Page 92 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
Disgusted by my fatalistic attitude lately, I grabbed my other stone to beat the horde of rosenuts I’d gathered. They didn’t grow on earth, but I knew they were edible. Pete kept a stash of them in his satchel as well as in a small, locked chest in the wagon. He’d begrudgingly give me a few each time I bitched that I was starving, so I knew what they looked like—oval with a rich burgundy shell. They weren’t the most appetizing, but they’d tide me over until morning.
“You won’t die tonight,” I comforted myself, splintering shells left and right. “You’ll be cold, miserable, and scared, but you won’t die. In the morning, you’ll try another fire. If it works, you’ll search for that water.”
I grabbed one of the shelled rosenuts and popped it in my mouth. It tasted the same as it always did—like a buttered lemon. I closed my eyes and imagined biting into hot steak fries doused in ketchup, followed by chocolate cake topped with ice cream. I almost fooled my taste buds. Almost.
My nutty supper concluded, I curled up on the driest bit of cave I could find, using my backpack as a pillow, and watched the last traces of light fade.
Giving myself license to listen to two full songs on my iBloom, I popped in my earbuds and closed my eyes, hoping Tanya Quick would croon away my fear of the dark, so I could find some much-needed rest. I couldn’t very well outrun a harbinger on zero energy.
After I’d shut off my iBloom, I opened my eyes again, expecting the night to swallow all sight. Instead, an emerald luminescence brightened my surroundings. Some type of lichen thinly coated the walls in spatters, like lightning bugs dwelt within. How had I missed it earlier?
Breathless, I pushed myself to sit, my gaze following the path of an electric-green galaxy leading into distant caverns.
My sandpaper throat constricting, I staggered to my tired feet.Time for a little bravery, Amy. Fisting my hands, I removed my cloak, squared my shoulders, and went to irrigate my internal desert.
I moved slowly, my boots scraping the stony ground as I plodded between neon stalagmites, ducking their counterparts from above. I went carefully, lest I fall into a hole or trip and impale myself. It was just like navigating an after-dark mini-golf course with all its obstacles and divots. Or that’s what I told myself.
I didn’t encounter any vicious, carnivorous beasts. Just a few beetles and melodious katydids—all of which flared with vibrant phosphorescence.
“You know,” I conversed with one flashing red beetle, ducking into another tunnel. “If all bugs glowed in the dark like you, I might’ve been friendlier to them.”
Flashing, the beetle flitted down the narrowing passage. I instinctively followed him, the dead ringer for the Google Maps pin that he was. He led me straight to the loveliest sound in the world—the distinct trickle of water. I hiked my skirts and hustled onward.
Finally, I collapsed on my knees at the cusp of a rippling grotto, the large basin of which glowed as green as a shamrock. The cupola above me glittered, constellations embedded in its stone.
I didn’t think twice before guzzling, slurping from filthy hands. Luckily, the water was as fresh as a spring day, though a bit like bathwater. The expansive chamber housing the grotto maintained a balmy warmth, mellowing my aches and strains.
At a chirp, I glanced left. The beetle who’d led me there played in a tiny puddle of my making.
“I should just spend the night down here with you.” I offered him a finger. He stared for a moment before hopping aboard, his threadlike legs tickling me. I lifted him to eye level, watching his antennae twitch, his ruby belly flash. His green eyes met mine, more sentient than a bug’s should be. “Would you mind that?”
The beetle chirped again, which I assumed meant,Be my guest.
Yawning, I struggled back to my feet. “Let’s get my stuff. Then we’ll come back here for a good night’s sleep.” I scratched an incessant itch on my scalp. “Maybe a long bath in the morning.”
My tromp back was relaxed, the beetle directing me with bright flashes whenever I made a correct turn. “Glad you’re here, or I’d already be lost.”
Being lost would’ve been better.
Wracking my brain for ways to fashion a canteen, so I could journey on without the looming threat of dehydration until I found another water source, my guard slipped. The overpowering, out of place scent of sea salt should’ve alerted me that something was wrong. So should’ve the way my new beetle friend suddenly took wing and hid in a rock crevice.
By the time I heard the voices, my fate was sealed.
I sucked in a breath, preparing to run, just before a massive hand snatched me by my matted hair and yanked me toward my original camp, a yoyo on a string.
“Lookie what I caught, Tacker,” said a voice like grinding metal. “Told you I scented someone.”
My horror rippled along my skin as the hand shoved me into the glow of the first cavern to face a threesome of giants in briny leather britches and nothing else. Their long, lean muscles flexed beneath varying shades of gray skin as they surrounded me, armed on their hips with knives and spiked clubs.
They appeared mostly fae—pointy ears, exaggerated angles, and teeth as sharp as razors. From their brows to their napes, however, they were sleek as stingrays, domed and speckled.
The shortest stood a foot taller than me. The tallest hunched beneath the luminous ceiling, his long-lashed eyes gleaming at me as I backed into a cold wall.
“Well done, Scully.” The tallest—I assumed him Tacker—crooned to the handsy feyr who’d caught me, whose left eye was bisected by a striated scar. Tacker grinned, dropping my backpack. His huge bare feet crunched upon the scraps of my dinner. “A Danann youngblood. Balor will be ecstatic.”
The shortest chortled. “Oh, aye. He’ll be more than that, I’d wager.” The odor of fish tinged his breath as he leaned toward me, fungi-light enhancing the striking planes of his face. “She’s got such pure, smooth skin—and see her eyes?” He held up a tremulous hand, tracing my features in the air. “Behold how they transform.” His childlike delight shone like mania as he glanced at Tacker. “May I keep them, cousin? As a trophy? After?”
After what?
