Leela entered behind him.
An orange-skinned young man stood over a water basin set on the wooden counter, washing stone dishes slowly and unenthusiastically. His green hair was pulled up into an elaborate top-knot, held in place by a brass clasp.
“Quilla,” Meloon said, “look lively. You have visitors.”
The slave looked over at them, wiping his hands dry on a nearby rag. “I have visitors? Don’t you mean you have visitors?”
Meloon glared at the Garduan. “The Gar’Mel and the Wayfinder wish to hear your…” he paused, as if searching for the right word, “story of what you claim you saw.”
Quilla ran his eyes up and down Leela’s armored form. “Why? So this sellsword can call me a liar again?”
Meloon’s hand flashed out without warning and struck the slave hard on the cheek.
Quilla’s head lurched back from the impact. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
“Still your tongue, boy,” Meloon hissed. He turned to Leela. “I apologize for his impudence, Gar’Mel. He does not—”
“It is no matter,” Leela said in a measured tone. “I do not have time to waste in killing a slave.” She turned her unflinching gaze on Quilla. “Now tell the Wayfinder what you claim to have seen, or I may change my mind about overlooking your disrespect.”
Quilla methodically wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He glowered first at Meloon, then Leela.
The Gar’Mel’s hand dropped casually but deliberately to the hilt of her sword.
Quilla turned his eyes to Nali for the first time. He rubbed tenderly at his mouth before speaking. “It was almost a fortwatch ago, during the sleep-watch when Pela disappeared. I was in the northern section of the village, along the lower walkway.” He paused and dabbed at his injury with the side of his thumb. “I saw a woman. Not like anyone I’d ever seen before. Certainly no one from this village. She was thin, almost skeletal. The bones were practically sticking out of her skin. Her eyes—” Quilla took a breath and looked down at the ground. “She was standing on a tree branch, almost level with the walkway. Her eyes were red. I could see them glowing in the darkness. She was naked, with white skin—”
“Yes,” interrupted Leela with a half-smile, “a white, naked woman with red eyes running around in the rainforest. I’ve heard this story before. And I suppose this Ardelan is just living happily out there in the lowlands with a pack of deathstalkers?”
“I didn’t say she was an Ardelan,” Quilla snapped. “Her skin wasn’t just white, it was…pale. Like death.” He frowned at the memory. “She saw me. Looked right through me like she was seeing into my very soul. Then she hissed, like a deathstalker, and jumped—”
Nali raised an eyebrow. “Jumped?”
Quilla looked up. “Jumped. She flew through the air so fast I could barely see her. She was like a shadow, some kind of ghost. She was gone so fast…the whole thing must have lasted only a second or two.” He glanced at Leela. “It happened, though. I don’t care what anyone says.”
Nali realized she was holding her breath. She uncrossed her arms, giving the slave a hard look. “You’re no fool, Quilla. You know what you’re describing, don’t you?”
Quilla avoided her eyes, pressing his hand to his bloody mouth. “I told you what I saw.”
“Alright,” said Meloon wearily, “you’ve had your little ghost story, Quilla. Now get those dishes done. I’ve had enough trouble out of you for one day.”
They turned to go.
“Don’t you see?” said Quilla with a sudden fierceness. “It will kill us all, one by one. It’s hunting us—”
Leela whirled around, her sword half-drawn from her sheath. “You had best keep your opinions to yourself, slave.”
Quilla glared at her, but said nothing.
Leela and Nali followed Meloon out of the kitchen.
“I’ve warned him against spreading that nonsense around,” Meloon added hastily as they walked. “We’ve trouble enough as it is without that kind of superstitious babble.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Nali said quietly.
Leela stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned sharply to face the Wayfinder. “You believe him?”
“Whether I do or not, Quilla was right about one thing. This creature is hunting us.” Nali stepped out of the corridor and into the house’s entryway. “Now we have to start hunting it.” She took her lizardskin cloak off the peg by the door.
“You really think so little of us?” Leela stepped up beside the Wayfinder and grabbed her own cloak. “Half the women in the village make their living by hunting. I’ve had a bounty on this creature’s head for weeks now. We’ve set traps, tried to bait the beast out of hiding—” She threw the cloak around her shoulders. “Nothing. Whatever this thing is, it is too clever, even for the most experienced hunters we have.” She gave Nali a cutting glance. “Though I suppose as a Wayfinder you are far more skilled than any hunter in this village.”
Nali felt her face flush, but choked back the angry reply she wanted to give. “It is not a matter of skill, Gar’Mel, but of bait.”
Leela snorted. She put one hand on the door. “The hunters have tried bait. We have tied up greelaks to stakes, used bleeding carcasses of thunderwings—”
Nali adjusted the cloak around her own shoulders. “Then you have been using the wrong bait. Summon your Gar’Noomren, and any hunters you believe are skilled enough to assist us. I will speak with them when they are gathered.”
Leela stiffened. She gave Nali an icy look.
“I came to give you my help, such as it is,” the Wayfinder said. “Will you turn it down?”
“As long as you remember who is in charge here in Veel’na.” Leela opened the door. “I will assemble the women for you.”
Nali nodded. “Thank you, Gar’Mel.”
Leela disappeared out onto the walkway.
Nali started to follow when a hand on her arm caused her to stop.
“You believe the boy is telling the truth?” Meloon spoke in a whisper, his eyes darting back towards the corridor.
Nali chose her words carefully. “I do not believe he is lying, no.”
“My wife was a hunter,” said Meloon. “Like you. Beautiful, of course, but what Llathese woman is not, eh? She was at home in the lowlands. Gone for days, sometimes weeks at a time. Even during Long Night. I know she had wanted to be a Wayfinder herself, years ago, but she found a life here in Veel’na, a settled life—” He stopped, his eyes glistening in the shining light of the sunglobes.
Nali waited patiently for the man to continue.
He swallowed. “She was smart. The best hunter in the village, many would say. She was determined to catch this beast, to destroy it once and for all.” His voice choked. “We found her body eighteen watches ago.” His grip tightened on her bare arm. “Be careful, Wayfinder. If it can kill my Unel’a, it can kill you too.”
Nali hesitated one moment, then stepped out into the muggy night.
The hardest part was the waiting. It always was.
Nali slowly and silently shifted one hand to the stock of her shard rifle. She felt in the darkness if the charge indicator on the gun was still warm. It was. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks to Moraana, or whomever of the Highborn it was that kept shard guns charged in heavy rain. The last thing she needed was her weapon fizzling out during a crucial moment.
If she got a shot at all, she knew that it would only be for a heartbeat, and she had to make the most of it.
She was positioned halfway up a small tree, her body covered in ferns and branches. She lay on an old hunter’s blind, planks of wet ugala wood underneath her nearly naked body. Large drops of rain spattered down onto her unmoving form with irregular frequency, filtered through the massive rainforest canopy above her head.
Nali had a good view of most of a dala field, as well as part of the trail that led into the village from the south. Her eyes swept the darkness continually, relentlessly tracking every
flitting screechwing and each sudden movement of a fern bowing under a splash of water.
She was tense. She could feel it, and tried to will it out of herself. She couldn’t afford distractions. Not now.
A figure appeared on the trail and moved through the darkness at a slow pace down the muddy, vine-covered path.
Nali gently shifted her rifle and covered the approaching figure. Within half a mile of her were five Gar’Noomren and four of the village’s hunters. They were all watching the trail and the field from different vantage points.
Gar’Mel Leela was the bait.
Nali saw Leela move slowly down the path and step out into the dala field. The Gar’Mel’s movement was at a leisurely pace, as if she were out for a casual stroll.
Nali watched carefully. She forced her mind to stay sharp and her eyes to be alert. The bait had been set for almost half a watch already, four excruciating hours. That was a long time to sit, unmoving, and to wait.
Leela moved across the field, keeping to a raised bit of ground between two flooded lanes. Her form was shrouded in her lizardskin cloak.
Nali tracked her rifle. She slowed her breath and watched the shadows of the field.
There was the sudden, shrieking whistle of shard fire and a bright red bolt of light flashed through the air over the field. The shot struck into the edge of the rainforest just thirty feet away from where Leela stood. Leaves, mud, and torn plant matter erupted from the place of impact.
Nali jerked upright and swung her rifle around to cover the area. Her eyes probed the shadows.