Plague of Mybyncia (37 page)

“And what about the rest of us?” Werzo
asks.

“You’ll be on your knees by that point,”
Clarence laughs.

“Okay,” Sampson gestures to us, “let’s gather
around here, two circles like last time and join hands.” We form
the circles as requested, and I find myself between Reid and Pratt.
“Remember,” Sampson says, “no quick movements when we land. Don’t
let go until we’re there. Everyone got it?” he glances to all of us
before turning to Clarence. “Let’s go.”

With a gentle gust under my feet, the blue
abyss disappears and is instantly replaced by lavender smokiness
which whips around the others’ faces—the only thing visible in this
clouded scene. No one says anything. Their mouths remain
tightlipped, like they would regardless, but there aren’t any
voices ringing in my head. It’s just solid, palpable silence.
Anticipation of where we’re going.

Of what we’ll find.

We’ve probably been in this purple whirlwind
for ten seconds. But as quickly as it appeared, it’s disappeared
again, replaced by a thick nest of gargantuan trees that reach high
into the black canopy above. At first I think we’ve made a mistake,
and that we’re back at Harrizel about to be attacked. But all
around us, low-hanging, tear-drop shaped leaves reach for the
ground, nestled around the knotted, dark trunks they belong to. And
Harrizel doesn’t have trees like this. Besides, it’s too quiet.
Sampson said his home was teeming with Vermix… but there’s nothing
here. Just silence invading the lush, Amazonian trees that whisper
with the promise of wind. It never comes.

Reid pulls me close, wrapping his arm around
my waist. His hand covers the glowing Callix on my wrist, blocking
out the only light. Sampson glances over his shoulder with a nod
and inching past a knotted trunk, he leads with silent steps, the
Rogues surrounding me, Pratt and Mae. Clarence keeps to the back of
our misshapen circle as the group slowly moves further into the
darkness.

I’m not sure if we’re waiting for the
Zingfinolds to find us, or if we’ll attempt locating the Nazual
flower on our own. This was never made clear and now that we’re
here, I feel foolish for not asking when I had the chance. Except,
I guess we’re off to find the tribe since stealing is out of the
question. But how do we
find
the Zingfinolds? Do we look for
them or are they, like Sampson mentioned, probably watching us
right now?

My heart pounds with all these unanswered
questions and I drop my hand to Reid’s around my waist. He looks at
me but doesn’t emote anything. Not anger or fear or assurance. It’s
as if he’s locked away somewhere, keeping everything back for
whatever might appear in the silent forest ahead.

But again, it’s nothing. Silence. A soft
breeze finally whistles through the trees, shaking the bell-bottom
leaves into a chorus of soft chimes, but after a second it’s gone,
and all is quiet again. Maybe… too quiet? They’re about to ambush
us any second—I know it. We’re sitting ducks, armed with nothing
except the Fychu and Pratt’s age and gender as our bargaining chips
to not immediately be assassinated. Maybe this wasn’t the smartest
idea. But it’s too late to turn back now. We’re here and we have to
do this.

We’ve only made it a couple feet into the
bleak black ahead when Sampson stops abruptly. He looks up to the
winding, knotted trees and we all do the same. Is that where
they’re coming from? With a deep inhale, Sampson lets out a soft,
soothing sound, almost like a song, in a language completely
foreign. It only lasts a few seconds and when he’s done, silence
fills the air again. Still keeping us in our spots, Sampson tries
once more, a little louder this time, but again, nothing happens.
No rustling, no wind. Even our breathing has stopped. Everything in
this strange black forest is silent.

Reid squeezes my hand.

“What the…?” Jace says before he’s flung back
and sent rolling across the ground.

“Shit!” Werzo cries and he goes flying
next.

Mae screams and everything happens at
once.

Reid whips me close to him but we both get
slammed to the ground together and we’re tumbling through the
trees, hitting the hard dirt. Everything is a blur. The tear-drop
leaves and trunks and Reid all mesh together in a passing spiral as
Sampson’s voice echoes in the distance. Someone else screams and I
can’t tell if it’s Pratt or Mae this time. I’m still rolling over
the ground and my leg is yelping as I go, but I can’t find Reid.
I’ve lost him. I need to stop myself somehow and find him, but
everything is moving too quickly.

Finally, multiple footsteps surround me and
I’m snatched to a halt. But before I can piece together the moving
scene, I’m dragged up to my knees, my arms yanked behind my back as
my wrists are bound tightly with prickly twine. Some sort of fabric
is shoved in my mouth as a cover is placed over my head, everything
going dark.

Words are exchanged around me in the same
sing-song-like language Sampson used only moments ago. They go back
and forth for a moment before multiple voices talk over one
another, one finally silencing the rest. Everything is quiet
afterwards and my heart thunders with fearful anticipation of what
comes next.

Suddenly, I’m yanked back by my wrist
restraints and I fall to the ground again. I’m being dragged, the
left side of my face and body sweeping across the dirt as footsteps
walk all around me. With my eyes covered, the next best weapon I
have is sound, so I calm myself as best as I can, straining to
listen for anything that might help. But all the screaming has
stopped and Sampson’s voice no longer carries on the wind. There
are no voices actually—not even my captors, who have silenced
themselves on this journey. Where are they taking me?

It seems like I’ve been dragged forever, but
I really have no idea. The footsteps constantly scamper behind me
and it’s the only thing to hear besides my own body scraping across
the dirt. Finally, whatever is pulling me stops and I’m still
against the ground. My heart is racing. We’re here… wherever here
is. What’s next? And what happened to the others? Suddenly I’m
yanked back to my knees and whatever is covering my head is whipped
off.

And there is everyone else, in the same
condition. Sampson, Clarence, Jace, Booker, Werzo, Tucker and Reid,
all on their knees with their hands bound behind their backs and
mouths gagged. I catch Reid’s eyes, which are deadlocked on mine, a
mixture of momentary relief and worry. But I’m placed in front of
the boys, next to Pratt and Mae, who is starting to shake
uncontrollably.

I try to find our captors but they’ve
assimilated into the surrounding darkness, blending into the
knotted trunks behind the dripping, tear-drop leaves. It’s as if
the eight of us are alone, bound and gagged, right here in the
middle of this black forest. Mae is frantic, her terrified eyes
darting around and screaming where her voice can’t. I want to rush
over and calm her, but maybe she’s right—maybe this
is
the
moment we’re going to die. But Sampson doesn’t think so. He’s calm
as can be, studying the shadows around us as though listening
intently to a good conversation. Except it’s still quiet.

What are they waiting for?

Suddenly, I’m yanked to my feet, watching as
Pratt and Mae follow. Mae is going over the edge, screaming
internally, and I want more than anything to console her. She’s too
soft for this, too new. She hasn’t had to face the Kings, the
Vermix or the Gorgen. She hasn’t had to be in this sort of
situation before and I feel like a fool for agreeing that she join
us. But there’s nothing I can do about it now. I try to catch her
eyes and calm her but she’s petrified, glancing all around,
searching for these invisible captors.

Pratt and I simply watch and wait, staring
off into the nearby night, hoping one will finally reveal itself…
and that’s when we see them.

Moving in and out of the shadows, they’re
creatures of massive limbs, bulging with oversized, almost
genetically induced muscles and wiry veins crawling under the skin.
Dark fur coats their heads and wide shoulders, a thick strip
traveling down their broad backs and dotting their knees and around
their feet. Some sort of beige and black animal skin covers their
thighs but their chests are solid stone skin, save a few patches of
the black fur up by their shoulders.

With very little light, it’s hard to discern
their faces, but they seem to possess the same features. Most grow
the same fur from their nose down to their neck, though a few keep
their face free of it. These are also the smallest of the group,
both in stature and in limb size, and I wonder quickly if they’re
the youngest.

I glance to Mae who looks like she’s about to
pass out. Her eyes grow wide and suddenly, they roll to the back of
her head as she falls to the ground. Squirming to get free, the
Rogues glare with sudden apprehension as one of our captors
approaches.

Now that our eyes have adjusted, and aided by
the soft glow of the Callix on my wrist behind me, he appears
before Pratt and I, towering overhead by at least three feet. He
glances between us with narrowed blue eyes that seem to burn
through me. I gulp back the tremor it causes, just as a low growl
emits from the back of his throat.

“We kill trespassers,” his voice is low and
husky, his nostrils flaring as he speaks. He glances between us
again, his eyes flickering back to the boys and Sampson and
Clarence. “You are no Zingfinold.”

Pratt and I shake our heads, quickly
agreeing.

“You are no Zingfinold and you come to our
home. You come in dead of night. Only thieves come dead of
night.”

We shake our heads again, desperately trying
to convince him otherwise. I want to assure him that we aren’t
thieves, but with our gags still intact, the best I can do is
communicate with my expressions. I wish Sampson was able to just
explain this, but he’s tied up with the others, watching as the
Zingfinold interrogates us. He leans in closer, examining our
garments.

“You come unarmed.”

Pratt and I both nod enthusiastically.

“This will no save you. Thieves do no fight,
only steal.”

I shake my head again and Pratt quickly
follows my lead.

“No? You come for reason,” he glances between
us and finally setting on her, he pulls the gag from her mouth. But
she keeps it shut the instant it’s freed.

“Female…” he growls low in the back of his
throat, “… why you come?”

“We…” she glances to Sampson, then back at
the beastly Zingfinold, “we… came here with the Fychu.”

“Fychu does no belong here.”

“We…” and she glances to me, lost for an
explanation she was never prepped for, “w-we need help.”

“No help here.”

“We…” she gulps, trying for a third time and
in a deep breath, it all flies out of her. “There was no other way.
We
had
to come. If—if we didn’t, then half the population of
Pryncbia would die. We-we need help from the Zingfinolds. They have
this flower that…”

“You come for flower?” he narrows his
eyes.

Pratt nods enthusiastically. “It’s this—”

“
YOU TRY STEAL FROM ZINGFINOLDS?”
he
roars so loud the trees shake from the vibration of his voice.
Pratt screams at the sound, falling back to the dirt as the Rogues
struggle in their restraints.

I shake my head with fervor, staring straight
into our captor’s eyes, willing him to look at me. Finally he does
and after a quick examination of my body, he tugs the gag from my
mouth.

“You want steal from Zingfinolds?”

“No,” I keep my voice strong. “No, we came to
negotiate.”

“Zingfinolds no negotiate.”

“Then we came to warn.”

“Warn?”

I take a breath, unsure if this is
information I should be sharing, but at this point, it’s all I’ve
got left. “There is a war starting. It originated on Dellapalania,
but recently it has spilled into Mybyncia. The same thing could
happen here on Nerwolix.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “We no part of any
war.”

“Not yet. Mybyncia has already been under
attack. Twice.”

He narrows his eyes, searching mine. He
glances to Pratt shaking on the ground, then back to me. “Why she
say you want flower?”

“Because we do. Someone stole the Nazual from
you and unleashed it against Mybyncia’s royal city. We’ve come to
reclaim the antidote in exchange for information about the upcoming
war.”

“Why you come dead of night?”

I gulp—yeah, that does look suspicious.
Again, keeping my voice strong, I look him straight in the eye. “We
were going to arrive in the morning but we had to leave now. We’re
not here to steal,” I repeat, “but to barter. Information for the
antidote.”

He glances to Sampson, then to the rest of
the group and finally back at me. “You brought Fychu?”

“He’s our friend,” I nod, “and the best
person to explain the dangers that lie ahead. Please, we need to
discuss this as soon as possible.”

After a long minute, the Zingfinold nods with
a glance to Sampson and the rest of the group again. “We bring you
to Hozfin. Fychu can speak with him.”

The Zingfinold whistles two short notes and
the rest of the tribesmen approach. They yank Sampson and the
others to their feet as one of the younger tribesmen picks up Mae
and tosses her over his furry shoulder. He heads to the front of
the line as another Zingfinold begins linking the Rogues together
with the same prickly twine. Jace and Werzo resist slightly but
Sampson and the others accept the situation, watching the rest of
the Zingfinolds move around them, securing the rope.

Before we set off, something drops from the
trees, a swift movement darting from branch to branch and finally
landing on the one closest to the ground. The head Zingfinold
speaks up into the darkness, to the exact spot where the movement
finally paused. He motions to us—the Rogues, Pratt, Mae and
I—continuing in his sing-song language and once finishing, looks to
me with a hard face.