The Far Wild

41 - Don't Get Eaten Out There

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Suni

This plan is insane,” Theo said, shaking her head. “Steal a skyship from an entire camp of Bospurians? That’s just plain suicidal.”

I was somewhat inclined to agree with her.

Theo cursed, then pointed to Oz. “I’d rather go with him. Better chance of surviving.”

“You’re welcome to,” Elpida said with a shrug. “As long as you can keep up.” She was sitting in the shade of a tarp we’d erected on the top deck of the Welkin. The sun was just rising in the east, but already the air was thick with humidity and heat. Elpida wiped a bead of sweat from her temple and took a swig from her flask. “Lekarsos has to know what’s happened here, one way or another. That’s more important than any one of our lives.”

And she was right. Someone had to get out to tell our story, to alert Lekarsos and the emperor.

I watched as Theo looked back to Oz, her eyes thoughtful. She couldn’t keep up with him and we all knew it. No one could keep pace with the guide when he was moving at his own speed. I had no doubt that Oz had been moving slower just so we all could keep up. The Far Wild seemed more his home than Lekarsos had ever been.

As we watched, he rearranged the items in his pack one final time. We’d given him everything we could spare. The rations we’d salvaged from the wreck of the Stormcrow had been used up just making it to Clearwater Outpost. Thankfully, the Bospurians who’d disabled the Welkin had done a poor job of looting its supplies. Among the cargo they’d left were a couple bags of hardtack, some empty waterskins, a few swords, and even a few extra uniforms—and new boots for Senesio, who’d lost one to the terror birds.

All in all, we’d scavenged together enough to feed what remained of our group for another week. Considering it was a three-week walk back to Lekarsos, or two weeks by boat, we didn’t have any choice but to make an attempt on the Bospurian camp. It was less than a week away if we moved quickly, which left just enough food to spare for a contingency plan.

Oz was equipped with a new sword, half a bag of hardtack, and two additional waterskins. All the same, even the best equipment could only do so much to help with the challenge he faced ahead.

“You really think he can do this?” Maritza asked, stepping up beside me, waterskin in hand and still wet from where she’d filled it in the spring. “I mean, is it even possible?”

I’d been asking myself the same thing since the previous night. After the sun had set and we’d all huddled into the Welkin to dress wounds, drink to the dead, and discuss what to do next. Senesio, in typical Senesio fashion, had proposed again that we steal a Bospurian skyship. That was, as Theo had pointed out, insane. But I’d spent enough time with Senesio by now to know that, somehow, he turned the impossible into the possible. Or at least, the improbable. Being honest, I wasn’t surprised by the plan. It sort of made sense.

By Agostos’ reckoning, we were a week’s hike from the Bospurian camp, even less if we used the outpost’s canoes and went by river. The hardtack we hadn’t given to Oz would sustain us for most of that time. And really, what other option did we have? Without specialized tools the Welkin was beyond repair. So what, were we going to wait around at the outpost for the Needlethroat to come back, repaired and ready for a fight? Or try to walk back to Lekarsos? In theory, we could hunt for food once our rations ran out, but this was the Far Wild. We were as likely to be the hunted as the hunters. As much as I hated to admit it, all of our discussions the night before had come to one conclusion: Senesio’s plan was the only viable option. And then Oz had spoken up.

‘I’ll hike it out,’ he’d said, as nonchalantly as if proposing a picnic. Of course, that’d sparked even more debate, but in the end, we’d come to an agreement. The madman was going to try it. He was going to walk out of the Far Wild. All the way back to Lekarsos.

“If anyone can do this, it’s him,” I said, nodding to Oz. He knew how to move quiet and fast through the wilderness. Knew how to limit how much food he ate and where to scavenge to find more. Of all of us there, he was the one who had a real chance of making it back alive.

“Alright, then,” Oz said, pulling his pack onto his shoulders and giving it a shake to settle the weight into place. “I’m good to go.”

Most of the survivors looked exhausted half to death as I glanced around the group. We’d all bathed in the blissfully cool waters of the spring that morning, had dressed in fresh uniforms from the Welkin’s crew quarters, and even rewrapped our wounds in crisp, fresh bandages. All the same, there was exhaustion in everyone’s eyes, sweat on our brows, and the all too obvious effects of near-starvation making us skinny and frail. Oz, somehow, was the exception. Well, him and Elpida, though even the guidemaster seemed to be having a harder time than her apprentice. Something in his eyes shone as he fiddled with the straps of his pack. The madman was excited. Eager. He lived for this. Once, that had been an insane notion, but now, I was beginning to understand.

As harsh as the Far Wild was, as dangerous and deadly, there was something special about it. Something that made it feel like you were, for the first time ever, truly living. Maybe it was because death was so close, just a moment away. Or maybe it was the fresh air, or the constant trickle of adrenaline that always seemed to flow in such a hostile place. Whatever it was, it was undeniable.

I stepped forward and slapped Oz on the shoulder. “Don’t get eaten out there, yeah?”

“Same to you,” he said with a smirk. “We’re having too much fun for that to happen anyway, yeah?”

“Fun isn’t the word I’d have chosen, Oz.”

“We’ll be fine,” Senesio said, butting it. “We’ll be waving to you in a few days as we fly past.” A faint smile tugged on his lips as he turned his eyes to the south, toward where the Bospurian camp lay somewhere over the horizon.

“Oz,” Elpida said, catching her apprentice and turning him around. She had a hand on each of his shoulders, holding him at arm’s length. Almost looked like a mother, proud of her son. Preparing some last sweet words? Reminding him that she loved him, maybe? That she’d be worried about him?

“Don’t screw this up,” she said, then clapped him on the cheek.

Oz smirked, pulled away from her, and headed toward the north gate.

“I’ll see you in Lekarsos, old lady,” he shouted over his shoulder.

For a moment, there was silence as Elpida watched him go. Then she turned back to everyone else on the skyship.

“The hell are you all looking at? Pack your shit, we’re moving out.”

“To the Bospurian camp!” Senesio cheered. “And to steal a skyship. Or three.”

“To save Kamil,” I added.

We’d all agreed. Oz was the contingency plan, but we were the rescue party still. The Bospurians had Kamil, and probably the rest of his expedition. Saving them seemed an impossible task—but then again, just a few days ago, half of the things I’d done on this expedition would have sounded impossible. Turned out, the funny thing about “impossible” was you never knew until you tried.