Chapter 9 – Live and Let Die (Echoes)

  Bdain Araan Desert – Drift 7

  ?

  Serendipity woke with a hunger she couldn’t settle. Her skin felt off, her breath too short, her chest too tight. She needed to get outside, to run and blister in the sun.

  She crossed her small room in two quick leaps. The suns hadn’t yet shaded the sky in blue, but they were coming. A lighter darkness pressed against her window, and the cool night air still clung to her room. So she was going.

  She grabbed her wraps and her favorite navy scarf from the nail on the door, stacking them neatly on her unmade bed. She washed her face with Hayam’s handmade soap and brushed her teeth with the new paste she’d helped him make. It tasted of iron and bitterness. She spat into the cold stone basin and combed her fingers through her hair. Her heart wouldn’t settle.

  She pulled on her wraps. Tied the scarf. Opened the door, and a hot cup of tea was shoved into her face.

  “Warm up first.”

  She had planned to sneak out, of course, but she should have known better. Hayam was probably just as nervous as she was. No, that wasn’t possible. She was a mountain of sensations. All crumbling. All colliding.

  She took the cup. It burned her fingers a little. She drank a few hot sips, heat sliding all the way to her stomach, then set it on the table in the main room.

  Next to the table stood her pack. Cleaner. Fuller than it had been the night before. She half-turned. Paused. Swallowed the knot in her throat. Picked up the bag.

  “The desert runner’s battery is only half charged,” Hayam said from behind her. “Leave it in the sun when you’re… done with it. And here—”

  She turned. His hand ended in a long, thin knife. The blade was dark blue, like her scarf. The hilt bone-white, engraved with shellkrat spirals. She looked at him then. Really looked. His face was grim. Tired. Mouth set in hard lines. But his black eyes were smiling. And that made all the difference.

  She took the offering, kissed his cheek, and wished him mor ter sha.

  “When you return,” he said, folding his arms over his chest, “give me my old knife back.”

  The electric runner hummed quietly beneath her, its belly warm from the sun and its cooling system probably half-useless. It stomped in place as she braked, as impatient as ever. A faint, unexpected whine cut through, reminding her how fried she was if it broke down. Ahead, the canyon loomed, no longer unfamiliar.

  She dismounted, slung her pack over one shoulder, and started walking. Behind her, the runner powered down into low-saving mode and followed quietly. For once, it was obedient.

  She had a new plan this time. A better one, maybe.

  She set up her trap with more care, less scent. Holland’s seeds, roasted to carry their scent, filled her nose—nutty and ripe. Above it, she placed the wire net she’d dragged through the sand on her way here. Grit dulled the metal’s shine, scrubbing away what didn’t belong: the oil of her fingers, the spice of last night’s meal. Silver darts were there/not-there—iridescent ghosts—and any wrong smell sent them bolting. That little critter was skittish enough already. No need to serve it spiced reptile for lunch.

  “Third time’s the charm. Or third time’s the end.”

  She moved low, erasing her footprints as she backed into the canyon's mouth. Sweat clung to the back of her neck, slicking her hair against her skin. Too hot. Too quiet. The silver dart wouldn't come in this heat. But she sat, swiped the back of her hand along her neck, and waited.

  And waited.

  Then, scurrying. Quick. Light. Her breath caught. Her heart thundered.

  Clink. Metal on stone.

  The net had dropped. Too fast. Too sudden. The creature was stunned, twitching.

  She rose, slowly. Took three careful steps to the trap. And there, inside the wire and the sand-softened scent, was the silver dart.

  It was extraordinary. Small and delicate, with iridescent white fur that shimmered in Hikari’s light. Its body mirrored the rock behind it, and when it moved—barely—it sent fractured gems of light scattering over the canyon wall.

  Not just beautiful. Unreal.

  She’d caught a ghost. Fragile, terrified, impossibly beautiful.

  Its black, beady eyes blinked quickly, and its whiskers twitched fast. Its chest thumped so hard it seemed like it might burst. The creature was terrified, shaking so much it rattled the net.

  This wasn’t like losing Nosey. This wasn’t a fight or a hunt. This was calculated. Cold. A trap. Her fault again.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  She crouched beside the net, breath shallow. For a second, she didn’t move. The thing was barely bigger than her hand, but it looked at her like she was the end of the world.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words bitter on her tongue.

  She reached for the net, then froze. Movement. Above.

  She looked up. A shimmer of white light. Fluid. Ethereal. The desert phantom was back. The bait had worked too well.

  The shimmer dropped. No roar. No screech. Just a thud, air sucked out of the world. The Felidae hit the net like lightning: white blur, claws extended, jaws snapping toward the twitching silver dart.

  Its teeth caught the netting. A snag. One second.

  Serendipity moved, launching from the canyon's mouth like a loaded spring, her new knife ready and sharp in her hand. The beast spun and leapt, and the two collided in mid-air.

  They tumbled. Iron-packed sand exploded around them. Her body rolled over the Felidae’s side, her scarf coming loose as she fell, limbs flailing. Her knee scraped fur, her elbow hit shifting muscle, and the world spun sideways.

  She crashed hard. Shoulder first. Then hip. Then knees.

  The beast snarled and bucked, trying to shake her off. A claw tore through her wrap. Her side screamed.

  She slipped, dropped the knife, slid, and landed flat.

  The Felidae loomed above. One massive paw pressed against her chest, pinning her to the earth. Teeth glinted inches from her throat.

  Her fingers twitched. Her breath caught. Then the sky shifted, and the violence in her chest ignited. The cat’s jaw scraped against her skin, then froze. A whimper escaped its throat. It stopped. Completely. Like the desert runner when its battery gave out. Motionless. Wide-eyed. Panicked. Not a whisker moved.

  Serendipity shifted, inching out from under the massive weight, heart hammering. And then—her tail—coiled tight around the Felidae’s neck, the pressure tense, unrelenting. The heart-shaped tip pressed hard against the beast’s windpipe.

  Her breath caught in her chest. She hadn’t meant—She didn’t even remember unfurling it.

  The cat’s ears were pinned back. Fear? She thought. No. Recognition.

  Something primal passed between them; one predator seeing another for what she truly was.

  The light changed.

  Both suns dipped at once, a twin set only seen every few dozen drifts. The Purpura Drift. Shadows merged into one. The canyon flushed mauve and gold.

  The beast’s eyes, once sharp with hunger, warmed, just slightly, as if catching a scent on the wind.

  And Serendipity’s tail… loosened. Just enough. Sensing that the threat was gone.

  She exhaled, and the beast remained still.

  Then, slowly, with the quiet pride of something she couldn’t understand, it pulled back. Gave one great shake of its head, licked its snout, and looked up into Serendipity’s eyes. And there it was again, that same look.

  Still on the ground, she whispered, “I thought I was punishing you. For Nosey. For everything. But you were just being you. You caught prey, and you shared it…” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “And your reward was just about to be death.”

  The Felidae didn’t move. Just watched with wide, unreadable violet eyes.

  “Do you see me?” Serendipity asked. Her tail slowly uncurled. She slid out from under the cat’s shadow, heart hammering, every breath loud in her ears.

  The animal backed away a step, then two, its head lowered, licking a paw like nothing had happened. Then it turned, silent as shadow, and walked away into the Purpura Drift.

  And between them, forgotten for a moment, the silver dart trembled in its trap. Serendipity sighed and crouched. Her hands still shook as she untangled the net. The creature didn’t bolt right away. It blinked at her, once, twice, then vanished in a flick of silver and heat shimmer.

  A tiny whisker was caught on the net’s edge—as long as a fingernail, thin and almost translucent, the same pale shimmer that had hovered just above her throat moments ago. She tucked it into her wrap, a small trophy, maybe. Or a reminder to never try something that stupid again. She’d decide later.

  Later, when her legs stopped trembling. Later, when her heartbeat wasn’t still crawling up her throat. Later, when she had the nerve to face what had just uncoiled from her spine like a weapon.

  But it wasn’t later yet. It was now. And now, the tail was still out, curled behind her as if it had always been there.

  She stared at it. The smooth curve that ran in small pointed scales. The faint purple shimmer in the sun. The heart-shaped bony tip, still twitching from the fight, deep purple.

  It hadn’t waited for permission or cared what she thought. It had saved her. And now it waited, still, as if it knew something she didn’t.

  “Traitor,” she muttered, voice dry and cracking.

  She reached back, hesitated, then touched it. Gently. As if it might flinch. It didn’t.

  It was hers. Warm. Real. Not a trick. Not a myth.

  Her hand lingered a breath too long, then pulled back. Wrapped her arms around herself instead.

  Not now. Not yet.

  It had saved her life. Yet, she felt a deep resentment towards it. Resented the way it moved without asking, as if it had a will of its own. Resented that it was hers, alive and entwined with her very being. Wished she could simply sever it without the fear of bleeding.

  It made her different. Made her a liar. Made her alone.

  Right now, she had to pick up her scattered things, dress the wound, pray it wouldn’t fester, and eat something before she passed out. Later… she’d wrap it back where it belonged, snug against her thigh, out of sight, like always. Tucked away with the rest of her. The parts no one could see. The parts no one could love. The parts that made her wild and drove her to go out into the desert every drift.

  Maybe then she’d forget it ever moved. Maybe then it would forget her, too.

  She tore a strip from her scarf and pressed it to the wound. It stung. But if it didn’t get infected, it would heal in a few drifts. She got up slowly and dragged herself to the desert runner. She needed antibiotics. Blood clotters.

  Stretching, she reached for her backpack and yanked it off the runner, spilling its contents at its feet. She treated the wound, wrapped it twice, too tightly, and leaned back. The sky above her blurred. Just for a minute. Just enough to breathe.

  Her head hit the sand. The impact came a heartbeat late.

  And the canyon sang.