11. Yera

Chapter eleven

Yera

M y head is splitting. The fresh morning light breaks through the trees, stinging my sensitive retinas. I throw a cover over my face, shielding myself from the intrusion.

The back of my throat still has a sweet, sticky coating of mead. I swallow against it, but my mouth is so dry that my tongue sticks to the roof. I peek out of the bedding, the hot white light instantly blinding me. I shriek, melting back into my cocoon, like a vampire avoiding the sun.

"Water is there." The bedroll muffles Arrick's voice, but I understand him nonetheless. Peaking out again, my eyes adjust, and I see the metal container propped on a rock lying within arm' s reach.

My arm snakes out of the covers, grabs the canteen, and then retreats to the shelter of the thick blankets. Laughter comes from the direction of the fire ring, which is distinctively Arrick's. He is making fun of me, that son-of-a-bitch. My face heats with embarrassment.

Come on, Yera, if the roles were reversed, you'd probably be doing the same thing. What would a drunk Arrick look like? I don't think I could have carried him back to camp, that's for sure.

The water in the canteen is chilled from the night air. It coats my dry tongue and washes away the remnants of the mead left in my mouth and down my throat.

Now that my thirst is satisfied, I notice how sour my stomach is. The fresh water was so cool and quenching that I didn't think about what would happen when it hit my churning gut. My mouth waters.

"Oh shit. Oh shit!"

I burst out of the blankets faster than my body should allow and skitter on my hands and knees, dirt building up on my palms. The ground is cold and wet from the morning dew, and it smells like iron and rot, and–oh fuck, I'm going to be sick.

On my hands and knees, I spill the contents of my stomach onto the forest floor.

Before long, I feel two warm hands on my face, sweeping the hair from my sweaty skin and holding it behind my head. I continue to lurch and heave. It feels like everything I've ever eaten pours out of me.

A soft hand brushes up and down my back, calming and soothing. I'm so embarrassed that he is here witnessing my shame– participating in it! He doesn't seem to mind, in any case. He continues to make soft circles with his palm, waiting for the retching to ease.

It does—eventually.

I hook my toes into the dirt and use that leverage to haul myself up into a kneeling position. He's still behind me, holding my hair, but loosens his grip when I rise. Cautiously, he walks to my front and extends a big, black-clawed hand.

He looks concerned as he helps me to my feet and then eases me into the fire pit.

"You okay?" he rasps, signaling for me to sit by the fire.

"I'm fine. I don't think there is anything left to throw up." At least, I hope there isn't.

I sit on a cold boulder. Arrick has a pot of boiling water in the coals. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a familiar pouch. Well, not exactly familiar. This pouch is lime green with the same markings as the purple one he used to heal my foot. He dumps the contents into the boiling water, and immediately the air smells like mint and ozone. I internally wince because I know he will ask me to drink this.

After a few moments of protest, Arrick convinces me to drink the tea. It's minty and earthy, not entirely unpleasant.

The relief is truly a wonder one could only describe as magical. The hot contents crawl down my throat, inch by inch, dissolving any sick feelings. "You have got to be kidding me. There is a magical fairy cure for a hangover. How much mead do creatures in these woods drink?" I say to no one in particular. As Arrick smiles and shrugs at the question, a glimmer of familiarity in his eyes suggests he might have used this cure more than once.

Once I've fully collected myself, we eat a quick breakfast of oats and berries. After that, we pack the bedding.

Arrick snuggly adjusts everything into his pack, and I extinguish the fire. Two days down, thirteen more to go.

***

The first few days of moving down the mountain pass quickly. This challenging and beautiful land hypnotizes me. We snake down jagged blue-gray cliffs with narrow paths carved into the rock-face, the rugged crags, scattered with geranium and penstemon flowers. They cling to the shallow mounds of silt that settle into gaps on the rugged cliff surface.

I'm learning so much, yet I am still confused by everything.

The area I fell into looked identical to the one I left. I only started noticing differences after I found our camp empty, almost as if the magic weaved itself around me, protecting me from the initial shock.

Arrick has been speaking more frequently since the beginning. He can get a few sentences out before I notice his voice going hoarse. It's only a matter of days until we can hold an entire conversation before his vocal cords give out on him.

Arrick informed me that the orbs I saw were wisps, and their numbers are unusually high. He was tracking them when he smelled the Alfac and followed it to the bank, where he found me. The way he speaks about the creatures gives me a sense that he is more concerned than he lets on, like this is a problem he has never encountered.

The last three nights have mirrored the first. I gather firewood, and Arrick makes camp and preps the dinner. We make small conversations until I can no longer hold my eyes open.

Almost every morning, I have awakened to his arm securely draped around my waist, and rather than feeling startled, I find solace in the touch. He's never shown me any aggression or sexual advancement. I'm positive I threw myself at him the night I drank all the mead, and he shrugged it off like a gentleman.

What's the harm in letting him hold me? Judging from the gentle snoring I hear when I wake up, I don't think he even realizes he's doing it.

I like it, and I'll keep it my secret.

Today, we finally clear the rocky cliff face and descend into what Forest Service Yera would call a glacial canyon.

Our path follows a roaring watershed. The swift movement of the water keeps the trail temperate even in the blaring sun.

The path lies exposed. A solid fifty feet of grassland separates us from the tree line. I'm concerned about Arrick; his milk-white skin makes me think a cloudy day could give him melanoma. Then I remind myself that he is a magical forest guardian and one hundred and fifty years old, with no signs of sun damage.

He is wildly unaware of the crazy assertions my mind is making and explains more about our surroundings.

"This river leads to Noord, the principal water source for all the Farmlands." He points in the direction the water flows. "Most crops, textiles, and livestock come from the Farmlands."

In my head, I picture it like the Mississippi or the Nyle.

So many questions still. In what way does magic impact the lives of those involved in farming and production? What are the economics like here, What's the power structure or hierarchy?

I hold back my barrage of questions. The tell-tale rasp at the back of his throat is making his pain obvious enough.

Just then, an icy chill snakes up my spine despite the sun being at its highest point in the sky.

"Arrick, can you stop for a moment?" I say, halting in the trail's center, my skin prickling.

"Yes, what is wrong?" He's instantly at my side, surveying the open space around us.

A fire-alarm-like wail sounds in the distance. A flock of blackbirds rises from the trees, in a black swarm pitching and swirling .

Small creatures move from the grasses and barrel to the tree line, seeking shelter.

Three creatures arc over the distant mountains, bobbing and weaving through the clouds. Their massive gargoyle wings beat so heavily that the forest shakes when they pass.

Another thunderous screech breaks out. Arrick goes still and wraps his arm protectively around me. We both stand, not moving, not breathing, and another bellow rings and shakes the ground under us.

Before I can think, Arrick grabs my hand and pulls me off the trail. We break into the grasses, cutting a narrow path. Thorns from currant bushes scrape up my skin, but I'm too terrified to care.

Two more cries from different directions erupt in the stale summer air. The force is so powerful that it rattles the trees, causing small branches and leaves to rain down from the canopy.

I'm too terrified to look up, to see what monster lurks in the clouds above when they call again, shaking birds from their roosts.

Arrick pulls me harder, directing me to an area of the forest that looks thick and overgrown.

Almost there; just a few more feet to safety in the tree cover. My legs give out momentarily when the ground shakes again, but Arrick doesn't miss a beat. He hauls me from the ground and tosses me over his shoulder.

We break through the tree line, plunging into the dark forest. The trees close in so tightly that they block out the sun. He finds the base of a massive pine with boughs so long we could use them for roofing, sets me down, and presses me against it.

His body shields mine, backing me against the rough pine bark. It scratches my skin, and I shift slightly at the irritation .

Arrick presses a strong finger to the bow of his full lips in a hushing motion. I nod and look up at him, locking his gaze with mine and keeping that connection to deflect the fear coursing through my veins.

The shrieks continue and echo through the eerie silence of the forest, but we remain intertwined in the embrace of the damp forest floor. Unseen and unheard.

I want to ask what they are and why they are here, if they have come for us, but I can't. I stay in Arrick's arms, fixated on his liquid black eyes, trying to discern any information I can from his intense stare.

The bellows are at a fever pitch; if I were to guess, I would say the creatures are directly overhead.

All three of them call out simultaneously, their booming voices clashing against one another and reverberating through the air. The sound is so jarring that it makes my stomach churn, and I have to swallow hard, suppressing the taste of bile.

I close my eyes and wrap my arm tightly around Arrick's body. His chest rises and falls under my cheek, and I can feel his lips and warm breath on the crown of my head, the only sensation that seems to bring me comfort.

The calls from the shrieking beasts grow distant. Either they found what they came for or gave up the search.

Thankful for being there, pinned to the pine tree, we wait, holding our breath as each noise fades into the distance.

It takes a few more moments before I realize how close Arrick and I are. I ease my grip on him and let my arms fall to my sides. He also unravels his arms from my back and waist but still stands close, gaze locked on mine.

The forest wakes up around us again; animals emerge from hiding holes, and birds land on the tree branches, chirping their relief .

He blinks back a bit, softening his stare, and almost poises himself to walk us back, but he doesn't.

Instead, he gently steps toward me and unfurls his hands from where he had them clasped behind his back. He reaches out, takes my chin in one claw with an achingly tender touch, and moves my face slowly from side to side, as if inspecting for damage.

His furrowed brows suggest he might still sense my fear. He takes the hand on my chin and moves it to my jaw, stretching it to rest half my face in his palm.

The touch is simultaneously calming and consuming.

A clawed thumb brushes my lower lip, causing pink to flush on my chest and cheeks. He holds that position momentarily, living in it, letting it breathe. His black eyes rake over my skin in languid, devouring sweeps.

Life pauses, and we exist here, in this moment.

The world is returning to life around us, dulled by the sounds of our heartbeats.

A branch snaps nearby, and a few gray-colored birds go flying. We both whip our heads in that direction, still on edge.

Like that, our hold on one another breaks. The cocoon we build around ourselves crumbles and blows away.

Scattered noises from the forest coming to life break the stillness we created, the calm I didn't realize I needed.

A rush of panic floods my nervous system, and it's not coming in small waves like normal. It's barreling into me like a flood, like being crushed under the weight of a tidal wave, and no amount of steady breathing or sensory tricks will act as a levy against it.

I was using his body and the comfort of his presence to dissociate the surrounding frenzy. The shattering of that bond has left me feeling naked and broken .

I pull back from him, eyes going wild.

The corners of my vision dance with black spots as the panic rises and rises and rises. My heartbeat thuds in my ears like a war drum, and I can feel my limbs start to tingle and go numb.

Fuck, is this it? Am I having a heart attack?

I clutch at my chest. Arrick reaches out to me, concern and confusion flash in his eyes.

Stop it, Yera. You are thirty. You are not having a heart attack. My mind tries to take over with logic, but I'm lost. I check my pulse, and it's raging with panic but beating strongly. Shit, this is so embarrassing. My vision grows darker, and I can feel my legs give out.

My ass lands on the forest floor with a hard thud, but it's not enough to shake me out of this. I tuck my knees to my chest and hold them tight, so tight. A rush of tears falls from my eyes, and now I know I'm truly lost.