The Far Wild

42 - Make Your Death Count For Something

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Senesio

“Unlucky weather,” I heard Maritza complain from the other canoe, shouting to be heard over the downpour. Her years as a sailor had made her believe luck was a thing that happened to you. It wasn’t. Luck was a thing you created. By being prepared and by working hard, and by dedicating yourself singularly to an objective. And it helped, of course, if you were Senesio Suleiman Nicolaou. Helped if you kept a positive mind about things.

This storm wasn’t bad luck, it was a cooling shower, sparing us from the heat of the summer sun. It’d also reduced visibility to basically nothing, which meant any skyship that came poking around Clearwater Outpost wouldn’t immediately be able to tell we’d left.

Not two hours before, Elpida had led us to the outpost’s remaining flat-bottomed canoes—those that hadn’t been burned to cinders—and shoved off into the Evergrass. Eight people spread across two canoes wasn’t exactly ideal. And then, moments later, the rain had started.

The skies had been growing darker all morning, the clouds heavy and angry, the air thick with more than just humidity. There’d been a tension in the wind, as if it were charged; as if the world were holding its breath. Then all at once, it’d broken. A crash of thunder from the horizon, rolling over the Evergrass, and the smothering rain that followed.

Warm, heavy rain that fell in steady torrents and was so fierce it drowned out anything but the loudest of sounds. It was the kind of rain the Far Wild was infamous for. The kind that turned even the best-drained paths to ankle-deep mud and the fiercest fires to smoky pools of ash. It was the kind of rain that brought low even the boldest of adventurers’ spirits.

Except mine.

“Not that I disliked walking, mind you, but I could get used to this—what did you call it?—canoeing? It’s been too long since I’ve had a worthy upper body workout,” I said, then stabbed my paddle into the water. I pulled backward with a powerful thrust and propelled our canoe forward, nearly on my own. Elpida was paddling at the fore, but any canoeman worth his salt knew that you always placed the strongest rower at the back. That was a thing, right? Yeah, I was sure I’d heard that somewhere.

“Don’t get used to this,” Elpida grunted from up front, letting her paddle drag in the water a moment so she could wipe her brow. “The Evergrass only spreads so far south. Before the day’s out we’ll be in the river that feeds it, and soon after that, it’ll be back to walking.” She looked over her shoulder just long enough to throw a glare to where Agostos was tied up at Suni’s feet. “Or it should be, if this sob story isn’t lying.”

Despite the rain pouring down around us, I could hear the man swallow hard.

“Don’t know why we even brought him,” Gabar shouted from the other canoe. “He’s just extra weight. Slowing us down.”

“He’ll guide us to the Bospurian camp,” Demetrias said, from the middle seat of the other canoe.

“I could probably find it on my own, but it’ll be much quicker if he helps,” Elpida added. “And if he doesn’t, well, we can leave him behind as a nice distraction to slow down any predators following our trail.”

“Please, no.” Agostos raised his bound hands in a pleading gesture. “I’ve been nothing but honest.”

Gabar grumbled something by way of response, but it was lost in the rain.

“Speaking of honesty,” Elpida said, turning all the way around to face Suni, “we’re overdue for a conversation.”

This time, it was Suni I heard swallow hard.

“Come again?” she said.

Elpida held out her flask of rum, as if offering a drink. Suni extended a hand, but the flask was pulled out of her reach.

“You’ve changed since we left Lekarsos,” Elpida said.

“I take it this isn’t about her drinking habits,” I said, feeling a frown crawl onto my face. The hardest part of being an adventurer on the rise was managing one’s companions. I never had to worry about myself; I was always fine, no matter the situation. My companions, on the other hand, well, they were often the weak links. I mean, take Leon for instance. He’d had potential, could have been someone, but he squandered it instead, gave in to his fear. Now, Elpida was implying there was something wrong with Suni. I’d spent forever finding Leon, who was just the right combination of biographer and bait. Losing him had been a major setback, until Suni had shown up. She had potential. Real potential.

“How have I ‘changed’ since we left Lekarsos?” Suni asked, but that alone made it obvious. A week ago, she’d never have challenged someone like that. She’d have been meek; unsure of herself. Anyone could have seen it. Now, she was staring down Elpida. There was a tone to her voice, an edge to her words that never would have been there previously. It was impossible not to recognize. It was my favorite trait: confidence.

“When we landed at the wreck of the Panagia you were just an anxious naturalist’s apprentice. But then, not a week later you—”

“Charged headlong into a wendiguar,” I finished as the realization struck me. “And then you went over the stakewall with me into the outpost.”

“And baited the terror birds into attacking the Bospurian soldiers,” Elpida said.

Not to mention, escaped those same terror birds without a scratch, I added mentally, feeling the ever-present burning in the wounds torn through my shoulders.

Elpida was right. This wasn’t the Suni I’d once known; wasn’t the flustered, nervous apprentice naturalist I’d met back in Lekarsos. She was bolder, braver. Willing to take risks and reap the rewards of those risks. All fine traits in a soldier or an adventurer, even, but in Suni? She was bookish, unathletic. Wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing. Or, so I’d once thought. Seemed the Far Wild was changing that. And all too quickly. When people got bold, they also got sloppy. I’d seen it too many times before to see it again in Suni. The last thing I needed was to lose another fr—

Expedition member. The last thing I needed to lose was another expedition member.

“I don’t see why I’m being scrutinized for this,” Suni said, gripping the edge of the canoe. “He does it,” she said, throwing a hand back at me. “And he gets lauded as a hero. I do it and I get criticized.”

As if to punctuate her words a clap of thunder boomed out from above. It dissipated as it rolled into the distance and rain filled the silence in its wake.

“Suni, my friend. My daring naturalist’s apprentice,” I said, pulling my paddle into the canoe, then clapping a hand down on her shoulder. It was a comforting gesture, I knew. Akin to a mentor reassuring an up-and-coming student. Authoritative, but wise too. “This isn’t criticism, but caution. It’s a dangerous place we find ourselves in and already too many of our unfortunate companions have met their untimely ends. Elpida and I aren’t trying to condemn your actions, we’re merely trying to express that you have to be more careful. After all, if anyone survives this, it has to be you. No one else will do the tale justice, you know.”

I gave a smile, then. Made sure to make it one of my best. Reassuring, but confident. The kind of infectious smile that would catch anyone right in the heart strings, would make them—

“That’s horseshit.” Elpida tossed her paddle down to the floor of the canoe. “There’s no reason to be gentle about this. I’ve seen what this place does to people. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the adventure, but whatever it is, it changes people. And it’s going to be the death of you if you’re not careful.” She shook her head. “Lekarsos has lost more good men and women to this place than anyone cares to admit. And I’ve been in this ancestors-cursed wilderness long enough to know the signs. I’ve seen it get good people killed, strong people. Hell, I even liked some of them.” She looked down at her flask, as if considering taking a swig, then cursed and tucked it into her jacket.

“I don’t know what it is about the Far Wild, but it’s more than just a wilderness. Some say we’re closer to the ancestors here. Others that there’s a sickness of the mind. Changes people’s hearts. Whatever it is, it’s got its roots in you, Suni. I’ve seen it happen before, with Oz. He’s too far gone to help, but you’re not. Not yet, anyway.”

Suni balked at that, seeming to consider it, then shook her head. “I don’t believe in superstition. I believe in science. In the quantifiable and observable.”

“Doesn’t take an academic study to see you’re changing,” Elpida said, and she was right. “I’ve seen a lot of shit out here that isn’t supposed to exist. Behemoth komodos that tear through skyships like kindling, wendiguars that mimic human voices perfectly.” She paused a moment, then sucked in a deep breath, almost as if steadying herself. I looked closer, focusing on her. Was that fear in her eyes?

“I’ve seen shit out here you wouldn’t believe, girl. Seen the hand of the ancestors manifest its will on the world. Seen spirits of dead fishermen come back for vengeance.” Elpida poked a finger to Suni’s chest. “This place changes people. Don’t let it change you into someone you don’t want to be.”

Suni made to respond, then stopped, a half-formed word leaving her mouth only to be drowned out by the rain. “I... ”

I found myself at a loss as well. Elpida had been out here longer than anyone. When it came to matters of the Far Wild, there was no better expert. If she said a thing, the entirety of Lekarsos listened—and for good reason. Suni was changing, was embracing the potential I saw in her. But what if she was doing it too fast? Doubt wasn’t a feeling I was familiar with. Didn’t much care for it.

“I’m just here to rescue Kamil,” Suni finally said, turning back to Elpida. “We’ll figure everything else out after that’s done.”

The guidemaster huffed. “I’ve given you fair warning, girl. Listen to me or not, it’s your choice. But the next time you feel the need to do something stupid, the next time the insanity whips up and you decide to be a hero, just promise me one thing.” She produced her flask and took a long swig from it. “Promise me you’ll do something worthwhile. Promise me you’ll make your death count for something, eh?”