THE JEALOUSY OF JALICE

Morning passed strangely as the last of the hopper’s weed wore off. The discoloration faded, and the air thinned out some—though the heaviness never fully lifted. Annilasia’s senses acclimated to her surroundings as the forest returned to its familiar attributes. To her relief, the anxiety from the bunker alleviated as well. By noon, she’d managed to bury the event and dismiss it from her mind. Only when she needed to appease her growling stomach was she forced to recall it. Even with the incentive of a ravenous appetite, eating proved difficult. She gagged more than once while swallowing the grub.

Annilasia blushed after one such mishap, wiping the drool from her lips. If you’re going to catch up to Jalice, you need energy, she’d admonished herself. With much jaw clenching and teeth grinding, she’d managed to keep the food down. She hated how her skin had crawled through the entire meal.

Determined not to stop again until nightfall, Annilasia was now taking a quick inventory. Quiet angst pricked her as she brought the satchel into her lap. In her rush to escape the assault, she’d abandoned most of the supplies. There was no telling what she’d managed to grab in her panic. Unstrapping the flap, she removed Korcsha’s book for a better view of the bag’s meager contents.

Jar of dried apple. Few slices of cornbread. She exhaled at a leather flask, but relief was short lived—half empty. She’d have to find a stream to refill it.

The scarcity of food and drinking water forced Annilasia to consider returning to the bunker. But the thought came and went, extinguished by a mixture of reasons. For one thing, she didn’t have time. And she couldn’t deny her fresh aversion to that horrid place. She’d have to find another way to scrounge up food. Her mind recoiled at the idea of hunting, but her circumstances didn’t leave her much of a choice.

A small vial amongst the supplies caught her eye, and she took it out for closer inspection. It was difficult to make out the contents behind the dirt smudges. She removed the cap and peered at the dark substance inside. Still unable to identify it, she gingerly dipped her smallest finger into the vial’s rim and observed the substance before lifting it up to her nose to inhale a quick whiff.

The substance carried a peculiar metallic scent masked by a stronger odor, like ground bark with a hint of cinnamon. A memory returned. It was a specific item requested as part of the original bargain with Korcsha—brown hair dye. Annilasia had meant for it to hide Jalice’s identity. Annilasia muttered a curse under her breath as she shoved the vial back in the bag. At this point, she’d have much preferred additional food or water. Jalice might not even be alive to utilize the dye.

Annilasia instantly scolded herself. Jalice was alive—she had to be. Rather than dwell on the possibilities of the Tecalica’s condition, Annilasia finished the cataloging of her supplies.

She ran her hand through the satchel but found nothing else. A bar of soap would’ve been pleasant, or at least something to overpower her stench. A far greater necessity would be warmth though. The nights were getting colder, and a capote or blankets would’ve served her well. She’d have to make do and hope that hunger or the dropping temperatures didn’t kill her.

Annilasia grabbed Korcsha’s book to put it back inside the satchel but paused with her hands gripping the thick binding. An urge to open it and peer at the pages coursed through her. Torn between disgust and shock, her mind played a strange game of imagining what mysteries the ink inside might tell.

“Open it,” whispered a voice.

Annilasia stared at the book while the words seized her. The voice held an unfamiliar tone that sent shivers down her spine. It wasn’t her own. Like a thief, it dispelled her thoughts and refused to be ignored. She wrestled to let go of the book, but something inside her resisted.

“Open it.”

Annilasia felt a light tap on her shoulder. When she spun around, she found herself alone. No movement amongst the trees indicated otherwise.

“Open it!” shouted the voice. A guttural coarseness edged its words.

The thought—more command than temptation now—pressed like a hot poker at the forefront of her mind. The longer she withheld, the more insistent and imperious it became.

A harsh sting slashed across her shoulder. She cried out and dropped the book before twisting around in a frantic effort to identify her attacker. Another strike ran down her shoulder like a needle dragging along her skin. She stood up and darted a few feet to escape.

Seconds passed. No other strikes followed. Annilasia stood still and alert as the pain subsided. Her heart pounded wildly. She flexed her muscles, ready to engage in a fight. The forest offered no hint at movement; not even a breeze caressed the leaves.

First, I see morbid body parts floating around, and now I feel phantom touches and hear voices. Annilasia’s face burned as she stomped back to the book. She dropped it into the satchel and promised herself it’d burn someday. She’d dance on its ashes, and maybe even Korcsha’s ashes too.

Annilasia winced at a dull pain in her right arm and cursed violently. She figured she had a deep bruise or even a pulled muscle, most likely a result of her fall near the bunker. A quick test swing of her sword would tell if she could still handle combat.

Her hand clenched awkwardly around air when she reached down for the weapon. She glanced down to an empty scabbard. Her panic escalated as she scoured the area. For the second time, her memory regurgitated the events of the bunker. Through unpleasant recollection, she recalled that she had dropped her weapon at the onset of the assault.

No force of the Realms could hold back the obscenities that spilled from Annilasia. As her voice shook the leaves, she kicked at a nearby log, furious at her own carelessness. What in Dardajah’s darkness came over me?

Annilasia took a deep breath. When calmed enough to think clearly, she counted her remaining weapons. Three knives. A fair defense against the average warrior, but she wasn’t arrogant. Knives would be no use against a more formidable opponent or a beast.

Her inventory of weapons in turn rehashed the other items stashed on her person—the jar of leeches, the medresa, two fire matches, and a dozen feathers. The fire matches were somewhat comforting. She could build a fire for warmth, if only for two nights. Additionally, she hadn’t needed to waste any quills on Korcsha, despite the aethertwister’s Ikaul heritage.

The burning daylight sparked an urgency within her. Although her circumstances weren’t ideal, she couldn’t dwell on them. She had no intention of returning to the bunker, and Jalice was out there somewhere, possibly wounded.

With a somewhat appeased stomach, Annilasia focused on the faint trail that led farther west. As she picked up a steady pace, she noticed two sets of human footprints. Jalice’s fate, and the mystery behind her leave from the bunker, now fully occupied Annilasia’s mind.

Annilasia considered the possibilities. If one set of these footprints were Jalice’s, that meant she was being pursued—or led—deeper into the forest. That seemed an unlikely course of action for an Ikaul warrior, who would have instead taken her back towards the Fortress. Another possibility—one Annilasia was more inclined to believe—was that this newcomer wanted Jalice for their own interests.

Still, between the assailant and Jalice, Annilasia wondered which of them had been wounded. If Jalice, she’d managed, by some star-watched miracle, to slip past an able-bodied warrior while injured, and escape the bunker before her attacker caught up with her. The more logical implication, especially given the lack of a struggle outside the bunker, was that Jalice had wounded her attacker, and was now being pursued.

The lack of clear answers left too many unknowns.

A somewhat fortunate outcome was that Jalice was heading west—away from the Fortress. Either she was disoriented, or she’d felt pressured to flee in that direction. A dark thought formed amid Annilasia’s ponderings. Perhaps the monstrosity that had attacked the tillishu inside the bunker had something to do with Jalice’s flight. Annilasia entertained the idea even as her mind fought against the memories that surfaced with it.

It wasn’t possible. The eyes and lips had been a hallucination—nothing more. It seemed unlikely Jalice had encountered them as well.

I should’ve never left her. If she’d stayed behind instead of visiting Korcsha, she could’ve defended Jalice. The two could have fled the bunker and resumed their journey. Visiting the aethertwister had been a mistake.

Yet a part of Annilasia resented that sentiment. Korcsha had produced a path to freeing Jalice’s memories, as well as insurance on Delilee’s cover at the Fortress—even if the latter came at the expense of Delilee’s health. The visit hadn’t been pointless. It’d only prove so if Jalice turned up dead.

These deliberations almost distracted Annilasia from the unusual shape etched in the dry mud. She crouched down to take a closer look. Her muscles tensed. A paw print with distinct claw marks stood in stark contrast amongst the human footprints scattered around it.

Too small for a bearolf, but clearly not a cretaceon—arthropods didn’t have paws. Most likely these belonged to a grimalkin. The creatures had been lurking near the bunker; they’d probably followed the scent of Jalice and her pursuer. Perhaps the animals had even attacked, which would be another explanation altogether for the blood by the bunker. Annilasia fought back a wave of panic. Yet another complication on a long list of dangerous inconveniences.

Dying endless stars, that woman better not die.

Hoping to discredit the gnawing fear that the paw print presented, Annilasia rushed to survey the area. Two other sets of similar tracks and scattered feces confirmed her suspicions. Not a lone grimalkin—an entire clowder.

Annilasia resumed her journey, transitioning from a trot to a vigorous sprint. She was running out of time. Things would only get worse with the arrival of night, and the odds weren’t in Jalice’s favor.

Marking the passing time became easier when the grey clouds overhead broke apart into thin streaks. A foreboding blue smoldered in the eastern sky, while the west reveled in the brilliant colors that beckoned the inevitable sunset. Annilasia noted the sun’s position in its descent. Evening was at hand, and already the light was fading into shadows.

She pressed on with her last bit of energy though her muscles protested with every stride. Annilasia’s stomach growled as hunger returned, but she refused to stop. The ominous image of grimalkins feasting on Jalice urged her to keep going.

Not long after noting the sun’s final hours, a drastic change altered the forest. The heaviness in the air amplified tenfold. Annilasia groaned and rubbed her temples as dizziness pinched her forehead. The unexpected symptoms slowed her pace, and soon she staggered like a drunkard.

Her eyes roamed aimlessly as she struggled to focus. The hopper’s weed had worn off hours earlier, and dehydration seemed an unlikely cause of her current state. Confused by this, she startled when she happened to glance towards the sky. Naked branches spiked like nails out from the trees. Annilasia halted to stare in awe. Not one twig bore a leaf, and she couldn’t recall when the forest had transitioned from brilliantly foliaged to barren. She roused herself out of shock and tried to concentrate on the trail despite her headache.

Her brow furrowed as she wandered a few yards before she stopped again. She stared blankly at the ground.

The paw prints shuffled direction. The clowder had abandoned the hunt for no obvious reason, and appeared to have retreated southeast while the humans had continued west.

Whether by a clogged head or the dense mystery of it all, Annilasia couldn’t explain the bizarre behavior. There were no signs of the grimalkins having fed on or caught their prey, nor of them being wounded. They had simply retreated.

Annilasia regarded the skeletal trees while she wrestled with the odd coincidence of the forest’s decline and the animal’s decision to abandon their hunt. A faint dread seeped through her confusion as she remembered what lay deep in the forest at the bottom of a crater. She shivered as the Black House emerged in her mind, quick to remind herself that the site was miles away, and far enough to have no effect on this part of the forest.

Annilasia shifted and instinctively fumbled for where her sword normally resided. A silence hung in the air, but not from the natural sagging of a harsh day’s end. There was no sound at all. No chirps of a bird. No scurry of rodents in the underbrush. Just silence.

Annilasia resisted the urge to speak aloud simply to break up the quiet. Instead, she clenched her jaw and curled her fingers into fists. Under any other circumstances, she wouldn’t have batted an eye at a dead patch of forest. She needed to stop fixating on such inconsequential details. It was good fortune the clowder had abandoned the trail, and the dead forest wouldn’t last forever. Dismissing her reservations about the change in scenery, Annilasia resumed her fervent march west.

Within a few hours, the sun dipped past the tree line. Lingering traces of light mocked Annilasia, even as she held to the hope that her journey would end before the sun disappeared. The two sets of human tracks remained steadfast in a crisscross chase through the barren trees.

As the sun’s lower crescent brushed the horizon, a pungent stench invaded Annilasia’s nostrils. She moaned as it worsened with each step. What in creation’s tar pit could smell like this out here? There’d been no signs of life amongst the dead trees aside from the two souls she’d been tracking.

Annilasia gagged and wrinkled her nose. Her foot fell awkwardly atop a gooey clump of mud that bubbled under her weight. She crouched down and squinted in the growing darkness. The mud’s texture appeared odd, bearing a much lighter color than expected.

Glancing farther ahead revealed similar lumps splattered on trees and the ground. Several yards away, a peculiar hump lay starkly atop the forest floor, glistening in the last rays of light. A film of red liquid coated its surface. The longer Annilasia stared, the clearer the scene became. Slowly, she peered down at her feet.

She could see it now. Red liquid oozed from the clump of mud like a river.

Except it wasn’t a clump of mud. Annilasia heaved violently. She trembled as fresh awareness forced her to survey the scene of havoc again.

It was everywhere—innards and blood, some flung against every tree within throwing distance while the rest of it had been dragged in long smears across the ground. Her eyes latched onto the hump. Indistinguishable body parts formed a morbid display of rising and falling shapes. Bones jutted from the mass, all of it stained in glistening crimson.