Chapter 23

- Bronwen -

Being dragged through the jungle by outcasts and their unpleasant leader makes me mad. But it mostly makes me scared. Still I do my best to try to warn the Foundlings. I make sure to step on every dry twig I see and trip over every rock, kick at every tree, and swipe my leg into every bush to make a rustling noise. If I can at least get the Foundlings to be so suspicious that they pull the platforms to the treetops, out of reach of the outcasts and their swords, then it will be hard for these guys to get at them.

There's maybe ten outcasts. They stare at me and make snide and suggestive comments, but they're clearly scared of Unin'iz. And he does look stronger and more put together than them, although he has clearly let himself go since he took part in the game of penk.

The terrain starts sloping up and getting rocky. The camp can't be far away. Unin'iz pulls me to him and makes sure I can't make any sounds. He wants to surprise the Foundlings.

He pushes me down behind a bush and crouches there himself. When I spot the camp in between the trees, my heart sinks in my chest. All the platforms are down by the ground, and many of the Foundlings and the boys are down, walking around, playing and doing chores. I guess only Dexer has hearing that's good enough to sense approaching danger. And probably the rest of the tribe are relying too much on him. Which is no good when he's not around, like now.

The outcasts quickly spread themselves out around the camp.

I spot a twig on the ground and place my knee on it as hard as I can.

It snaps with a sharp sound, and I notice some of the boys stopping their play and turning their heads.

Come on, I urge them wordlessly. Get up in the trees!

And they do! All the boys and a good number of the men hurry to their platforms and hoist themselves up. A handful of Foundlings are left on the ground, grabbing spears and coming my way to investigate. To my horror, one of them is Trat, the boy with the misshapen foot. Damn, Noker and I made him too confident! Now he thinks he's as good a warrior as the adults of his clan!

Unin'iz swears viciously and cuffs me on the ear so I fall sideways to the ground. "Damned female! Attack! Attack!" he yells to his friends.

There are spread war cries, but the outcasts aren't organized enough to give a truly frightening roar in unison, so it doesn't have the best effect.

The Foundlings still on the ground react quickly, sprinting back to the platforms as well as they can on the sharp rocks. But the outcasts from the other side of the camp get there before them. They block the way, swords drawn.

The Foundlings know they'll either get on their platforms or die, and they fight the outcast with a desperation that forces the attackers back. But not without sacrifice — one platform zooms up, leaving an adult Foundling on the ground, dead or unconscious.

Unin'iz drags me with him over to the man and draws his own sword.

"Dirty Foundling," he seethes and plunges his sword into the helpless clansbrother's chest. Then he looks up at the platforms, most of them now hundreds of feet up.

"Follow the plan, men!"

The outcasts take the big pots they were carrying and open them, then pour the contents on the trunks and around the roots of the massive trees. One makes a fire on the ground, using embers that he fishes out from a smaller pot.

I can tell from the rancid stench what it is: dinosaur oil. They're going to set fire to the trees holding the clan's platforms.

"Do you see this, misfits?" he yells up to the Foundlings. "I'll burn your whole camp to the ground unless you all come down! We will let you live and simply use you as servants!"

"And lunch;" the scrawny outcast mutters with a toothless grin.

A spear thrown from a platform hits the ground at Unin'iz's feet and buries its whole spearhead in the ground as it hits.

He swears and retreats a couple of steps, dragging me with him. "This is your last chance, Foundlings! It doesn't matter to us what you pick! Light that one, men." He points to the furthest tree.

An outcast goes over with a flaming branch and throws it on the oil. It catches immediately and creates a big blaze that engulfs the lower twenty feet of the trunk. Other outcasts gather firewood that they throw on the flames. Smoke rises from the fire, thick and unusually black.

"I know what you're thinking," Unin'iz mutters to me. "That tree is far too thick to burn. But wait and see."

As the heavy smoke slowly rises, it only reaches the treetops and gathers under the dense canopy of leaves, just where the platforms are hanging. It's a thick, noxious smoke that smells like burned rubber and has an oily quality to it.

"A perendi tree," Unin'iz says with satisfaction. "I knew there were many of them here. Trust the Foundlings to not know that it burns unclean. If Shaman Melr'ax were still here, he would never have allowed them to hang their platforms from one. But who's to tell them these things now?" He chuckles evilly, then glances at me, puts his sword at the back of my head, and cuts the gag off. "This hid your face from me. And you can't warn them now."

The smoke gathers fast under the treetops, obscuring them in black swirls. There's a good amount of coughing from the platforms.

"Some of those platforms have babies on them," I try, my voice weak. "You're killing them!"

"They were supposed to die," Unin'iz says with the casual iciness of a psychopath. "That's why their tribes set them out in the jungle in the first place! They were never supposed to live. This is simply completing that which should have happened a long time ago."

"Noker will kill you for this."

"Oh? Where is he?" Unin'iz pretends to look around.

"He'll be back."

"Back from the hole?"

Ice fills my veins, and I go limp. Noker in a hole somewhere in the jungle?

"But now I think my outcasts can do the rest without me. They will enjoy this, but I have no desire to eat Foundlings, no matter how well they have been cooked!" Unin'iz chuckles and grabs me by the hair, dragging me along. "So it's time for you and me to get to know each other better. Much, much better?—"

He stops short. A thin, wooden shaft is suddenly sticking out of his thigh.

We both stare at it for a second before Unin'iz roars in pain. "What in the damned— oh, I see you!"

I see him too, a small shape running among the bushes.

"Trat, duck!" I yell as Unin'iz draws his sword and throws it at the boy. It spins through the air and buries itself in a tree trunk. But before that, it just grazes Trat's arm and cuts it open.

There's a thin scream as he falls.

With Unin'iz's attention on Trat, I manage to wrest myself out of his grip. I sprint over to Trat and kneel by his side. "It will be all right."

The boy looks up at me with scared eyes. "The sword hit me!"

Unin'iz comes over and pulls his sword out of the tree trunk. "Now it will hit you better."