57. Swamp Dawpers

57. Swamp Dawpers

Skylenna

Kaspias faces the rusted metaldoor as I change into the new leather bodysuit, the color of roasted red peppers or oxblood wine. It’s covered in brass buckles, straps, and black armor plates cover my breasts, shoulders, and ribs.

“Are you listening? You need to follow these directions exactly, Skylenna. The Vexamen villages are not ones you want to get lost in.”

I secure the next three buckles across my waist, tightening the leather until it’s snug yet still breathable. The body suit belongs to Persecuting Caretakers, trained guards that taunt inmates sentenced to the prison basement until they starve or contract a deadly disease from the rabid rodents. Kaspias brought us to an empty room so I can change and not be recognized when I leave.

“I’m hearing every word,” I answer.

Once I’m through the gates, I should veer right through the Foul Falcon Forest, stay there until sundown, then pass through the village town square of Madmaz, staying away from street torches that attract the spine-toothed eagles.

“They’ll send out units to find you, probably accompanied by hordes of Blood Mammoths sent to catch your scent of blood if you get injured,” he goes on, pulling something long and dark out of a chest attached to the wall behind him. “Keep yourself from being wounded, and head north out of the village, toward the north side of the East Vexello Mountains. You’ll find the shore that your reinforcements are gathering near.”

I take a breath. I can do this. It must be in the prophecy that I’ve already done this.

“Put this cloak on to cover your hair. And I suspect you’ve been missing these.” After pulling a dark silk cloak over my shoulders, he hands me a pair of leather gloves with spikes running along the knuckles.

“Demon’s Teeth.” I smile, remembering the day Garanthian gave them to me to hold for the day I’d learn how to fight. And now I can. Now I can lead the fight to my friends.

“Lead your army through the East Vexello Mountains; you’ll find rebellions already formed there that may want to fight with you. If you go straight through the villages, it’ll be a trap, and everyone on your side will die.”

“Got it.”

“You ready?”

I pull the satiny hood over my head, tucking the strands of blonde hair away from my forehead, and nod quickly. Kaspias hands me two daggers and assures me that he left Dessin’s weapon’s belt hidden in his cage until they get to escape.

The stale air chills my damp skin as we keep fast strides through the empty hallways of the prison. He gruffly nods to a few sentinels on guard at different posts; they salute to him sternly, bowing their heads as the commander and his Persecuting Caretaker walk with purpose.

I lower my head, letting the soft hood hang over my eyes so that I am not recognized. My pulse contracts wildly under my skin, hammering into my throat, making a noisy racket in my ears.

Moving down the long and twisty stairwell, I tune out the screams pinging around from wall to wall. The void pushes memories against my mental barriers, tempting me to watch all of the evil that has happened here. But I pull back my shoulders and focus on my breathing rhythm. In and out. In and out. Slower. Relax. Focus.

“There are three towers that are connected around a square courtyard. That’s what makes up the prison. The towers are built on small brimstone mountains. The only way down is to scale the length of the side after we sneak out of a side door. I know it’s unconventional, but if we take the soldiers route of the designated pulley system, there will be too much traffic, and you might be caught.”

I jog to keep up with him as we must have already gone down a dozen flights.

“Is scaling the side of the small mountain what you were worried about?” I ask.

It doesn’t sound ideal considering how weak this captivity has made me. The lack of sunlight, inconsistent nutritious meals, and physical activity. Not to mention the constant state of abuse. But I’m willing to jump off the side of a cliff to save the ones I love. I can do this. I will do this.

“No, actually.” Kaspias sounds hesitant, like he’s unsure if bringing it up is even worth the headache. “I’m concerned about the swamp dawpers.”

The name sours my stomach. “Cousins of night dawpers,” I say, recalling Helga Bee giving us this information, though she was unsure if they were merely rumors.

“Yes. They only attack if they catch the scent of a prisoner. Soldiers can come and go without setting off that barbaric alarm system, but your scent will set them off.”

We round another flight of stairs, breathing heavily from the lack of breaks.

“How am I supposed to get past them?”

He shoots me a look over his broad shoulder. “I’ve given them a feast at the other end of the courtyard, by the tower furthest from us. They should be distracted long enough for us to get past them.”

“Good.” I pause with a thought creeping in. “What if that doesn’t work?”

“It will be difficult to get away from them,” he admits, scratching his beard. “They are trained to leave the prison gates and hunt down the stray at all costs.”

Great.

Kaspias motions for a wide, rusted door with slight exhaustion drooping his shoulders.

“This is the side door.” He latches something heavy on to the toe of my boots, then black straps on to my elbows and hands. “Hooks to scale down.”

I look down at the heavy metal formed into sharp, curved nails sticking out of my shoes. Is this all we get to keep us from falling to our deaths?

“It won’t take as long as you might think,” he justifies.

But that doesn’t ease the burning knots forming in my stomach. I’d say I’m a good climber, based on the many times Kane and I used to find tall trees to scale when we were children.

Kaspias swings the rusted door open, and the wind is so fierce, it sends the bulky piece of metal flying wide with a bang against the brimstone.

I shield my eyes against the sweltering sun. It’s a bright, cloudless day with a ferocious breeze that is begging to send me falling and breaking my neck. I peer down at the courtyard between the three monstrous towers. It isn’t that far of a climb, but my stomach still dips and gallops around in a panic.

“I’ll go first. Follow my lead,” Kaspias commands.

At first, the climb down is agonizing as we fight against the treacherous winds. My hold on the hooks that dig into the unmoving brimstone mountain is shaky and unstable. But after several minutes of matching Kaspias’s steps exactly, I create a sound rhythm of movements.

As we lower closer to the black gravel ground of the courtyard, I see the mob in the distance. They have the same shape as a night dawper. Tall, spindly, and grim, like elongated corpses. Yet their skin isn’t gray, it’s the color of a newborn baby before it’s been cleaned. A shade of pink, like a new scar or fresh burns from a fire. There’s a white, gooey film that layers the top of that rosy skin. It’s as if their pores are oozing pus-like excretions. And their mouths are much wider, too, a wicked clown’s smile with long yellow tusks, the kind a walrus has. Even with these differences, their beady eyes remain the same.

Helga Bee told us briefly about the terrors of these demented creatures. Their saliva is acidic and meant to soften and eat through flesh so that they may eat their prey down to the bone. They can sniff hot organs from a mile away.

Fortunately, at this moment, they seem very distracted. There must be a hundred of them fighting viciously over a pile of bodies. Human bodies.

Kaspias grips my waist, helping lower me to the ground.

I jerk my head in the direction of the feasting swamp dawpers.

“They were already dead,” he explains coldly.

I huff, clenching my jaw. “They were prisoners, weren’t they?”

He doesn’t answer, swiftly removing the hooks from my boots.

“And you didn’t think they deserved a burial?”

His black eyes snap up to meet mine. “My only concern right now is getting my brother and those he loves out of this hell. Is that okay with you?”

I stare down at him, seeing the raw nerve of fear and uncertainty and guilt in the abyss of those eclipsed eyes. I don’t push him any further. I’ll just be happy if this all works out the way we want it to.

“Be very quiet. We must be ghosts as we pass them.” Kaspias stands, turning to the forking silver shimmering paths of concrete that connect to each of the three towers. I crane my neck to see their peaks, but they get lost in the blue sky, swallowed in the atmosphere.

I’ll come back for you, Dessin. I swear to God, I’ll come back to save you all.

“Now!” Kaspias whisper-yells, tugging me along to jog quickly but soundlessly along the path.

The courtyard is square and surrounded by giant walls that reach the height of the abandoned Demechnef building I once roamed, and the shade of black licorice with a subtle shine in the buttery sunlight. Ahead of the three towers connected by the pathways is a steel prison gate that looks like our cages. Bars crisscross to make up a wide door that can rise or fall upon entry.

We use the tips of our toes to move without noise. And it’s working! It’s fucking working! The mob of swamp dawpers is feasting in a heap of growls and snarls, attacking each other as they eat mindlessly. I crack a smile to Kaspias, and to my surprise, he smiles back. The first real expression of happiness I’ve seen from him. And oh, he looks so much like Kane with his cheeks stretched and those eyes gone round.

The skin on my bicep rips apart, screeching in pain as something scalds through my leather. A whipping sound whistles through the air. Kaspias flinches, clutching my arms against a stream of blood. His expression morphs from concern to shock to a surge of overwhelming dread. He looks up at the bird’s nest near the prison gate, and there it is. An archer pointing their crossbow in my direction.

“They were supposed to be switching shifts!” He squeezes my arm in a rage. “No one was supposed to be up there!”

The sound of bones crunching and blood slurping goes eerily quiet.

No more chomping of tusks through dead flesh.

No more snarls.

No more territorial growls.

The attention of every swamp dawper turns to us slowly, nostrils flaring wide as they take in the potent scent of my blood smearing across Kaspias’s palm.

“Run!” he cries, nearly pulling my arm clean out of its socket.

We race in the direction of the gate, panting, sweating, muscles contracting in our thighs as we aim for that gate, those bars that are…opening.

“Why are they opening the gate?!” I shout, dodging the arrows that whiz past our heads.

Kaspias watches that large steel gate rise. “They know you won’t get far, and they like to give the swamp dawpers a challenge.”

Fuck!

It hastily dawns on me that Kaspias is now deemed a traitor. He’ll be tortured or killed for helping me make an attempted escape, won’t he? He’ll have to run with me. Find the army with me. And something about the notion gives me small comfort. At least I won’t be alone. At least I’ll have him to help me navigate the dangers of this strange country.

Kaspias grunts loudly as an arrow lodges into his hip. I hiss at the way he keeps sprinting, determined not to let it slow him down.

“Almost there!” I shout over the warring wind, the dreadful sound of swamp dawpers running with thudding feet behind us. Gaining as their speed exceeds our own. I can’t give up! I have to do this to get my family out of here! God, I wish DaiSzek was here more than anything.

Kaspias yelps, causing my entire body to pulse with even more adrenaline. A swamp dawper closes the distance on him, nipping at his ankle.

“No!” I scream.

One drop of their saliva will eat through his tender skin and muscles and tendons! What are we going to do? How will we get out of this one? There must be a way to heal him once we’ve escaped.

But something in Kaspias’s black-rimmed eyes flickers, shifts, alters the trajectory of his thoughts. He looks blankly at that gate now hanging wide open, then back at me.

“Kaspias…”

We make it to the exit with three more giant strides, and instead of crossing that glorious threshold with me, Kaspias shoves me from behind, sending my body hurtling, airborne and whirling, past the steel gate.

Spinning around on the gravel to look back at him with a gaping mouth and tears stinging my eyes, I am a cold, numb statue as he forms a wall in that gateway. Arms clasping the top of the gate overhead, legs spread wide, and he cries out like a small child. A little boy who never had his mother to comfort him in the dead of night.

“Kaspias, no! Come with me!”

Although the denial churns my insides with determination, the fate of all rests over that potent gaze flooding with tears. The swamp dawpers fight to feast on him, no longer caring about me on the other side of this wall. Their giant tusks puncture irreparable damage to his organs, shredding his tan skin right off his flexed muscles.

And I watch Kaspias Valdawell get eaten alive.

Saving my life.

“Tell my brother I love him!” he wails as he holds that stance strong and true. “Tell him I’m sorry, Skylenna!! Tell my brother I’m sorry!”

I break into a devastated cry, holding my hands over my mouth as the gore and horror fill my sight. As I witness Kane’s brother bear it all.

And that’s when I see it. When I see them…

“They’re with you now, Kaspias,” I choke out. “Sophia and Arthur have come to take you home!”

Right there, on his left and right sides, Arthur clings to Kaspias’s pant leg, and Sophia caresses her son’s cheek. She looks at me with sorrowful eyes, mouthing the words thank you.

And though it scorches my soul to run away from him now, I still hear his screams follow me into the depths of the Foul Falcon Forest.

“Tell my brother I love him! Tell my brother I’m sorry!”