Jenna Helland - The Fanged Crown

A leaf-strewn path led them out of the grove and up a vine-tangled slope toward the heart of the island. They left the corpse tucked in the tree hollow because it seemed a better grave than a shallow hole on the open floor. Although he couldn’t see the sky through the leaf canopy, Harp judged it to be late afternoon. He found it hard to breathe in the heavy, moist air, and soon his clothes dripped with sweat and his flask was empty.

Their previous plans of a quick survey—in and out before nightfall—were looking less and less likely with every step through the brush. They would have to find a place to camp soon. The heat under the trees was rising, and the sunlight beat down through the green of the leaves, casting the world in a pale yellow glow. As the temperature rose, an eerie silence fell as if the jungle’s creatures had retreated into a quiet, shady spot to wait out the worst of the heat.

Beside Harp, Kitto was whistling a tune softly to himself. It was a tune Harp recognized from the Marderward , and the words had stayed with him all these years: “Bitch Queen take my soul away to the depths of the sea. Don’t make me stay one bleeding day. This world is not for me.”

“So what do you think of the jungle?” Harp asked. “Lots of plants, huh.”

Kitto stopped whistling and smiled down at his boots. Since Kitto never had much to say, it had become a joke to talk to him about mundane things, topics that other people would consider normal conversation, but Kitto seemed to think were hilarious. But then, most things that were normal to other people amused Kitto.

“Quite the weather we’re having,” Harp continued. “Did I tell you about the mule? She’s got the mange. We had to put her out of her misery.”

Boult piped up from behind them. “Got a bit of the ache in my neck. Oh, but the crops are quite good.”

“Can you believe the price of eggs?” Harp asked. “And did you hear about Lady Arello and the Captain of the Guard? Scandalous!”

“You’re all insane,” Verran said. “Kitto, you should just tell them they’re all insane.”

They settled into an amicable silence. But their easy trek along the open floor didn’t last long. As the incline became steeper and the vegetation grew thicker, the men spread out as they struggled up the hill, their feet slipping on loose stones that seemed to be only held together by a mat of roots on top of very shallow soil. Kitto stayed close to Harp, which meant the boy had something that he wanted to say.

They were at the back of the group, and Harp found himself breathing uncomfortably hard. Kitto waited with him as Harp paused to catch his breath.

“I need to take better care of myself,” he said, taking a drink of water from Kitto’s waterskin. “Maybe I’m getting too old for this.”

Kitto didn’t look tired at all. The wiry boy was all lean muscle, athleticism, and startling grace. Sometimes Kitto and Boult would have rope-climbing contests up the shroud ropes on the Crane . Boult was agile for a dwarf and much stronger than Kitto, but he couldn’t best the boy’s unparalleled displays of dexterousness.

“Too much ale,” Kitto said in his soft, lilting voice. “And not enough sleep.”

“Yes, I’m sorry about that. But don’t give me too much trouble. That’s Boult’s job.”

Kitto tipped his head back and looked up at the sky, and for the millionth time Harp wondered why the boy chose to tag along with him when there were thousands of people of better quality than Harp could ever hope to be. Kitto was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He just didn’t seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere.

“I told you that Liel was one of the colonists and that her father was worried that something had happened to her. I just want to make sure you’re all right. I know you and Liel were friends.”

“I’m all right,” Kitto replied flatly. Harp tried to gauge the emotion in the boy’s face, but Kitto was unreadable. With Harp breathing easier, they resumed climbing up the hill after Boult and Verran.

“She took care of you, right? After you left Gwynneth Isle and went to the Wealdath with her.”

“She said I could stay in the Wealdath.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I hated Cardew.”

“That makes three of us,” Harp said wryly as they scrambled up a rocky embankment.

“He knew you were in Vankila,” Kitto said. “I heard him say he was going to make you pay.”

That wasn’t news to Harp, who was fully aware how Cardew had directed the events that transpired during his imprisonment at the Vankila Slab. With a single directive, Cardew had altered the course of Harp’s life irrevocably.

“I tried to make Cardew tell me where you were. But he wouldn’t.”

Harp laid his hand on Kitto’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have gotten me out by yourself. It was better you didn’t know.”

“I should have been there too,” Kitto said softly.

“No, that’s the last place in the world you should have been. Come on, or I’ll make you talk about the latest dress fashions. Ribbons or bows, Kitto? I just can’t decide!”

By the time they caught up to Boult and Verran, it was obvious they had lost the path, or maybe they’d been following the wrong one all along. The ground flattened out again, and they trudged through stands of massive fernlike plants, their leaves covered with a white fuzziness that looked deceptively soft, but on closer inspection was actually made of razor-sharp barbs.

Even the flowers impeded their progress through the jungle. The ground had been overrun with a variety of pinkish blooms that grew on reedy stalks and sent out crimson tendrils to envelope whatever vegetation surrounded them. The tendrils from a single plant could overtake entire sections of jungle floor, engulfing everything in a lumpy red mesh. When the back of Harp’s hand brushed against one of the crimson tendrils, his skin puffed up painfully.

“First lesson of the jungle,” he told his crew as he rubbed salve on the rash and wrapped his hand in cloth. “If it has color, avoid it.”

“Second lesson of the jungle,” Boult replied, picking thorns out of the leg of his pants. “Avoid the jungle.”

“And miss the glorious views?” Harp joked, gesturing ahead of him at the dense wall of thorns that formed a barrier to the north and west. The eastern route was no easier because of a steep vine-covered embankment.

“Have you noticed how the flat land is always followed by a sharp rise?” Verran said. “We’ve been climbing higher since we left the beach.”

“Like we’re climbing a massive staircase,” Kitto said. His comment was followed by a long moment of silence. Harp tried to imagine what such a land formation would look like from a bird’s eye view.

“Or maybe it’s like a pyramid with the steps on all sides,” Kitto continued.

“Either way begs the question,” Boult said. “What’s at the top?”

Although it wasn’t very high, the embankment was nearly vertical. Ropey yellow vines draped the length of it, making it easy to climb. About halfway up, Harp reached for a handhold. His hand touched something reedy, and a blast of orange exploded into the air. Startled, Harp lost his grip on the vine, slid down the embankment, and crashed into Boult. The dwarf managed to keep hold of the cliff despite the weight of his captain and the flock of orange birds that flapped into the sky, screeching their indignation at the disruption.

“Hullo, Boult,” Harp said, who had landed across the dwarf’s arms. “Your assistance is most appreciated.”

“Get off me, you lout,” Boult grumbled. “You’re the worst climber I’ve ever met. You could break your neck walking across a field.”