Coiled Snake (The Windstorm Series Book 2) (33 page)

As the shapes around me begin to blur and fade, I bury my face in my arms and fall asleep.

I wake just as the daylight is beginning to abandon us. Incredibly, I feel much better. My senses are sharper, my head clearer. My back still hurts, but it seems as if my body really may be fighting the infection.

Everyone is sleeping except Hana, who sits protectively near Mokai and Maisy and shoots glares at Rye’s still form across the room.

Keeping my blanket wrapped around me, I go outside to relieve myself. Uneager to face everyone, I don’t go back immediately. Instead, I sit in the dark and pray for the wind to return.

When I finally make my way back to the hut, I hear voices coming from inside. I listen outside the doorway.

“So that’s how it works,” Hana says. “When your leg is better I’ll teach you how.”

“I still don’t believe it,” Maisy says hoarsely.

“Me neither,” says Jack.

“We’ll show you tomorrow,” Kai inserts. “If the wind’s back.”

A well of disappointment springs up inside my chest. I had wanted to tell the twins about windwalking.

“Are those kids really your brother and sister?” Rye’s voice asks near my ear.

I jump. “What are you doing out here?”

He holds up his shirt. “Getting more fish.”

“Hana let you?” As I stare at his bare chest, I pull my blanket more tightly around my shoulders.

Rye shrugs. “I slipped out while she dozed off.”

“Oh. Well, yes. They are. My brother and sister. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Why are they here?”

“I thought you might be able to tell me that,” I snap. “You seem to be on such good terms with the Kaana.”

“I came here for Yingo. Nothing else.”

“Well, I came here for them.” I turn my back on him and enter the hut. Hana and the others stop talking when they see me, which only makes me feel worse. I sit down on my bed.

Rye comes in and adds the fish to the fire. Then he hands me the canteen. When I smell the new batch of tea, I feel my cheeks flush. I drink it without meeting his eyes.

When the flames are burning down and everyone has eaten their fill of fish, we bunk down for the night.

Hana wakes me when it’s my turn to stand guard. I stand up stiffly, gripping the blanket, and walk to doorway of the hut. I cast my gaze on the sleeping forms behind me, letting my eyes rest on the twins.

The image of Maisy’s frightened eyes flashes through my mind.
Once I get them to safety, everything will go back to normal.

Who am I kidding? It’s going to take more than time to heal this. My little sister saw me kill people today. Her look told me what I already know: that I’ve become a monster.

As I study the two of them, lying on the ground, backs touching, a sharp pain fills my chest. I don’t know how to comfort them, and it doesn’t matter. They don’t look to me anymore. They look to each other. And maybe to Hana and Mokai.

I rub my fist into my eyes and sit down in the entryway. I don’t wake Mokai when my shift ends. Instead, I stay up the whole night, watching the stars ripple in the lake.

When the sun rises over the trees, I stand up and get ready to rouse the others. But just as I’m turning to go back into the hut, I catch sight of a toadstool shaped tree to my right. Following a hunch, I walk over to it and inspect its branches. As I suspected, there are clusters of green fruit dangling from thin vines. I find one with a reddish hue on a lower branch and pull it off. The skin is too thick to peel, but when I raise the fruit to my nose, the sweet smell of ripe mango greets my nostrils. I was right.

Not caring to think about how I knew that the tree was a mango tree, I pluck as many as I can and carry them back to the hut.

“Wake up,” I tell the others. “I’ve got breakfast.”

“Sweet-as!” Hana says, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

I take out Paika’s knife and set to work peeling and slicing the mangoes. When I hand a piece to Maisy, she smiles.

Rye’s tea worked wonders on all of us. Maisy and Kai are still in pain, but their fevers have broken, and there appears to be no sign of infection. He brews another batch, and we drink it down with breakfast.

My mood is much lighter as we assemble our things—packing extra fish and mangoes—and prepare to continue our trek. And then something happens that catapults me to the brink of pure joy.

The wind returns.

We strap Maisy to Rye’s back once more, and Mokai offers to carry Jack. “I’ll be fine in the air,” he says. He looks at the twins. “You ready for this?”

Maisy and Jack look doubtful, even frightened, as we stand on the shore of the lake.

But before we can take off, Rye taps me on the shoulder. “Wanna take this off?” he asks, pointing to the staying stone.

Hana hands over the key reluctantly, and I remove the stone from his neck.

“Don’t try anything,” Hana growls.

“Relax,” Rye says, rubbing his neck.

“Okay,” Kai says. “Everyone ready? Stay close. Hana and Kit, you take point. Let’s go.”

I form
honga
, more than eager to leave the sweltering jungle behind. As we rise into the clouds, I look over at my siblings and laugh. Their stunned expressions are priceless, reminding me of the first time I experienced windwalking.

The breeze is steady and easy. Hana and I keep our rifles handy, but there’s no sign of trouble. After only an hour, we see a road below us. I scan the horizon from our vantage point in the sky and locate a town about a mile north of us.

I gesture to the others, and we descend to the earth.

“We’re close,” I say to everyone. “Can we make it?”

“Are you kidding?” Kai asks, clearly in as good a mood as I am. “This’ll be a cakewalk after the jungle.”

And he’s right. Our pace is still slow, and the road isn’t paved, but without the trip line roots and serrated leaves to block our path, it’s almost as good as windwalking. We’re even able to walk side by side.

In about half an hour, we reach the outskirts of town and stop to do a quick clean up.

“Just act like soldiers, and no one will question us,” Rye says. “They’re used to seeing that here.”

“You stay here with the twins,” Hana says to Kai.

After hiding Kai, Jack, and Maisy in a ditch off the road, Hana, Rye, and I enter the town. The sights and sounds of normal human activity make me want to cry.

Rye stops a man selling produce out of his car, a rusted-out Ford Bronco, and asks him something in Spanish. After speaking with him for a few minutes, Rye turns to us. “I’ve got good news and bad news. The bad news is there’s no doctor in this town,” he says.

“What’s the good news?” I ask.

“I just bought this man’s car.”

We climb in the Bronco and pick up the twins and Kai. A few minutes later, we’re sucking on oranges and avocadoes while bumpily driving north to Tuxtla Gutiérrez—the closest city with an international airport.

Rye drives, and I sit in the passenger seat. Everyone else squishes together in the back.

As we travel, I lean my head against the rickety car door and look out the window—it’s the only way I can keep myself from stealing glances at Rye. The dirt lining his jaw. The sweat beading on his neck. The small cut behind his ear.

The heat inside the car is soporific, and the effects of staying up all night are beginning to catch up with me; before long, I slip into a fitful sleep.

I wake up when the car stops moving. I’m about to ask where we are but quickly answer the question for myself. We’re surrounded by cars, locked in a traffic jam on a busy street. Horns blare on all sides of us as drivers lean out their windows and curse at each other in Spanish. Lining the road are shops painted in bright pink and green and blue. Faded billboards plastered with more faded signs. Wild fruit trees that splatter the sidewalks with spoiled mangoes and oranges. American fast food chains. Convoys of buses. Medians decorated with stately palms. Old Volkswagens crowding behind new convertibles. Gas stations and hotels and grocery stores.

We’re in Tuxtla Gutiérrez.

Rye follows the signs for the airport, taking a road that slopes up toward the green hills behind the city, and we crawl past derelict homes and small stores until we arrive at Ángel Albino Corzo International.

“Wait here,” Rye says to us. “I’ll ask about flights.”

Before I have a chance to protest, he opens the car door and jogs into the building.

We wait in silence.

After a few minutes, Rye returns. “They don’t have any more flights leaving today,” he says as he gets back in the car. “But there’s one tomorrow going to LAX. From there you can catch a connection to Auckland. That’s where we’ll part ways.”

“Okay, then,” Kai says from the back seat. “Buy the tickets.”

“I’ll have to charge it,” Rye says.

“No.” Kai shakes his head.

“I’ll need to get money from the bank then,” Rye says. “I don’t have enough cash.”

“Do you have enough for a hotel room?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. We’ll book a room for tonight. In the morning, you can withdraw the money and pay for our flights.”

“The Yakone will be able to see the withdrawal,” I point out.

“Yeh, but they won’t know until we’re about to leave. And they won’t know where we’re going. That’s the important bit. I don’t want an assassin waiting for us in Los Angeles.”

“What about a doctor?” I ask. “Should we take you and Maisy to someone?”

“Yes,” Hana says. “That’s a priority.”

“We passed a hospital on the way here,” Rye says, putting the car in gear and turning around. The engine shudders as he moves from first to second.

We’re at the hospital for a couple of hours. When we leave, Maisy and Mokai are wearing proper casts.

“They just treated you and let you leave?” I ask. “No questions?”

Kai shrugs. “Rye paid them off. Good call keeping him around.”

One more thing I owe him for
, I think as I rub my arm.

From the hospital, we drive to a low-profile hotel near the airport. The outside of the building is faded and run down, but when we enter the courtyard-style lobby, I’m surprised by how clean it is. A nice breeze sweeps through the archways, brushing aside the stifling heat. Rye pays for two rooms, and the receptionist gives us the keys.

The six of us go upstairs. The boys take the room on the left, and we girls take the room on the right. There’s a communal bathroom down the hall, so we take turns showering. It feels amazing to run cool water over my back.

I step out of the shower and rub the misted mirror with my fist. The face that stares back at me is obscured by pale green streaks and surrounded by fog. I stare at it—at that person who must be me—for a long time. Then I scrub my face clean.

When I return to my room, wrapped in a towel, I’m taken aback by the pile of clothes sitting on the bed.

“Rye’s doing,” Hana says, toweling off her hair. “Not sure he understands the concept of being a prisoner.”

I pick up the cotton blouse Rye left for me and freeze when I discover a roll of bandages sitting beneath it. An emotion I can’t identify cascades through my body, a blend of vulnerability, gratitude, and shame.

After I’m dressed, I help Maisy with her clothes and tuck her into bed. I can’t believe how well she’s looking. Her face is pink and soft, and in her clean clothes, you’d never be able to tell she was battling death in the jungle only this morning
.

Hana and I leave Maisy to rest while we join the others for a meal on the boys’ balcony, hot chicken rolled in corn tortillas—also procured by Rye. As I savor the juicy meat, I watch the activity on the streets below us. The blaring horns and calling voices are like music to my ears. We made it out. We’re alive. We’re going home.

The rest of the evening passes slowly, and I relish the chance to lie on my bed and do absolutely nothing. No more lugging heavy equipment through the steaming forest. No more walking the skin off my feet.

As night falls, Hana returns to our room, Mokai with her. The two of them have been sitting in the courtyard, talking.

“I wanted to say good night,” Kai says. “Jack and Rye are already asleep.”

“’Night,” I say.

“I also wanted to give you this.” Kai removes the tiki pendant from his pocket and hands it to me.

“Are you sure?” I ask, taking the jade charm. As soon as my hands close around it, I feel that peace settle over me.

“You’ll make better use of it than I will.”

“Thank you.” I open my fist and study the charm’s curving lines. “This was Mom’s, right? Why do you think she had it? Miri said there weren’t windtalkers on their side of the family.”

Kai scratches his scalp. “Well, I’m pretty sure Hemi made it for her … He would know how to create wind charms.”

“But why would he give it to Mom?”

“Beats me.”

“He gave all of us jewelry, didn’t he?” Maisy says from behind us, startling me. I didn’t know she was awake.

“He gave you something?” I ask, surprised.

“My watch. I discovered it again this year when I was going through my stuff.”

“Do you have it with you?” I ask eagerly.

“Yeah. It’s in my backpack.”

I grab her bag from the table and hand it to her. She digs through it for a few minutes, pulling out clothes and a passport and toiletries, then frowns.

“I can’t find it,” she says, still searching. “It’s not here anywhere.”

I suddenly remember what Jack told me about the Kaana searching their belongings. “Is anything else missing?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

“What did the watch look like?”

“The band’s silver,” she says. “With a few stones in it.”

I look at Mokai for help, but he just shrugs his shoulders. “Doesn’t sound like a wind charm to me,” he says. “But what do I know?”

“Was there anything special about it?” I ask.

“I dunno. Not really … Well, two of the numbers were a different color from the others.”

“Which ones?”

“6 and 9.”

I chew on my lip. That’s not much to go on. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the Kaana didn’t take it—it doesn’t sound like they’d have any reason to. It must have just gotten lost.

“There was the engraving too, I guess,” Maisy adds.

“Engraving?”

“On the back of the watch. It said, ‘To Maisy. Enjoy every minute. Love, Dad.’”

I consider the message, but nothing about it seems odd. “Is Jack missing anything?” I ask.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t own a watch. He doesn’t like to wear them.”

“Dad didn’t give him one?”

“If he did, he doesn’t have it.”

I frown. I don’t know what to make of this, but perhaps there’s nothing to be made. My dad gave Maisy a watch; now it’s lost. End of story.

But something doesn’t seem quite right to me. Maybe it’s because my dad gave my mom a pendant that turned out to be a wind charm and he gave me a necklace that turned out to be a
hiri
—with a magnetic disc hidden inside it—that I feel uneasy. Not to mention the whole matter of the twins’ being kidnapped in the first place.

I pull my metal disc out of my pouch and study the cryptic scripture reference. As always, the significance escapes me. I wish I knew what it meant.

Suddenly, I remember I’m sitting in a hotel room. Jumping to my feet, I run to the nearest nightstand and yank open the drawer. I give a shout of triumph when I see, sitting inside, a black book with the words “Santa Biblia” printed on the cover. Scooping it up, I flip through the pages until I get to Psalm 62, verse 9.

“Be right back,” I say. I run into the boys’ room and kneel beside Rye’s bed. “Rye,” I shake him awake. “Will you translate this for me?”

“Are you serious?” he mumbles thickly.

“Please. It’s important.”

“Fine.” He rubs his eyes, flips on a lamp, and takes the book from me. “Okay, uh, it says, ‘Men of low degree are vanity, and men of high degree are a lie: to be laid in the balance’—I think that’s right—‘they are altogether lighter than vanity.’” He lowers the Bible to his lap. “That’s what you wanted me to read?”