and relief rushed through her body. He was draped, limp, around the shoulders of a serpentine creature covered with furry molds, flowers, and roots like the other fungal-puppets. This particular monster’s flowers were unusual though, flat black with edges sharpened by poisonous lines of color. The creature had arms but no legs, and there were small beads of eyes all over its head. Two of the creatures approached Tory and lassoed his wrists before Barra was hauled to the ground and lost sight of him.

The creatures changed the bindings on Barra’s arms and legs, tying them with her tail behind her. They laid her down on her belly, where she received another face full of slime from the damp wood. She heard the persistent motion of her captors, their shuffling feet and slithering vines. After a short time she was lifted, and then set back down on her side. She faced away from the terrible creatures. Their commotion ceased, the air was still, and the silence poked her skin like needles.

After a bit, another creature crept into her view. It had tall wings that were wrapped and tied around its slender body. Its arms—tucked under its wings—were restricted, and they twitched as the creature bent closer to observe Barra. She braced herself, not knowing what to expect. The winged creature’s mouth opened as though to speak, but its snout only moved up and down wordlessly. One twitching hand reached for her, and Barra shrank away. She parted her fur using her stealth muscles. Laying her fur flat to avoid the touch, something she’d never even thought of doing before. The moldy creature tilted its head left, then slowly right, and then smiled. It nodded at her, its snout moving again without a sound, and then it sauntered away.

Barra’s vision floated and her head spun. Without realizing it, she’d begun hyperventilating. Claustrophobia struck her hard. Again, she struggled against the ropes. The friction melted wrist hairs, and burned her skin. She growled until her throat was ragged and her face blood-hot.

Her momentary fit eventually broke, and she took a shuddering breath. She tried to focus on a happy thought, and with her eyes shut, she imagined she was in her nestroom, her mother humming while stroking her fur, and she felt a little calmer. Barra wondered what her father would do, how he would handle the situation. She pictured him conserving his energy and maintaining his wits, so she tried to do the same. Thinking it over, the fungal-puppets could have harmed her already, but they hadn’t. Barra took some comfort from the thought, not much, but some.

Barra tested the ropes again. More relaxed this time, she experimented and decided they weren’t as tight as she’d first thought. The muscles that manipulated her fur for stealth tingled for her attention, and she rippled them. She felt the ropes—the texture, number of loops, and the kind of braid—through her fur. Shifting weight onto her shoulder, she lifted her arms a bit off the floor and found she could move the ropes a little. Her first attempts were clumsy, but she learned quickly, and soon she was able to cascade her fur in a concerted effort to lift and push the ropes around. Keeping her hands lax to provide slack, she began shifting the loops down over her wrists.

Barra was elated when the first loop fell to the tips of her claws. The entire rope loosened with it, too. No celebrations though. She had to be cautious. She had to be patient. The fungal-puppets were near, and they’d only tie her up again, tighter than before, if they suspected she was free. She pretended her hands were still bound and began working on her legs.

Meanwhile, she wriggled around trying to get a better view. She snuck a careful peek over her shoulder. Glowing sap seeped out from long gashes in the boughs. It seemed like the whole place was rotting from the inside out. Barra saw a dozen creatures: some standing, others kneeling, all facing away from her. She couldn’t understand what occupied their attention—they might have been sleeping. The floor between Barra and the host of fungal-puppets was open and flat, but with no clear exit through the Creeper-infested bramble walls.

There was a grunt beside her, barely audible. The grunt turned into a groan and a few of the standing creatures turned to look. Barra rolled back over to avoid drawing attention. The groaning sounded like Tory. She knew it was him a breath later when he tried to speak. His tongue sounded fat, like it was filling his mouth, so she couldn’t make out the words, but it was definitely him.

Barra stole a glance over her shoulder again, and noted that the creatures had lost interest. They were unbothered by Tory regaining consciousness, so she assumed he was tied up the same as she was. She figured she could get away with a whisper of her own, “Tory. Tory, hey, it’s me. Are you okay?”

“Why are…?” He was groggy, not quite remembering what had happened. “I can’t move my… What the!?” he started, frustrated and angry as he discovered he was tied up.

“Shhh! You’ll draw them over here!” Barra shushed him as quietly as she could. She kept her voice low, “These creepy things ambushed us, and brought us here. I’m not sure…”

“Tory? Barra, is that you?” Plicks called out weakly from the other side of Tory.

Discouraged, but not without a sense of humor, Tory said, “Not much of a rescue, huh? You okay?”

“I’m okay. Just scrapes and bruises. You both tied up, too?” Plicks asked, expecting the worst, but full of hope anyway.

Reunited, the three exchanged whispers for a bit, gathering what they could from each other. Barra kept a watch over her shoulder, expecting their captors to break up the conversation. Occasionally one would take a look, but that was all.

From what they could determine, Barra, Tory, and Plicks were lying down along the outer edge of a large, open platform similar to an Elder Dais. The platform was bounded by rigid and jagged nettles, and a tall, concave wall at the far side that created a kind of half-ceiling overhead. There were long twists of Creepervine as well, dangling down from above like disembodied tongues.

There was no obvious way to escape. Plicks could see the wall from his vantage, and described what might be an opening carved into it. It wasn’t obvious where it would lead. Even if it was a way out, many of the fungal-puppets were huddled there, blocking it. Barra worked her restraints loose while they talked, and was finally free. She wanted to tell her friends, but maybe the creatures were listening after all. She didn’t want to risk it.

Their conversation dwindled as each tried to suss a way out, and after a short time, Tory said, “I think I can break these ropes...” He tested them. “Mmm… maybe?” he added uncertainly. The ropes were sturdy, but he believed a swift pull with all his might could snap them.

A sap-thick voice growled through the air. “What have you brought me?” it asked. The voice was as deep and slimy as the scars all around them.

The tall, winged creature that had visited Barra earlier stood up and walked toward her again. The creature’s eyes were forlorn and distant, and though it stared at her, it seemed not to see her at all. Standing near Barra, the creature turned toward the voice, and spoke without emotion, “Three survivors from above, Argus.” The winged creature’s voice was higher and silkier than Barra expected.

“Survivors? It’s been so very long…” the voice said with an odd cadence, the pauses as long as the words. The owner of the voice hid behind the huddled fungal-puppets and none of the bups could make him out. He might have been there all along or just arrived, there was no way to know for sure. “Is that a Kolalabat?” he asked hungrily, followed by a sound like he was sniffing the air.

The bups were afraid to answer.

Several moments passed, and then the unseen thing laughed. What started as a chuckle soon developed into a heavy bass that seemed to crush the platform as it rolled over it. When the laughter ended, the thing sighed. He growled something to his fungal-puppets that none of the bups could understand, and the minions began bustling around again. They shambled toward the captives. Barra twisted around and counted at least a dozen, their vines slithering sadly with each step.

“Let me go!” Plicks screamed. One of the creatures grabbed him by the trusses and began dragging him away.

Barra rolled over, dug in, and steadied herself, giving up her ruse. The fetid minions were staggered at the far end of the platform. A tall, lithe figure stood near the wall, or really, writhed
within
the wall like a body entombed in sap. Around him was a thick membrane of rippling, dark ooze. There were hollow voids where his eyes should have been, and he was naked, soot-colored, and furless. His toothless maw gaped, saliva dripping down from his chin.

Six fungal-puppets were closing on Tory, and Barra dashed between, thrashing her tail. The minions watched her, but kept moving toward the tied up Rugosic. The hideous, eyeless creature partially emerged from the wall, his body shifting in the ooze. The dark membrane wrinkled and stretched. He leaned out, and Barra could feel him
see
her with his empty sockets.

She yelled to Tory, “Break those ropes! Let’s go!”

He wrestled with the restraints, but they only grew tighter. “I… I can’t!” He yelled back through gritted teeth, his circulation to his hands cut off.

Barra bounded over to him and slashed at the braided vines. She didn’t cut clean through them, but they shriveled and opened up anyway. Wrenching his arms, Tory tried again, and the ropes snapped, spraying green fluid from the broken ends. Hands freed, Tory went to work on the ropes around his ankles. The creatures watched, stunned. Barra bolted to the fungal-puppet holding Plicks, leapt onto its back, and then began hacking furiously at it. Sweeping arcs, bright and jagged cuts, carved the creature’s layers of fungus. The gashes didn’t seem to cause the creature any pain, but with its vine-like tendons severed, Plicks fell in a heap at the monster’s feet. The creature began bucking and jerking violently, trying to throw Barra from its back.

Ripping the last of the ties from his ankles, Tory hurried over to Plicks. The stunned minions began to move, but not fast enough to interrupt Tory. He freed Plicks and then the fungal-puppets were on top of them. Plicks scrambled around the grasping creatures, Tory dodged. They weren’t captives, but with nowhere to go Tory didn’t think that would last. “Barra!” he howled, “We have to get out of here!”

Barra needed to get clear of the wild monster that was still tossing her around. She wrapped her tail around the oozing beast and squeezed hard. Its flailing arms were cinched to its sides. The fungal-puppet lost its balance and lurched. Barra jumped away as it fell to the floor. Airborne, she twisted around and put her feet first, blind to where she was landing. In a frightening prescient flash, she saw herself face to face with the repulsive eyeless monster, and an instant later the flash became reality. Barra crashed into the monster and extended her claws deep into its flesh. His skin was like Umberwood bark, his breath like rotting wood. Clinging to his chest, Barra peered into his vacant sockets. A spark pricked up and down the length of her spine. Her fur hummed.

The eyeless thing’s chest heaved and rumbled, a low growl issued forth, so low that it rattled Barra’s bones. Unable to suppress the instinct, Barra bared her teeth, pointed incisors flashing with wet, her eyes filled with fury. She snarled and swept her tail beneath her in neat, menacing flicks.

Saliva rolled out over his parting lips, and he said, “
You
are mine.”

Barra snapped her teeth and slashed at his face. She leapt from him, and flipped mid-air to hit the floor on all fours. Her ankle throbbed with adrenaline-dampened pain, and she ran, looking for her friends through a mess of dangling and reaching limbs.

“Over here!” Tory was at the edge of the concave wall with Plicks.

Barra raced around one fungal-puppet and between the rotten legs of another.

“Come on!” Plicks hollered, and unfurled his scruffs.

On the other side of the wall was an open area, branch-free into the visible distance. They were on the ledge of a ravine. Barra thought she’d done enough falling for a lifetime, but she didn’t have a better idea. Plicks climbed up onto Tory like a backpack. Barra held onto Tory’s waist and they jumped.