CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nobody
V
Ink-hi-yah-ku-twa-vi…
Ink-hi-yah-ku-twa-vi…
Ink-hi-yah-ku-twa-vi…
…ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ…
The hornet loomed over the wreckage of the altar, hovering on thrumming wings. It had a terrible beauty, like a well-wrought weapon. Every inch of it looked lethal. Not counting its wings, the insect was as big as Iddo, but slenderer and more elongated, poison yellow with black stripes.
Red Guy strode forth alone to meet it. He didn’t sprint this time, but glided, graceful as a dancer, stepping deftly across the fissures in the floor. As he approached the broken altar, he reached up, pointing with his index finger to the needle-tip of the hornet’s stinger, where a drop of violet venom welled. He pointed closer. He poked it.
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Wilburn gasped. But… nothing happened. Red Guy bowed to the hornet, then began to walk away. Wilburn’s shoulders sagged with relief. He’d been convinced that Red Guy was about to become Dead Guy. What kind of idiot intentionally got stung by a giant hornet? Wilburn knew he would never do such a foolish thing. But maybe Red Guy was invincible. Maybe he couldn’t be killed. No sooner had this theory crossed Wilburn’s mind than it was proven incorrect. A few steps from the altar, Red Guy staggered. His spine arched sickeningly. A shudder wracked him head to foot. Then he collapsed, jerking and spasming.
No cry of pain escaped the fallen Red Guy; likely, he kept chanting to the end. Wilburn didn’t see, because his red hood hid his face—a small mercy. And yet, Wilburn had an awful feeling that he knew exactly what the dying man’s expression must have been: blank.
Another chanter stepped into the circle, as another larva was born from the tunnel of light. Wilburn noticed neither, for his stricken gaze was riveted to the writhing figure on the floor. It didn’t occur to him that he should try to help Red Guy. Truth be told, the man was past the point of saving, but Wilburn had no way of knowing that. Zero points for heroism, Wilburn.
Points instead to the Girl in Black, or Gold—whichever; there was really only one enigma of a girl, and it was she who approached the dying man, her tattooed hand clenching the hilt of her knife, though she didn’t draw it. When she peered down into Red Guy’s hood, the wariness went out of her expression. She made a sudden gesture, and said, in a calm, precise voice, “Zguabalibidadibalibalum.” A phosphorescent grid like a glowing fishing net scanned Red Guy up and down. After a few seconds, the spell faded away. The girl shook her head. Then she looked up sharply, catching Wilburn watching her.
He was too disturbed to feel embarrassed. He held her gaze, searching for some sign of the kindred spirit he had sensed in the honey-rain. But the girl’s eyes were cold. They seemed to say, Harden your heart, little boy, the worst is yet to come. Wilburn’s Adam’s apple clunked as he swallowed dryly. He had feeling she was right.
Ink-hi-yah-ku-twa-vi…
Ink-hi-yah-ku-twa-vi…
Ink-hi-yah-ku-twa-vi…
…ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ…