Page 9 of The Garnet Daughter (The Viridian Priestess #3)

Chapter

Eight

A ugust works on the beacon for days. The progress is minimal, but he is persistent and reassuring anytime I ask a question.

Which I have many. I’m accustomed to all of the Viathan technology and its possibilities, but seeing it stripped down and ripped apart makes some of the fascinating mystery seem like uninteresting metal and wires.

I spend most of our days foraging for supplies, berries and small game around the beacon plateau.

I could lean on others in the village to focus all my attention on helping August, but he has made it clear he works best alone.

Reminding me of the only times I’ve seen him grumpy—when something mechanical is not doing as he wishes.

And the thought of asking for help from Ruth or the elders turns my insides.

Today, August has finally placed the receiver back onto the beacon, after stripping everything in and around it.

“Hand me that?” He gestures with his chin to a pile of tools, not quite showing which he means.

I hold out three and he takes two, using one to turn the bolts that fasten the receiver to what remains of the beacon’s tower base.

“There we go,” he mutters over the tool he clasps in his teeth in a ridiculously affectionate tone to his work.

I sit on a toppled beacon piece, eating the berries I picked on our walk to the plateau this morning.

This time I brought a small satchel so I could store them without crushing any.

I can easily fill this three times for us both, and if we want something more substantial, I will check the snare I placed toward the back of the plateau, where the fallen trees lay.

“How do we know if it’s working?” I ask.

“Well, it’s attached.” He shakes the edges as if daring it to prove him wrong. “I will have to connect the wires again, and then hopefully we can turn it on. If we try too soon, it could melt the motherboard.”

“Oh,” I say, only understanding some of it. “So not ready still?”

“Not yet.” He throws me a quick smile.

I hold out the leather container of berries for him to grab a handful, but he shakes his head.

“I’m good on the berries.” He opens up a panel and pokes at some wires he has worked on the last few days.

“I will check the traps. Maybe we can have rabbit for dinner.”

He groans a little. “Don’t tell me until after I’ve eaten it.”

August misses the strange Viathan food he stores in the hull of his ship.

Ruth has left bread a few times, which he loves, but I know the sight of skinning a kill does nothing for his appetite.

The meat on Viathan is lifeless and packaged from an unknown hunter.

I tolerated it, but there is an undoubtable taste difference.

“Maybe I’ll catch another one for you to keep as a pet.”

“Not interested in that either.” He laughs.

I jump up from my hard metal seat and head toward the quieter part of the plateau, where it meets the dark forest. I weave through the ruined technology already drowning in the tall grass and fern-covered ground.

The day is hot even with the sun’s strange eclipse glow.

Humidity mixes with the fine layer of sweat on my forehead as I leap over a large, fallen tree that pins a thick metal pole.

The thin top of the beacon is in pieces, yet the flashing light that adorned the peak still blinks under the debris.

I walk up to the snare I can tell from a distance is empty, still propped together and waiting for small prey to fall victim. August’s weak stomach is spared, but mine will suffer if I don’t eat something other than bread and berries today.

I cover some of my tracks instinctually and decide to rest in the shade while he works across the field. The trees above are thick and old here. Without my ward blocking Selene’s gift, I can sense them more keenly, their secret language that only she understands but I still enjoy.

I’ve debated many times in recent few days how to bring up that I don’t think I should return with him again.

That he should leave me here, and as much as I want to help, I may cause more harm like before.

August possesses a gentle and empathetic nature.

He has comforted me and given me space to heal from what happened in that temple.

He is a good friend and the last person who deserves to be caught up in the consequences of my actions.

He shouts suddenly, his whole body tense before he steps back as if something has struck him or he received a bite from a venomous creature while I was not looking. Panicked, I call out his name and stand from my resting spot.

Before I realize it, I am in front of him, his shocked eyes meeting mine before a brilliant grin crosses his handsome face.

I folded. I heard him in pain and folded across the field.

“Are you ok?” I ask, biting my lip to hide the joy that my gift remains intact.

“You folded, Calliape.” He laughs so close to my face, his breath tickles my cheek.

I can’t help but partially join him. “I wasn’t trying to. Did you?—”

He raises the hand he holds between us. “Just a shock. Scared me more than it hurt.”

“You screamed very loud.” I smile. “I thought a snake bit you.”

His eyes widen slightly at the possibility, and then he gets an expression I can’t quite define, but it makes my stomach flutter.

“It is nice to see you smile again.” His gaze is on my mouth.

Suddenly I realize how close we are standing, inches apart with my back to the beacon, pinned between both forces.

“Are you not hurt then?” I point to his palm and push past him to speak more comfortably.

“This? No.” He takes a big, expectant exhale before looking away and gesturing to the beacon. “The wires are tricky, but believe it or not, a shock isn’t bad news. Means we are on track. It’s still in commission.”

I nod, but my thoughts are only on folding again.

My skin itches for the quick sensation of being in a location, then immediately somewhere different.

The muscles in my legs ache after sitting around for days waiting, not knowing if my gift would ever cooperate again.

I want to run, to fold and prove that I am in control, that crossing the distance between worlds was an isolated event.

“Do you think—” August clears his throat, nervous to proceed. “Could you fold us back, or should I keep at it? I don’t mind getting shocked.”

“I shouldn’t even try,” I confess. “It still feels a little . . . involuntary.”

“Start small, back to the village.”

“Maybe.” I scan the plateau as if the answer is tucked into the lush vegetation.

The beacon box flickers, dozens of sparks dancing into the air like quick flashes of lighting. August curses and starts fussing with the interior as if embers didn’t come from that very origin. “Go on and practice. I have to finish rewiring this mess.”

I worry my lip, unsure. “Just back to the village. If it starts working, come get me.”

He grumbles a halfhearted promise with his head disappearing into the metal base, entranced in his work.

I close my eyes and take a large breath, trying to slow my heartbeat.

I can do this. I’ve folded every day since I remember.

I picture the hearth of my fireplace, the pot that hangs over it, and the cast iron lid I’ve burned my fingers on more times than I am capable of counting.

I can almost smell the interior air of the kitchen, dried spices and the breeze coming in from outside, where neighbors smoke meat.

After an intentional step, I note the ground feels different, more stable. The living carpet of the plateau grass has left, replaced by the cushion of a woven rug. I open my eyes a crack and see the very hearth I pictured, as if my gift never gave me issue.

I should be happy, but the edgy feeling of not knowing if my gift will ever come so easily again won’t shake. I don’t like that I am not in control of it, that my subconscious brought us across the space between when I did not command it.

I decide folding the distance once is sufficient enough and resign to walk to the rest of the traps I’ve set near the tree line of the village. No skilled hunter focuses on these areas, but rabbits and other small game are known to stay close to the village for an easy pick of someone’s garden.

I retrieve a quilled nutria from the first snare, but the others remain untripped.

My snares are quick and humane, as if a predator from the forest was to hunt the same creature.

I remove the animal’s quills to clean the rest. Its pelt is not suitable for tanning, but the night predators will make use of the discards I leave behind.

August is still not finished when I return and begin making a crudely simple stew.

As it simmers, I bathe and change the bandage on my arm.

It sticks and pulls at my wound, opening in spots as I remove it.

The color looks different, and I hope it is from the herbs I’ve been using.

I wince as I place my nightgown on because the air always makes the wound tender right after exposure.

Soon, it will go back to the dull ache when the herbs I slathered on begin their magic.

By the time I hear movement outside my room, it is almost dusk. August pushed wiring the beacon past the time he should have, getting more comfortable with his surroundings.

A soft knock on my door makes me jump in anticipation.

“Calliape?”

August’s face looks relieved when I crack the door open. “Do you have good news?” I ask.

“I was only shocked one more time.” He smiles. “But nothing more to report.”

“Tomorrow, I’m helping. You will have to deal with it.”

He huffs a little and then pauses. “The house was so silent I thought for a moment . . . I thought you folded all the way back to Cosima without me.”

“Just back here. You were right. I can do short distances.”

“Good.” He smiles and leans on the doorframe casually. “Can you imagine me stranded here alone?”

“No.” I find myself smiling back freely.

He holds out my leather satchel. “You left this behind.”

“Oh, thank you.” When I take it, I notice it is full. “Did you pick more?”

He looks shy. “I thought maybe I should contribute.”

“That was kind. And you should have some stew. It’s not rabbit, I promise.”

His face drops a little. “What is it?”

“It’s . . . delicious.” I smile, shutting the last bit of my door, knowing that is not what he meant at all. “Good night.”

He chuckles to himself on the other side. I shake the berries and do the same. They’re in varying stages of ripeness, and some even still have stems and leaves attached. My heart sputters as I picture him foraging these for me as the sun goes down, and I decide I am not sick of berries after all.

Rest comes easier now that progress is being made on the beacon and my gift is obeying me again. I sink into a deep sleep, one that washes over my body but leaves my mind still aware, like dreaming in waking hours when the strange, distorted thoughts are easily remembered.

Standing in the dark forest in my dream takes my breath away. Animals scream and insects sing to each other, but over all of it I hear a voice calling out to me in the darkness, the one I’ve not heard so clearly since leaving Frith.

Again, the words are not clear, but the intent is. I am not meant to be here. I have to go. I must leave Frith.

I dream of folding back to Cosima’s temple. The rubble is tough on my soles as I shuffle toward the crater and gaze down into the abyss.

I gasp and fold again to a cliff I have never been to, unsure which world it lives on.

I walk to the edge and look out into the foggy darkness.

Something is out there, staring back and watching me.

And then I hear it, the voice of the monster that rose from the depths of the Estate.

Its wings beat in the fog and move it in flumes in the inky shadows.

It speaks to me, and I understand it. It says the word I heard the day it took the stones and looked directly at Ferren.

Abomination.

A chill washes over me, and with another gasp, I open my eyes and the image of the monster’s wings is gone, the air no longer dry and empty. I’m standing in my room, safe.

I’m standing, not tucked in my bed and waking from a nightmare.

I look around a little dazed. Grit under my feet pokes at my soles as it did in the dream.

My heart plummets when I glance downward in inspection. Sand and rubble speckle them as if I truly folded and the evidence of that came back with me.