The Far Wild

50 - Not Us That Chased It Off

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Suni

There’d been a typical afternoon thunderstorm an hour or so back. Swooped in from the west, dumped an ocean’s worth of rain on us, then was gone again before the next hour was out. We kept moving, though, all soaked to the bone. In the wake of the rain, the sun was back and turned everything into a sauna. Rain and sweat all mixed together on our bodies into one sopping mess.

Shortly after the storm, we’d reached a place where the foliage thinned out. Now the legions of palmetto and taro plant had been replaced by winding, gnarled trees. Banyan, as the common name went, or Ficus lekarlensis, as Professor Symeos had named them. They were a unique species of banyan tree, found only in the Far Wild, or so far as we knew. Rain still drip-dripped from the canopy above, those drops that’d been caught in the upper branches finally working their way to the ground just as we were working our way through the banyan forest.

Finding the grove from the river hadn’t actually been that hard. The trees were distinct and stood out from the other foliage. Better yet, they were a sign that the Bospurian camp would be just beyond. Not much longer to go now.

But first, we had to traverse the current labyrinth. Banyan was sometimes called strangler fig and, looking around, it was obvious why.

It grew on host trees, sprouting from cracks or scars in their trunks and expanding outwards with a series of air roots. The individual branches in the webs grew and thickened, sometimes to the width of a man, as they climbed higher into the air or, for the most part, stretched down into the soil. The result was a tangled mass of branches and air roots so thick even sunlight couldn’t penetrate it. The banyan heart, it was called.

The grove Senesio was leading us though now must have been an old one. Every twenty or so paces there was another banyan heart. Each served as a nexus in one great web. A thousand different plants all working together to form a winding, twisting labyrinth. Every other step had to be carefully placed between entangling roots, while also making sure not to bump one’s head against the plants overhead. I’d spent more time ducking under branches than walking upright.

“We’re getting close now,” Theo said. “We’re going to need a plan. How are we supposed to get into the Bospurian camp?”

“Not a clue,” I said, pausing to take a swig from Elpida’s flask, then pushing through a narrow tunnel of branches. “It’ll help to see the defenses first. Then we can work on a solution. One step at a time.”

“I don’t like not having a plan.” Theo shook her head. “We need to know what we’re doing before we get into the thick of it, otherwise it’ll be too late.”

And she was right, but I didn’t have any other answers for her. How could I? I was just an apprentice naturalist trying to find my way through this mess. Elpida would have had a plan, would have known some important piece of information to tilt the scales in our favor. But she was gone. I still hadn’t come to terms with that. Still couldn’t believe it. I kept turning, kept expecting to see her just ahead, leading the group. Or off to the side, pausing to take a swig from her flask.

Elpida was gone and we were on their own. No one was going to save us, no one was going to guide us, except us.

Of course, this delighted Senesio.

He was practically jogging at the head of our little group, hurrying us forward at a breakneck pace.

“Swiftly now, my friends,” he said, waving us along. “Agostos said there were more skyships scheduled to arrive.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Demetrias asked, bringing up the rear.

Senesio flashed back a smile. “The only way I can envision a more triumphant return to Cyphos is with two skyships instead of one.”

Maritza cursed. Theo scoffed.

I gave a tired shrug.

“Oh, come now. Don’t think so small!” Senesio look undeterred. “History favors the bold, as they say.”

“And life favors the living,” Maritza grumbled.

Senesio either didn’t hear the comment or didn’t care. He wrapped a hand around a nearby banyan root and made to pull it out of the way. It didn’t move. He frowned and pulled again.

No change.

Senesio cursed under his breath, then his arm flashed in a blur. I was just able to make out the gleam of a sword blade before it thunked into the branch. Instead of slicing clean through, however, it stopped halfway, lodged in the wood.

Senesio frowned. “Huh.”

“Finally,” I said, only half fighting the smirk stretching across my face. “A mighty foe who can defeat you.”

Senesio pried his sword free then hacked at the branch several more times. Green-tinged chips flew from the living wood with each blow until, finally, his sword broke through and the branch was severed in two. Still, it didn’t fall out of the way. The bottom half reached deep into the ground, deep enough to hold it in place, and the top was still connected to its banyan heart.

I let out a laugh, but Senesio clapped a hand to my mouth.

“Shh,” he said and went still.

“No, it’s funny,” I said, pulling away. “Senesio Suleiman Nicolaou, defeated by a branch. I can’t wait to record that bit in my journal... ” I trailed off. “Hold up.” A sound had reached my ears.

It was a faint buzzing or... chirping. Crickets, probably. But no. It was growing louder by the moment. And deeper, too. Too deep to be crickets.

“What the hell is that?” Theo asked, hand going to her sword. Her eyes were wide, alert. She snapped around, searching the nearby trees and roots.

I did the same, head spinning in a slow arc, taking in every detail I could. Everywhere it was just branches and roots, branches and roots. A banyan heart to the right, all shadows and tangled wood. Another to the front, not looking much better and then a third to the left, no more than ten paces away. Something rustled in the leaves and my attention snapped toward the sound.

The closest banyan heart. Something was inside it.

“It’s there,” I said, drawing my dagger and pointing. The others turned to look, swords in hand.

The chirping or buzzing or whatever it was grew louder, louder, too loud. The leaves rustled again, as if some great weight were shifting across them.

A shape moved in the shadows of the banyan heart. I squinted. Whatever it was, it was a long and twisted thing. Curled up tight but sliding in seemingly a dozen directions at once. Like some great big knot untangling itself.

The banyan heart was unwinding? Except, no. The tree wasn’t moving. Trees didn’t move of their own accord.

But snakes did.

Really, really big snakes.

“Ancestors above,” Demetrias said, eyes going wide as the beast emerged from the shadows.

It was three, maybe four times the length of a man, at least. Hard to tell because the creature was wrapped and wound over itself until it looked to be a part of the banyan heart.

A massive head eased out into the sunlight, scaled, with a pointed nose. Brown, black, and the occasional white stripe was slashed across its surface.

“Back up, back up, back up,” Theo said, pulling Maritza and Demetrias away. Senesio followed them, but I was rooted in place. For all the terror inside me, the snake was... beautiful. Majestic, even.

Pupil-less eyes, black as pitch, gazed outward as the snake’s body continued to unwind, to stretch forward, slow and steady. A rattle became visible next, just inside the banyan heart and vibrating back and forth.

“It’s a rattler. Crotalus adamanteus,” I said as the realization hit me. Of course that was what it was. I’d seen them back in Cyphos, and read about them during my studies. Except, those had only been as long as my arm, not near as thick as a man and three times as long.

A black tongue flicked outward, tasting the air.

“That’s close enough,” I said, and raised my dagger. Even still, I backed up a pace. The rattling was deafening now; was all I could hear.

The snake kept coming. It rose into the air until it was a pace taller than me and turned to gaze down.

“Suni, get back!” Senesio hissed under his breath.

Good advice, considering Senesio’s sword had barely been able to make it through a banyan branch. I shuddered to imagine what it would take to cut through the giant of a snake in front of him.

“Slowly now,” Senesio urged. “One step at a time.”

The snake’s tongue flicked out again. Then its head snapped up, staring at the others. All at once, the rattling stopped. The head moved backward. And then the snake was retreating. Moving without making any noise, it slipped back into its shadowy banyan heart.

“Apparently it didn’t like its odds,” Maritza said with a relieved laugh.

We didn’t stand a chance against that thing. Why would it retreat—

I froze as a thought hit me. My blood turned to ice.

“It’s not us that chased it off,” I said, turning slowly. I swallowed hard. And sure enough, there it was.

The komodo.