The Deepest Blue(58)

“Mayara? Pay attention,” Roe said.

“Sorry.” She yanked her mind back to the present. They were side by side at the lip of the cave, peering down at the cove. It looked just as idyllic as it had from the ship: flush with tropical fruit trees, brilliantly colored birds calling to one another, and flowers of every imaginable hue adorning the rocks. Beautiful white sand in a crescent was kissed by the clear turquoise water. It was so clear that even from here, Mayara could see the shimmer of schools of fish. “Can you tell if any spirits are watching the cove?”

Roe was silent for a moment, her forehead crinkled in concentration. “There are spirits on the ridges, but they aren’t watching the cove.” She pointed toward the cliffs, and Mayara sent her thoughts in that direction. It was a strange sensation, trying to “see” with her mind. The best way she could think of it was like squinting to see something in the dark or straining to hear a distant sound. Or trying to touch a wispy bit of fluff floating in the breeze. She “felt” them, between the trees and out in the waters of the cove, but she couldn’t read their thoughts well enough to know whether they were paying attention to the cove. Roe was better at it.

“Dart in, grab fallen fruit, and come back,” Roe ordered. “That’s it. Don’t waste time climbing any trees. And don’t go too far. I swear the spirits get more and more agitated every day.”

She’d noticed that. The spirits had taken to traveling in swarms. She felt their agitation like a continuous itch in the back of her mind. “Yeah, I think they miss killing people. They’re happiest when they’re slaughtering.”

“Try not to make them happy.”

Mayara targeted a nearby tree with three fallen coconuts. That’s what they needed most urgently—more liquid. Getting to the streams was too tricky—they were both watched by water spirits. Yesterday one stream had been frozen by an ice spirit who guarded it zealously.

Ready, Mayara bent her knees. “Bird call, three chirps, if a spirit comes for me.”

“And you’ll do what exactly?”

“Run. Really fast.”

“There’s no cliff to dive off.”

“Back here then. I’ll hide.”

“And lead them straight to where we live? And straight to me? You know, you’re really bad at making plans. No offense meant.”

Mayara tried not to grit her teeth. “Do you have a better idea?”

“No. I’m just pointing out it’s a serious risk for a few coconuts.”

“You want to starve?”

“Hey, I’m not offering solutions. I’m just pointing out problems. It’s my role as lookout.” And then her tone shifted. “I just . . . If you die, I’m alone. I . . . can’t make it alone.”

“Yes, you can. Your leg is better. You have a place to live. You know where to find food and water. But I’m not going to die. I’m going to be quick. Three coconuts. That’s it. And if it works, then later we’ll try again for more. Okay?”

Roe flashed a smile at her. “When did you become the optimist?”

“My family prefers to say ‘reckless.’”

“Your family underestimates you.”

“Let’s hope the spirits do too,” Mayara said. “Ready? Now.” She darted out from the hole, scrambled down the hill, and scooped three fallen coconuts into her sling. She then turned to race back before—

A voice croaked, “Mayara?”

Mayara stopped. That didn’t sound like a spirit. And no spirit knew her name.

“Who is it?”

Silence.

Then the voice again, cracked and thin. “Help me.”

Mayara scanned the trees, and she saw a hint of movement. She pivoted, about to run, but Roe hadn’t chirped any warning and Mayara didn’t sense any spirits.

Glancing up at the ridges, she crept forward. And saw Palia. She was lashed against one of the trees, in the same kind of snare that Mayara had seen before—the kind that had caught Roe when they’d first arrived. The older woman looked as if she’d aged decades more. She was caked with dirt, her hair half shorn off her head and matted with blood.

Dropping the coconuts, Mayara ran to Palia’s side. Using her glass knife, she began sawing at the vines. “Are you hurt? Can you run? We’ll need to run.”

“Can’t.” Her lips were so dry and broken that they’d split and bled.

“What’s injured?”

“Weak. Too weak.”

Three bird chirps.

Spirits are coming!

Mayara sawed faster.

“They come to kill me.” Palia closed her eyes. “I’d wondered when . . . they’d . . . come. So long. They didn’t see me. Didn’t know I was there. Or didn’t care. So many days. So thirsty. Do you have water? I would like water. Before I die.”

“Getting you out of here. Hang on, Palia. Stay awake.”

Another three chirps.

Mayara cast her mind out—the spirits were coming down the ridge. She couldn’t tell if they’d seen her, but there were at least a dozen of them, tumbling closer. If they hadn’t seen her yet, they would soon.

The vines snapped, and Palia slumped forward.

“You need to try to walk,” Mayara said. “I can’t carry you.” She helped her stand, and they hobbled toward the tunnel. “Don’t use your power—that will draw them faster.”