Page 58 of Shifter King
QueQoa returned a few moments later, resuming his state of rest. "There's no one around. You can come out as long as you stay within the rels. It'll be a little easier for you to breathe out here while I deal with this smoke."
"Anything interesting out there?" She hesitated even with the smoke. Being out in the open made her feel exposed. She had her daggers strapped to her sash and bound tight around her waist. There were also the spears AaQar and WroOth had made, all stuck within the hidden hole at the mouth of the rock entrance. And there was of course QueQoa.
"I saw a goliath tunneler. Hardly anything, especially compared to this morning. Can't say that I blame it though. Goliath tunnelers can be foul ones if they get you downwind. You don't have to go out if you don't want to. But there's going to be a lot of air flowing through here for a few minutes that might make this uncomfortable."
"No, it's fine." She stepped out, blinking into the sunlight. There wasn't any sense or clenching within her to suggest the Bealorns were close. And it seemed unlikely that they could have found this new home so swiftly. Their last camp had been much more exposed. Still, after encountering the Okalu, she felt off balance. As if she'd drained more of her reserves than she intended simply by being in their presence.
She clutched the whistle that hung around her neck, rubbing her finger up and down its sleek side. She'd just gotten jumpy lately. But how much range did she really have with her mindreading? Was it consistent? What made it change? The books hadn't had anything on that except to note that every Neyeb was different.
She rolled her eyes. Every Neyeb was different, indeed. Very helpful.
A rushing sound rose up from the bunker. Great gusts of the ever-paling smoke drifted out, highlighted on the sunbeams.
A piercing wail reached her ears. Stiffening, she listened. Was that—was that a baby?
Another followed, louder this time. Clearer.
Then another shriek followed, even more desperate.
Definitely a baby.
"QueQoa," she called out, starting toward the sound.
QueQoa bolted out of the bunker, his footsteps crunching over the grass. She followed as quickly as she could. That baby was going to get itself killed at this rate. Maybe within seconds. Was it just the baby? Or was there a whole family? A caravan? Surely it couldn’t be just a baby out there all alone. She didn't sense anything else.
She sent off the warning on the whistle, summoning back whoever was close enough to hear. This wasn’t natural or right.
Another cry pealed through the air. It wasn’t far. She grabbed one of the wooden spears from the hiding hole beneath the boulder and chased after QueQoa. They passed over the boundary of the rels and the cachi gourds. She narrowly ducked under the last line without triggering the alarm herself.
QueQoa bellowed something incomprehensible, his surprise striking back like a wave. There was something else out there.
She gripped the spear tighter and broke through the final tall grey-green bushes to the clearing. A naked baby lay on a flat white stone. Her face was red from screaming. Two large centipedes advanced, swaying. One’s antennas tapped the rock's edge as the other reared up, its multi-hinged jaw expanding.
QueQoa dropped into his blue crocodile form. He lunged, jaws agape. The larger centipede hissed and darted.
Amelia stabbed the second with one of the spears. It scraped across the tough red-orange carapace and shoved it away. Lunging in, she struck it back again. The tip of the spear barely cut into the seam. "Get away!"
The baby screamed, beating at the air and kicking with tiny fists.
Rattling its antennas and jaws, the centipede hissed, then struck at the air. She swatted it again. The spear blade connected with its head and knocked it back.
QueQoa snapped the first in two and then spun.
The centipede lunged at the rock, too fast to be stopped or struck aside. She snatched the infant out of the way and rolled as QueQoa leaped onto the rock and tore the centipede apart.
Amelia rolled back up to her feet, the infant cradled to her chest and shielded with her arms.
Amelia rose to her feet; a sharp sucking pain swept over her, and darkness clouded her vision. So much sorrow and fear, gut-wrenching, mind-sucking, heart-stopping fear. Where was Mama? What was happening? Why was it so cold? The blanket was gone too. Faces flashed through her mind in rapid succession. Some seemed almost familiar, but they blurred too much. All of it tangled and snagged within her mind. It was like sliding into ever-deepening quicksand.
"Amelia." QueQoa shook her shoulder, then tugged her forward. "We need to get back to camp. Come on."
The back of her throat tightened as she swayed. "Take Choe," she whispered weakly. "Please."
"Her name is Choe?" QueQoa swept the infant out of her arms and cradled her against his chest. "There’s no one else here. Come on." He gestured toward the camp with his head and started forward. "Let's go. Hello, Choe. Are you all right? You need some clothes."
She tried to follow, but the weakness had not left. That poor child. Her hand rose to her temple as if it wasn’t fully her own. That baby. Poor Choe. Her mama was gone. Her papa too. All gone. Two blurred faces had left her out here. Just left her. Hadn’t even wrapped her. Left her on stone.
The bile rose farther. Shrieking crespa, she was going to throw up.
