Page 67 of Dare

“No, they did not.” And from my brief inspection, I finally surmised why. “It was a virus.”

Something contagious must have infested their blood. Considering our environment, this conclusion made irrefutable sense.

The beast glanced around with sympathy. “The wild decided it was their time.”

Not how I would have put it, yet the distinction hardly mattered. This might be a rainforest castle, but its walls would only do so much to protect us. All the more reason to work together, to survive for as long necessary before getting the fuck out of here.

25

Jeryn

We discovered another secret before exiting the catacomb. A passage beyond intersected with other caves and crossways, including from the grotto and to the ruins’ entrance, joining with the area where I’d gone astray earlier. The network reminded me of escape channels beneath every castle in The Dark Seasons, as well as the trade route in Summer, from which this little fugitive had fled.

The entrance tunnel would enable us to cross the lake, in lieu of the decrepit bridge, while some conduits echoed with ocean waves. In one cavity, we tracked the sound until emerging from a concealed threshold of rocks and vines, which deposited us at the cove where we’d made camp. We spent hours retrieving our belongings and traveling through the outlets, from the shore to our new hideaway.

The ruins offered better shelter than the cove. It was mostly dry, with access to the bathing grotto and drinking fountain. But with exposed verandas and colonnades vulnerable to roaming fauna, we would have to share a chamber.

One of the suites comprised adjoining rooms, each divided by an open doorway. Close enough to monitor one another. Far enough to stomach each other.

The beds needed to be restored first. In the meantime, we gathered clean linens from the textile cellar, fashioning them into pallets in our respective quarters.

The ashes of Summer tinder would ignite the old torches from one source, rather than us needing to build individual blazes. However, we agreed to use this tactic sparingly and only in the ruins.

Over the next week, we dusted, scrubbed, cleared debris from the most utilitarian rooms, and salvaged what we could. Next, we restored the conveyor, which ran between the wilderness and the makeshift medical chamber.

The cellar offered several articles of clothing that suited our measurements. Flowing dresses, linen nightgowns, and bandeaus paired with lightweight trousers, either cut off at the mid-thigh or cinched at the ankles, replaced the beast’s chemise. Loose pants and shirts relieved me of the suffocating velvet ensemble.

However much Summer preferred nudity, a realm riddled with fatal insects was not ideal for exposure. The pants would suffice for me, but the beast collected scraps of thin material to weave into lingerie for herself. Promptly, I scratched the image of her wearing those skimpy articles from my brain, lest they should follow me to bed.

As it was, sleeping soundly became a chore. Separated by a mere twenty feet, her proximity dominated every corner of my addlepated mind. Visions of her tangled in the sheets, her mouth open and puffing air, her legs falling apart in slumber. Fucking hell.

Each morning, she caught fish and fried our meals in the dining hall fireplace.

In the medical chamber, I reorganized our supplies, making use of the alcove shelves. From the floor, I plucked samples of the ground foliage that had reminded me of pine cress.

Which led to thoughts of Winter’s universities. Which led to other thoughts of a botany volume that documented antiquated plants.

At the hearth, I ground one of the leaves atop a flat expanse of rock. The mashed plant darkened and lost its pungent fragrance, as the text had instructed it would.

This felt too simple. Nonetheless, without the proper necessities, something had to give. At worst, I’d have the most hostile stomachache of my life. Possibly a fever. At least, I hoped that would be the shittiest part of it.

I grabbed my scalpel knife and extended the blade into the flames. Once the metal glowed orange, the slime went in next, close to the fire’s perimeter. The mass fizzled and stank of rancid citrus, another encouraging confirmation.

After the pulp cooled, I sighed. “Motherfuck.”

Then I angled the scalpel toward my bare arm and sliced.

An hour later, the little beast gawked when I passed by her in one of the corridors. Crimson-stained fingers. A bandaged gash across my bicep. Still, she did not ask what I’d done. She must have deduced I wouldn’t tell her yet.

But when I did, it would hurt. Because it would be her turn.

***

I waited another week. Seven days in which we hunted for food, avoided carnivores, healed from our injuries, and worked on a map of the rainforest, which the woman drafted onto a wall in the vestibule.

Satisfied that my test hadn’t exterminated me, I approached her one afternoon. Dangerously, she perched on the cupola’s ledge, surrounded by hibiscus flowers.

Although cognizant of me leaning against the ridge beside her, she gazed in wonder at a dozing scimitar feline draped across a distant offshoot, the creature’s fur a marbled mixture of red and black. Its limbs were slung over the sides, its paws dangling in the air and hiding what I imagined to be a set of claws capable of scooping out intestines with a lazy swipe.

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