The Serpent's Fury Read online

  We watch the tiny monster run off. From the back, it looks like a lizard with weirdly long legs. Instead of scales, though, it has mottled brown feathers that blend with the autumn undergrowth. When it glances back, we see its feathered rodent head and furry ears.

  I bend down to Jacko. “You do know that’s supposed to be your dinner, right?”

  He squeaks, gaze fixed on the undergrowth, his entire body tense, as if expecting the rat-sized monster to wheel in attack.

  “That’s what happens when you coddle a jackalope,” Dain grumbles. “He’s scared of his food.”

  I shoot Dain a look. That’s all it takes to make him shift and glance away. Dain is cranky about being kept out of the cabin attack, and so he’s taking it out on us, and my look warns him I won’t put up with that. I used to make allowances for his horrible childhood, but I’ve learned that isn’t really what he needs or even wants. He’s given me permission to tell him when he’s being a jerk, and I will, if only in a look.

  He knows he’s wrong here, too. Jacko is only half-grown, but he’s already able to hunt for himself. I can only guess that the colocolo makes him nervous because he’s never seen one. While we do get them in the barns during winter, they’re rare, being mostly from the mountains, where they live in colonies.

  I scratch behind Jacko’s antlers. “Thank you for the warning.”

  Dain snorts, and I expect Malric to do the same, but when I look over, the warg is staring after the colocolo. I frown. Wargs generally just ignore colocolos—too small to be a threat and too small to eat unless they’re starving.

  So why—

  The answer hits a heartbeat before the ground vibrates under my feet. I leap up and reach for my sword.

  “Rowan?” Alianor and Dain say at the same time, as Rhydd pulls his own blade.

  “Fleeing,” I blurt. “What was the colocolo flee—?”

  Before I can get my sword out, the undergrowth erupts. At first, I see nothing. I’m looking overtop of the bushes, watching for what is coming, my gaze swinging between the treetops and the mid-view, expecting a predator at least the size of a warakin.

  Instead, I only hear the thunder of running paws and then shrieks of panic and alarm, shrieks that come from both monster and human, as the foliage explodes and a wave of colocolos washes over us.

  I’m not sure what’s happening even as my feet fly out from under me. Jacko screams, and then I’m falling, feeling cold bodies running over me, tiny claws digging in.

  I flail as my brain screams that this is ridiculous—they’re colocolos, barely bigger than mice. Yet I am trapped under this wave of creatures, drowning under it, fighting, clawing at the air, nothing but black above as a writhing blanket of darkness suffocates me.

  Another scream, and that cry pierces the panic. That cry is both a goal and a fresh source of terror.

  Jacko. He’s here somewhere, buried under this wave of colocolos. I fight the horde, my arms and legs churning, knocking tiny bodies aside as I focus on the muffled cries of my jackalope. It’s like battling the tide, relentless and unceasing, as tiny reptilian bodies pour over me, too panicked to care about my blows.

  Whatever they’re fleeing is scarier than a jackalope. Scarier than a twelve-year-old human girl. Scarier even than a warg.

  I push down the thought. What matters is that Jacko is suffocating.

  One final cry. A horrible, gurgling cry, and I manage to rise, colocolos hanging off me. Then I throw myself in the direction of the sound. One hand touches fur. Soft rabbit fur. I grab as hard as I can, sending up a silent apology as my fingers dig in, knowing if I lose him, he’ll be carried away on this tide. I clasp Jacko tight with one hand and then the other, and I hoist him over the bodies.

  Something hits me. Something moving against the tide. I’m propelled up as a beast the size of a small pony flips me onto its back. A flash of black fur. A growl.

  “Malric,” I say, the name coming on an exhale of breath.

  Before I can react, I’m swept from the stampede of colocolos, awkwardly half riding Malric, one leg over him, the other bent under me. Clutching Jacko to my chest, I manage to grab a handful of Malric’s fur and stay on as he fights through the tide. At first, I can’t see anything. The colocolos keep climbing me, as if I’m a tree stump in their path, their claws needling my skin.

  Finally, my head is clear of the river. I see them then, and it is a sight my brain can’t quite comprehend. It truly looks like a river, a roiling torrent of brown, the colocolo shapes lost in the flow. There must be hundreds of them. No, thousands, forming a deep current.

  “Rhydd!” I scream.

  I twist, panic lighting anew, imagining him under that sea of bodies.

  “Rowan! Here!”

  I follow the voice and see him on the “shore.” He’s with Alianor, and he’s holding onto a thick tree branch as she grips his free hand and stretches toward me.

  Malric leaps. One massive bound and he’s free of the tide, hitting the ground hard enough that I roll off, still clutching Jacko.

  I scramble up, stray colocolos running over my feet, and look about wildly. “Where’s Dain?”

  No answer.

  I spin on Alianor and Rhydd. “Where is Dain?”

  They’re both scanning the colocolo river now. We all are. Jacko climbs onto my head and sounds his alert cry. Malric lopes alongside the colocolo onslaught as he hunts for any sign of Dain.

  I break into a run, following the flow, my gaze skimming over it as I shout, “Dain!” Jacko scrambles down onto my shoulders and clings there for dear life.

  Thousands of colocolos. Thousands. Colonies of them streaming in a panicked rush, trampling everything in their path. I twist to look behind me and see Rhydd and Alianor, now jogging beside the stampede, shouting for Dain.

  I keep running, searching in vain for anything among those feathered brown bodies. There’s nothing. Nothing at all and—

  A figure half rises, on all fours, pushing up for no more than a heartbeat before being engulfed again.

  “There!” I scream. “He’s there!”

  I run as fast as I can. Malric overtakes me, but the river of bodies shifts, colocolos swarming over the warg’s paws. He tumbles to the side, and I race past even as he snarls and snaps at me.

  Dain rises on all fours again, only to topple backward and be carried along by the flow. I keep running until I’m ahead of him. Malric lunges into my path, but I only snarl back at the warg. A two-heartbeat standoff between us. Then Alianor is there, Rhydd behind her, his bad leg dragging slightly.

  “Form a chain!” I shout. “Like you were doing before!”

  I point at a tree. Rhydd makes it there, one arm wrapping tightly around it as he reaches for Alianor. She clutches his hand. I tug Jacko from my shoulders, and he doesn’t like that, but he only chatters his disapproval as I shove him toward Malric. Then Alianor grabs my ankle, and I leap into the stampede.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I hit that roiling mass of tiny bodies, and there is a moment of absolute panic as something inside me screams.

  What am I doing? Didn’t I just get free of this? What if Alianor can’t hold me? What if Rhydd loses his grip? I’ll be as lost as Dain, suffocated under a river of colocolos.

  I grit my teeth as the tiny lizard monsters scrabble over me and the sunlit forest disappears into darkness. Alianor’s fingers dig into my ankle, and I am safe. She won’t let anything happen to me.

  Dimly, I hear Alianor and Rhydd shouting to Dain. The last I saw him, he was being carried down this side of the river. Any moment now, he’ll hit me or hit Alianor, and we’ll catch him.

  Something warm brushes my outstretched fingertips. In a sea of cold-blooded bodies, that can only be Dain. I throw myself sideways, hands grasping as I reach. My fingers close on Dain’s arm. It’s thinner than I expect, but it’s warm, and so I
grasp it and pull.

  Dain screams. It’s a spine-chilling scream, and I imagine him being ripped apart by colocolos. I yank with all my might, and my hands rise above the colocolo tide, gripping Dain’s wrist, his skin darker than I remember—

  That isn’t skin. Nor is it Dain’s hand. I’m holding the leg of some black-furred beast, with a paw as big as my palm. A webbed paw. Claws shoot out, four dagger-like claws, and my brain whispers that this is the point at which I should release my hold. I don’t. I’m holding some creature—some monster—and if I let it go, it will die.

  When those razor claws spring out, I only release my hold with one hand to keep feeling around for Dain, because he is my priority. I will let go of this beast if I can’t hold it and save him, but—

  Dain slams into me. There’s no doubt it’s him—the cursing gives it away. He rams into my side, and I twist and grab him even as his own hands find my tunic and hold tight. A shout from the shore and we are being pulled in, scrabbling and gripping with all our strength until Alianor gives a tremendous heave and we fly free of the stampede, Dain still clutching my tunic and me holding his arm. We tumble to the ground, and Rhydd lets out a shout, and then there is a scream.

  Something rips at my hand sharply enough to make me howl. There’s a moment where I think it’s Dain clawing at me. Then the scream and the pain merge, and I remember Dain wasn’t the only one I was holding. Which may explain why my brother is running at me with his sword out.

  I leap to my feet and lift both hands to stop Rhydd. Dain jumps up and pulls his dagger, and then Malric is there snarling and snapping at…

  A black cat. That’s all I see at first, everything happening so fast that my brain is reeling. I blink, and the shape comes into focus. It is a cat…sort of. It’s the size of a hunting dog, low and lean and rippling with muscle. A sleek black-furred wildcat with webbed feet and gills that flutter as it breathes. What looks like dark stripes at first becomes strips of jet-black scales, glittering in the sunlight that pierces the forest canopy.

  “Cath palug,” I whisper.

  “I can see that, princess,” Dain growls, brandishing his dagger. “Now back away from it before it skewers you with those claws.”

  “But it’s…it’s a cath palug. I’ve never seen one. It must have gotten swept up in the colocolos and—”

  “And it is now crouched in front of you, trying to decide whether you’re too big to eat. The answer is no, princess. You are not too big for a cath palug. It’s already scratched you, and it can smell the blood, which is dripping from your arm, in case you can’t feel that.”

  I wave off his concern and absently wipe the blood away. It’s a small wound, not even worth bandaging. The monster feline keeps staring at me, its tail swishing. That tail ends in a barb—or it should, but I can’t quite make it out while it’s moving.

  I glance over at the colocolo river, but it’s only a trickle now, the main body of rodent monsters disappearing through the forest.

  “I want a better look at it,” I say.

  “Great,” Dain says. “Just let me kill it first.”

  I give him a look for that.

  Dain turns to Rhydd. “Please, your highness, could you talk some sense into your sister?”

  “Having known Rowan from birth, I can tell you that dissuading her from this is a fool’s task. One does not come between Rowan and her monster studies. Would you like me to restrain it, Ro?”

  Both Dain and Alianor squawk in alarm.

  “Oh, come now,” Rhydd says, moving forward. “I’m sure I could wrestle it to the ground and—”

  I lift a hand to stop him. “You’re giving Dain heart failure. He doesn’t realize you’re joking.”

  Rhydd’s lips twitch. “Perhaps I’m serious. We are nearly thirteen. Filled with the madness that overtakes young men, I shall throw myself upon the beast and pin it down, surviving with the scars to prove my—”

  “Utter stupidity,” Alianor says.

  “I was going to say warrior blood, but that works, too.”

  Rhydd takes a strip of dried meat from his pocket and passes it to me.

  I peel off a piece and toss it to the beast. It sniffs first, and then snatches up the meat and swallows it whole. The cath palug regards me then, golden eyes fixed on mine. I take a closer look at the creature while tossing it bits of meat. A cath palug is an aquatic feline, like the ceffyl-dwr is an aquatic equine. Many monsters seem to be a mash-up of two or more regular animals. That leads to stories about their origins, usually some variation of “animal x fell in love with animal y and had a baby.” Romantic, but as any scientist knows, impossible.

  The truth is evolution, with the monsters being a later version of the animals.

  At first glance, the cath palug just looks like a black wildcat. Then you notice the adaptations: the webbed feet, the scaled stripes and those glorious gills. I don’t manage to get around its backside to get a close look at its tail, but it is indeed barbed, almost like a fishhook. I’ve seen pictures of cath palugs “fishing” with their tails, which is nonsense, of course. The barb is for fighting. Its claws and teeth do the hunting work.

  When I run out of meat scraps, I try giving it a dead colocolo, who’d been trampled by its brethren. I toss the lizard-rat at the cat monster’s feet, and the cath palug only fixes me with a baleful stare.

  Dain chuckles. “I think it’s saying it never wants to see another one of those, much less eat one.”

  “No doubt,” I murmur.

  I back away then and wave everyone else to follow. The cath palug stretches, as if it had decided to rest here and hadn’t been “trapped” by humans and their companion beasts. Then it saunters off with a flick of its tail.

  “Bye, kitty!” Alianor calls. “No need to thank us for rescuing you!”

  “It already did,” I say. “By not shredding my face.”

  The colocolo river is long gone, leaving a swath of destruction, as if it truly had been a rushing current diverted from its course. Grass, undergrowth, brush, even saplings have been flattened.

  “That was…” Rhydd mutters.

  “Unexpected?”

  He sputters a laugh. “I was going to say terrifying. But definitely unexpected.”

  “Fascinating, too.” I walk to the flattened ground and crouch to flip over the body of another dead colocolo. “Fascinating and terrible. Something panicked them enough to make them flee, entire colonies of them, running as fast as they could, trampling everything in their path, even each other.”

  Alianor shivers. “I’m with Rhydd on this. Terrifying is the right word, because all I can think of is…what would make them do that?” She peers into the forest. “While I’m always right behind you for an adventure, Rowan, I’m not sure we should hang around to see what they were fleeing from.”

  When I hesitate, she steps toward me. “I’m serious, Rowan. This isn’t the time for scientific curiosity.”

  “Agreed, but it’s not the time to flee for our lives either. That was a panic stampede. I’ve heard of it with colocolos, though it’s usually only one colony. Animals like cows do it, too. Even humans will, if they’re frightened enough. But with colocolos, once they start, they don’t stop. The panic is infectious. For that many colonies to come together, the root cause is likely miles away.”

  Rhydd nods. “One colony panics and then ‘infects’ another as it passes.”

  “That would be my theory. The only thing killing them right now is each other.”

  A moment of silence, respect with a touch of grief, for the monsters so frightened they would crush one another to escape a threat that they’ve long outrun.

  “Now the problem is where they’re going,” I say. “Not where they’ve been.”

  With that, Rhydd straightens so fast his bad leg falters. He wheels to the east—to Tamarel.

  “We
need to get home,” he says. “Before they do.”

  I nod. On their own, colocolos are no more dangerous than lizards or mice. A colony can destroy a crop, but they’re mostly just pests. Thousands, though? They would destroy everything in their wake. Crops, livestock, even humans, suffocated beneath them, as we almost were.

  “We need to get Wilmot,” Dain says. “Forget the dropbears for now. Warn him…”

  He trails off with a whispered curse as he realizes what I already know—that we delayed too long with the cath palug. That was my fault. I thought the danger had passed. I didn’t stop to think it through. Now that I have, it’s too late to go get the others.

  The moment I realize the problem, I start moving and the others follow.

  “Someone needs to tell Wilmot,” Dain says again.

  “I will,” Rhydd offers.

  Dain shakes his head. “That’s a messenger’s job, not a prince’s. Alianor—”

  “Alianor has two legs that work at full capacity,” Rhydd says. “She can run. I cannot.”

  “But you shouldn’t go alone,” I say. “This is still the Dunnian Woods. No one should be alone. Alianor, would you please—”

  “On it,” she says, and then to Rhydd, “Let’s go, your highness.”

  * * *

  As Dain and I run, I try not to worry about Alianor and Rhydd. I also try not to worry about Wilmot and the expedition. Shouldn’t they have heard us cry out when we were being trampled? They were only a couple hundred feet away, weren’t they?

  What if something happened to the expedition? What if they’d been fighting for their lives…and I just sent Rhydd and Alianor into danger?

  Or what if they’d left the dropbears in the cabin and come to find us? Rhydd and Alianor might walk in thinking it was empty, since the hunters were gone.

  These are baseless worries. If my hunters had been fighting for their lives, we’d have heard it. If Rhydd and Alianor found the hunters gone, they’d check before entering the cabin.