Page 66 of Dare

The beast grimaced as if she’d ingested a mouthful of excrement. “Yet you see born souls as so-called abominations.”

“Apart from progressive Autumn, the bulk of this continent sees them as abominations. Whereas I see them as an epidemic. Viruses. Diseases. In my estimation, nature has agency, but it’s not infallible. What almighty force would consciously create deformities on purpose?”

“Maybe the divine Seasons don’t see us as deformities. Maybe they see us as they do this rainforest, its inhabitants, and the rest of the elemental world. Maybe they see us as diverse, which is how it used to be in society.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I repeat. I don’t believe the Seasons have a will.”

Yet her speculation had not occurred to me. When one disregarded nature possessing a soul, the notion had merit. From a clinical standpoint, diversity had numerous advantages, the ability to produce medicine being one of them. However, societal diversification had not been attempted since these ancients had been alive.

The gnawing prospect refused to vacate my mind as we continued our search. We could benefit from tweezers, shears, needles, and thread. But notwithstanding the lack of surgical tools, the ruins provided other essentials.

In another chamber, decrepit columns lined one wall overlooking the wild. A hearth recessed into the opposite end must have been used for cooking, and a table fronted an adjacent facade. Small alcoves housed weathered glass jars and cracked marble pots with lids, likely for food conservation.

The conveyor hovered overhead. So this had been its destination.

Tassels of vegetation protruded from the masonry. Clusters of undergrowth sprouted between the floor cracks, flourishing without direct rays. Potential treatments. Undiscovered cures. To have a tropical climate like this one, a landscape denser than any other in this Season, the opportunities were endless.

While the beast peeked into the vessels, I knelt and swept aside a pile of dead leaves. Fungi sprouted from the surface, each cluster indistinguishable.

In one corner, the perforated leaves of a plant fanned out. I tested them with my finger, heedful of a rash. Suffering no irritation, I rubbed my thumb and forefinger over the surface, noting a chill to the touch.

The leaf’s scent emitted the crispness of mint. It reminded me of pine cress, a Winter aid for respiration.

The columns provided ventilation, and the edifice filtered out the humidity, but the open prospect rendered it vulnerable to rainfall and unwelcome fauna guests. Given the lack of nests though, this wasn’t a great concern. With a bit of sterilization, this space could function as a medical chamber.

The beast rubbed her arms. “It’s chilly.”

I rose. “It’s the stone. Parts of this fortress are protected from the climate.”

“No.” She glanced toward a spot on the floor. “I mean, yes. But the breeze is coming from there.”

Padding across the chamber, she exited the threshold. I trailed after her, rounded a hallway corner, and entered an alcove. The beast raced her palm along the wall, her fingers tracing a delineation that most could not have detected among the shadows.

After a moment, she froze. Twisting my way, she gave me a meaningful look.

Together, we gripped the crack’s edge and pushed. A large panel skated across the ground, revealing a passage with steps leading to an abyss.

Gripping my scalpel knife, I descended first. The beast followed, also grasping her dagger. More mineral rocks cast over the area. But unlike the grotto, this void reeked of something putrid. And familiar.

I halted at the landing, jerking my arm behind to stop the female. Awareness crept up my nape as I stepped into a subterranean vault. My gaze scoured the region, where troughs dug into the walls, their contents providing the answer to a pertinent question.

An intake of breath sounded beside me. The woman’s profile absorbed the scene, her irises flaring like torches, wonder clashing with sorrow. “What is this?”

My frown deepened. “A catacomb.”

Webs encrusted the tombs, where skeletal remains lay. Chalky white skulls rested amid scapulas, clavicles, breast bones, shin bones, and fishlike scales. Tapered and rounded ears, the outlines of wings, and teeth that ranged from molars to fangs.

Humans. Faeries. Satyrs. Nymphs. Merfolk.

And more. Too many to process.

These ancients had to be the ones who’d discovered this forest. Some wore jeweled circlets, others leather vests and shingled armor. Based on the designs, they must have lived during the war between cultures, when each society except humans had either faded or killed themselves off.

Presumably, these settlers had stayed out of the historic conflict by isolating themselves here. Yet as I examined their remains, I found no evidence of accidents, starvation, or household scrimmages. So what had eventually happened to them?

My companion sucked in a breath as she caressed the cheek of a corpse. “This one was a sand drifter,” she realized, admiring the frail satchel of rope tangled in the figure’s digits. “Our kin are buried with these nets.”

We turned to face one another. “The rainforest welcomed these people, yet none of them survived,” she uttered.

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