Patterns in the Dark (Dragon Blood Book 4) Page 10

  She returned fire, almost on instinct. She couldn’t see her attacker, but she judged the angle of the arrow and made a guess as to its point of origin. A scream erupted from the jungle, not a scream of pain, but a high-pitched yi-yi-yi-aye-yi that sounded human, but barely.

  Her back still to the tree, Cas readied another round. She considered ducking beneath the skirt of leaves they had slept under, but the foliage wouldn’t stop arrows. Besides, Sardelle, Tolemek, and Duck were in the middle of scrambling out from under the trees.

  Brilliant light appeared over their heads, a miniature sun pushing back the gloom of the jungle and stealing the shadows from the trees. Sardelle crouched beneath it, her sword in hand. Another arrow sped out of the trees, this time toward her. She cleaved it in half before it could strike her.

  Cas fired back in the direction of the attacker, though she had yet to see anyone out there. Leaves rustled, and twigs snapped, the sounds coming from numerous spots around their tiny camp.

  “Ridge,” Sardelle said, “do you want a shield around us, or do you want to be able to fire back?”

  Another high-pitched scream erupted, this time from less than twenty feet behind Cas’s tree.

  “Nobody asked for your opinion,” Zirkander grumbled, then replied, “Shield us,” to Sardelle. “Cas, Duck, don’t fire.”

  “Wasn’t going to, sir,” Duck said. “Can’t see through these trees enough to spit and hit the ground. Hate to waste my rounds too.”

  Cas’s cheeks warmed. She shouldn’t be wasting ammunition, either. They didn’t have an unlimited supply. But she was used to her instinct-driven shots working much of the time.

  More arrows shot out of the jungle, all zooming toward Sardelle’s light, but they bounced off an invisible barrier before striking it. Cas lowered her rifle, lest she be tempted to shoot. The last thing she wanted was for some bullet to ricochet off the shield and hit one of them.

  Tolemek strode to her side, putting his back to the tree next to her. “What are we dealing with?”

  Cas plucked the arrow out of the tree and held it up to his face.

  “So not the jaguar, eh? I thought that cat was considering me for dinner.”

  “Maybe he was jealous that your mane is bigger and fluffier than his.”

  “You’re thinking of lions,” Tolemek said. “And my mane isn’t fluffy.”

  “No argument with big?”

  Tolemek pushed his ropes of hair away from his face and glowered at her. “Any chance our ammo is dry enough to use? I tipped my pistol upside down earlier, and river water and bits of octopus dripped out of the barrel.” He dug the weapon out of his holster.

  “Should be fine. Those are Iskandian bullets.”

  “I’ll ignore the implication that Cofah bullets are inferior.”

  “Good.” Cas smiled and bumped her shoulder against his arm.

  “Can you keep that around us while we travel?” Zirkander waved to indicate Sardelle’s barrier. “In case we need to—”

  A scream burst out from the branches overhead, and a figure leaped down toward them, arms and legs outstretched, bone daggers gripped in both hands. Cas jerked her rifle up and almost fired before remembering the shield. She released the trigger a split second before the man landed. He thudded chest first onto the invisible barrier, bounced back up a couple of feet, then dropped down again, appearing to hang suspended, flat on his bare stomach, ten feet above the ground.

  “That’s bizarre,” Duck said.

  The man must not have been injured, because he jumped to his feet, the pads of his moccasins visible from Cas’s spot almost directly under him. He didn’t wear a shirt, but he fortunately wore a breechclout that kept his nether regions from displaying themselves. Black and ochre paint swirled across his body in waves and circles that appeared more random than significant. He glowered down at the team, jumping a few times to test the barrier, then he screamed again, a long undulating cry that hurt Cas’s ears. Other cries came from the surrounding trees, and she felt like a fighter in some old-fashioned gladiatorial event, part of a show to entertain the elite. Or in this case, the crazy.

  “There’s another one.” Zirkander pointed toward a high branch a few trees away.

  A second man crouched up there. As soon as Zirkander pointed at him, he leaped from his perch. He landed on the barrier a few feet away from the first man, dropped to his knees, and tried to drive a dagger into the barrier. Cas had assumed they were allies—they wore the same skimpy clothing and were painted in similar manners—but the first man saw the second, pointed with his daggers, and launched himself at the newcomer. They smashed together, grasping and slashing, then tumbled off the rounded edge of Sardelle’s barrier, leaving a smear of blood hanging in the air. Leaves shook and rattled, raindrops flying from them as the men wrestled and thrashed around the edge of the barrier.

  “I’m beginning to see why tourism isn’t a big industry here,” Zirkander said. “This jungle is…”

  “Bizarre, sir,” Duck said. “Most certainly bizarre.”

  A great cat roared somewhere nearby. The jaguar from earlier? Even with Sardelle’s light brightening their surroundings, the plants were still too dense to see far.

  Whatever it was, the roar caused the thrashing to halt. The cries coming from the trees also stopped. A twig snapped, someone retreating at top speed, and then silence descended on the jungle, only the patter of rain continuing.

  “Cross out that idea,” Zirkander muttered.

  “Ridge?” Sardelle asked, her face tight with concentration.

  “While I was on watch, I was thinking that if we could befriend some of the natives, we could hire them to be our new porters.”

  “Their actions were not normal,” Sardelle said.

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” Zirkander pointed at the blood smearing the barrier. “Aside from the fact that they started out attacking us, then turned on each other?”

  “Those men were highly agitated, scared, and confused.” Sardelle took a breath and lowered her arms. The light faded, leaving that dim grayness of dawn. The barrier must have dropped, too, because the rain resumed pattering onto Cas’s head. “Tolemek,” Sardelle said, “do you have any thoughts as to what might cause that?”

  “Some drug perhaps?” Tolemek said. “A hallucinogenic compound ingested as part of a ceremony? Perhaps they were on some hunt and stumbled across us instead.”

  “Is it hard to engage in a group hunt when you’re trying to stab your buddy at the same time?” Duck asked.

  “What if it’s something else?” Cas asked. “Could it be related to the dead men in the river?”

  “Without examining those bodies, we have no way of knowing if the natives in the river were killed by trauma, by something they ingested, or by some illness,” Tolemek said. “Nor can we guess at their state of mind before their deaths. I don’t believe there’s any evidence yet to suggest these two incidents are related. Granted, there might have been plenty of evidence that we were unable to gather. My studies were admittedly brief.”

  “Can you really call it a study when an alligator steals your subject before you’ve gotten close enough to touch it?” Cas asked.

  “A valid point. If we come across another body, one that’s not guarded by a malevolent octopus, I’ll perform an autopsy.”

  “I’ll take a closer look too,” Sardelle said, “to see if I can detect anything. I had assumed the Cofah had simply cracked those porters on the backs of the heads and left them to die, so their secrets wouldn’t be spilled, but that may have been a premature assumption.”

  “What I’d like to know,” Zirkander said, waving to the jungle, “is if we’re in any danger of catching the crazy.”

  “Catching the crazy?” Tolemek arched his brows. “Not if they ingested something.”

  “What if it’s a disease?”

  “That causes craziness?”

  From the way Tolemek scratched his head, Cas assumed this wasn’t a common thing,
but her own unscientific mind couldn’t help but think of the way he had described his sister as being mentally unstable. He might have believed it had something to do with the dragon blood in her veins and the magic she had never been properly instructed to use, but what if it was something more than that? Something related to all of this? She shook her head. It was probably an illogical stretch. The sister was from Cofahre, not this remote jungle, and had presumably spent years in that asylum without giving anyone else the disease—or whatever it was—that she held within her.

  “I wouldn’t guess that we’re in any danger,” Tolemek said, “but I wouldn’t necessarily want to share a handkerchief with those boys in loincloths until we learn more.”

  “I think it’s a good policy not to ever share handkerchiefs with boys in loincloths,” Zirkander said.

  “True.”

  “Now that we’ve all been so politely roused from sleep, I believe it’s time to continue on,” Zirkander said. “Cas, at least we know who triggered your alarms.”

  Cas offered a noncommittal, “Hm.”

  The attack had come so shortly after the jangling of cans that she doubted the crazy natives could have covered the intervening ground so quickly. It was possible there were two groups of natives out there, but it was also possible they still had someone following them. She would watch the terrain as they walked and try to find another place to set a trap, maybe one that would do more than make noise this time.

  *

  Mid-afternoon found Tolemek walking behind Duck on a muddy trail, a small notepad open in one hand. It was the first manmade route they had stumbled across in their trek, and even though the footing wasn’t smooth, he managed to scribble a couple of notes. He had two columns, one labeled “crazy natives” and the other “dead porters,” and he was listing the meager observations that he had made on the appropriate sides. Thus far, he was inclined to think the events were unrelated, but a good scientist did not rely on hunches or assumptions. If some new danger out here might keep him from reaching his sister, he intended to be prepared for it.

  “Add dilated pupils to both,” Sardelle said from behind him.

  Tolemek tripped over a root. “What?”

  “That man who landed face-first on my barrier had dilated pupils, abnormally so, considering my nearby light source, and Jaxi and I have been discussing what we remember of the bodies in the river. Two had closed eyes, so we couldn’t tell, but one’s eyes were open. He almost looked like he had been scared to death.”

  “I didn’t announce that I was working on this list,” Tolemek said mildly. He hadn’t started it until they had come out on the trail. “And you’re too short to see over my shoulder.”

  “Jaxi is not restricted by shoulders.”

  “In other words, she’s the one who was spying on my work, not you?”

  “Indeed so,” Sardelle said, sounding amused, but maybe embarrassed too. “I have more respect for people’s privacy.”

  “Mydriasis is typical after death, so I don’t know if I should put it in the dead-porters list, but I’ll put it in the other column.” Tolemek was impressed that Sardelle—or Jaxi—had been that observant.

  “Ah, I guess that’s true,” Sardelle said. “Maybe I’m looking for links that aren’t there.”

  “Sardelle?” Zirkander called softly from the head of the group. He and Duck had stopped.

  Sardelle slipped past Tolemek to join them. Cas came up from behind, her face mud-spattered and her short, damp hair hugging her head in a way that made her impish features more prominent. The rain had stopped an hour earlier, but the air remained muggier than a steam room, and none of their clothes had dried.

  “Doing all right?” Tolemek asked, lifting an arm, even though she was probably fitter than he and more used to long hikes. He didn’t know if she would accept the offering of support.

  She looked at it, hesitating, but then stepped close and let him put his arm around her shoulders. “Yes. You?”

  “Fine. Making a list.” Tolemek showed it to her. Aware of how keen her eyes were, he added, “Did you notice anything about the dead bodies or about the belligerent natives that would be worth putting on it?”

  “I didn’t get close enough to notice anything special about the bodies, except that they didn’t have obviously lethal wounds. Or any wounds, for that matter.”

  Tolemek nodded.

  “The natives…” She peered at his list. “It may just be a result of adrenaline, but the first man’s hands were shaking.”

  “Ah?” Tolemek didn’t know if it would prove significant, but he wrote it down.

  “They’re looking at something.” Cas tilted her head toward Sardelle and Zirkander and walked up to join them.

  Zirkander was pointing toward a jumble of mossy boulders off to the side of the trail. “Should we consider them interesting jungle decorations and continue on, or is it possible there’s some significance? Like maybe they have something to do with why this trail is here? Not that I mind, but I’ve been wondering who’s been maintaining it and why.”

  Tolemek stepped on a log for a better look and realized they weren’t boulders but the foundations of a building and the remains of some walls. In addition to the moss, plant leaves stretched all over the area, nearly covering the evidence. Now that he was looking for it, Tolemek spotted the remains of a few more structures, including a stout black post that rose from the mud. Its top had long ago been lopped off, but the moss didn’t quite hide numerous carvings on the surface.

  “They’re probably a thousand years old, or more,” Sardelle said.

  “Jungle decoration it is.”

  “Wait a moment.” Sardelle stepped over branches and around trees, heading toward the post.

  Curious, Tolemek trailed after her. Cas remained on the trail, her gaze shifting back and forth from the route ahead to the route behind. He had caught her watching the route behind them numerous times during the day. He would have to ask her if she was simply being alert or if she believed someone might be on their trail, someone aside from those crazy natives. The group hadn’t seen them again after that initial attack.

  “It’s a dragon.” Sardelle had stopped in front of the post, and she wiped away some of the moss and grime to show more of the carvings. “Several of them. You can’t see the colors, but from the size and facial features, I’d guess we have a bronze, a silver, and those are perhaps the feet of a gold on top, where it was cut off.”

  “You say the ruins are a thousand years old?” Zirkander asked from the trail.

  “At least. Some of the histories suggest dragons originally evolved in the jungles. Others claim they came from another world altogether, but either way, they’ve been documented—if only by pictographs and petroglyphs—in this part of the world dating further back than anywhere else. They’re also still worshiped in a lot of the cultures out here—or at least that was the case three hundred years ago. I haven’t brushed up on recent history yet.” She gave Zirkander an apologetic shrug, then walked around to the other side of the post.

  “Half of our Iskandian gods have dragon bodies,” Zirkander pointed out dryly. “The aborigines aren’t the only ones who found them powerful enough to worship.”

  “Yes, but it’s been many centuries since anyone back home did more than make lucky charms out of the dragon gods, considering them whimsical spirits who might or might not help with life’s problems.”

  Zirkander cleared his throat and touched his pocket. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

  “Those with human form have replaced… now this is interesting.” Sardelle leaned closer to squint at a carving.

  Tolemek stepped past a patch of mushrooms as big as his head to join her on the back side of the post. Sardelle was still wiping away mud and moss, but he sucked in a startled breath, recognition striking him like a hammer.

  “It’s the dragon. Tylie’s dragon.”

  “Tylie’s dragon?” Zirkander asked.

  Tolemek scarcely heard
him. The dragons on the front of the post had possessed different faces. This one was distinctly similar to the one his sister had painted all over her asylum room. Not similar. The same. A pointed snout, angular reptile-like features, closed eyes, a high brow that made him look interested, or perhaps amused, by the world around him, diamond-shaped scales visible in the rock even after all this time.

  Tolemek rubbed his face. How could it make sense that Tylie would have drawn this dragon from two thousand miles away? Without ever having seen it? Maybe the resemblance meant little beyond a similarity shared across many members of the species. Or maybe this was some distant ancestor to the one Tylie had drawn. It couldn’t be the same dragon after all these centuries. All of the histories said that dragons were long-lived, but not that long-lived. They could see a couple of centuries at the most, wasn’t that what he had read?

  “Sardelle?” he whispered, though he didn’t know what he meant to ask.

  “It’s definitely similar.” She raised her voice. “We found a dragon carving that looks like the image Tolemek’s sister painted on her wall.”

  “That’s a thousand years old?” Zirkander asked.

  “Hm, maybe not.” Sardelle ran her finger along the ancient black stone. “Judging by the wear, this carving isn’t as old as the ones on the front of the post.” She lifted her gaze toward the branches and leaves above them. “It’s possible this side is slightly more protected from the elements, but I think it may be more like five hundred years old.”

  “Oh, is that all?”

  Tolemek touched the carving. “Its eyes are closed. The ones on the front have open eyes.”

  “I noticed that,” Sardelle said.

  He lowered his hand and walked toward the ruins, wondering if they might yield more clues. Of course, he didn’t know if he had truly found a clue, if the resemblance meant anything. It wasn’t as if he had seen hundreds of dragons or could trust every picture in the text books. For all he knew, every third dragon looked exactly the same.

  The murmur of a quiet conversation came from the trail. Zirkander’s head was bent as he listened to Cas. Had she explored farther up the path? She was pointing in the direction the group had been heading.