Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WindTales 02 (12 page)

deep, irrational rage as she swung her head about. She saw where his boots had left light indention in one

of several branching pathways, no doubt caused by the many deer and small animals on the peninsula.

She started toward that path, but her eye caught sight of deeper tracks to her right and she walked to

that section of ground and peered closely. There were no tracks going to the path, but tracks going up

the pathway. She looked back along the ground leading from the first pathway to the one where she was

standing. A tight, sneering smile touched her mouth.

“You walked along the root, didn't you, you bastard?” she said softly. “You wanted me to follow that

pathway, didn't you?” She looked up the pathway he had obviously taken.

“You're not as smart as you think you are!"

There was a sharp bend in the pathway and the sound was loud, very loud there. He struggled up,

gripping a thick vine that draped down from one of the tall trees overhead, and pulled himself up a small

ledge, swung clumsily around the bend, and—

The sight took his breath away. His blue-black eyes opened wide, his mouth dropped open. He would

later swear the heart inside his chest even ceased to beat. So stunned was he by what he was seeing, he

sat down heavily on the loamy soil and stared with rapt attention.

The going was hard up the path the bastard had taken, she thought, as she heaved her light frame along

the black ground. Now and again she had to fumble for protruding roots, a draping vine, and even a

small shrub, to keep from tumbling back down the pathway. Her legs and thighs were cramping; her shirt

was plastered to her panting chest. Sweat drizzled into her eyes and the salt stung her. Insects darted at

her, bumped into her face and neck. Something was crawling inside her boot, but she was too afraid to

stop long enough to dislodge whatever it was for fear she'd fall for sure. With every step she took she

prayed whatever was making its home in her boot wasn't deadly.

“Godawful son-of-a-bitching bastard!” she seethed as she crawled up the last few feet of the pathway

and spied the sharp turning in the course. She reached out for one of the thicker vines.

He'd never seen anything so lovely in his life. From top to bottom, the sight was one of extraordinary

beauty. The sound, one he had only sensed in the village below, was a mighty roar here where he sat. He

sighed, taking in the calming influence, the pleasant smell, and the awe-inspiring sight that seemed to have

called him to view it.

When she finally was able to pivot herself around the bend in the pathway, after several unsuccessful

attempts that had left her dangling and spinning from the vine, she landed with a crash behind him, almost

falling right on top of him where he sat.

Startled by the movement behind him even though he couldn't hear it for the sound rushing in front of

him, Syn-Jern turned and gaped at Genevieve Saur as she struggled to her feet.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, stunned as her angry face lifted.

Genny was about to lie into him, to call him every name she could think of. She opened her mouth to do

just that when her attention was caught, and held, by the sight just beyond him. Her head tilted upward

until her neck could go no further on her shoulders.

He stood up, watching her expression, somehow pleased by it. She was as transfixed with the sight as

he was. When her head finally lowered, her eyes found his, and he could see the same awe registering on

her face that he knew must be on his own.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” he shouted to be heard. She shook her head, not understanding him. He walked

closer to her, leaned toward her. “Beautiful?"

She could only nod as she tore her gaze from him and scanned the lovely, breathtaking scene from top

to bottom and back again. She stepped around him, walked closer to the rim where he had been sitting

and peered cautiously over the side. She gasped and stepped back, almost collided with him.

“Careful!” he yelled. He wasn't even thinking when he put his hands on her upper arms and pulled her

back, away from the sheer drop before them.

Genevieve was so awed by the sight she didn't feel his hands on her, only nodded as he drew her away

from any danger that could be lurking near the drop off.

“Waterfall,” she murmured.

“What?"

She cleared her throat, turned to look up at him. She raised her voice. “It's a waterfall."

He nodded and turned back to the cascading water. He'd heard of such things; it was said Virago was a

land that boasted as many as a thousand of the natural wonders, but he'd never seen one. He'd never

even seen a picture of a waterfall in a book.

“How high do you think it is?” he shouted.

Genny lifted her gaze upward. “At least two thousand, maybe three thousand feet,” she yelled back.

He eased around her and leaned over to look down into the half-moon shaped cove where the waterfall

fell. White water rolled and dipped, surged and leapt over the rocks at the base of the cliff, swept

eastward toward a wide stream with bubbling waves and ripples that rushed away behind a turning in the

stream. The sound was deafening, a roar that defied description, and he was mesmerized by the way the

water leapt and danced in the small cove.

She stared at his back, thinking how easy it would be to push him over the edge. No one would know.

No one would ever find him in the rapids down below, and if they did, there would be precious little left

to identify once his body had been tumbled and dragged over the sharp rocks. Her fingers flexed at her

sides. She licked her lips, took in small, sharp little breaths, and took a step forward.

He took that moment to turn to her, his face bright with excitement. “It's the most beautiful...” he started

to tell her when he noticed the look on her face.

He blinked.

For a long moment they stared at one another. He was so close to the edge there was no way he could

get around her if she reached out to push him. They both knew he was vulnerable, in greater danger than

he had been since her brother had found him. Her face was set, cold, her loathing of him evident in the

way she looked at him. She was standing rigidly, poised, and coiled like a spring to rush at him. Her

hatred of him was like a stench in the air around them.

“What are you waiting for?” he whispered, knowing that even though she couldn't hear him, she knew

what he was saying. “Do it."

Genny didn't want to see the pain in his eyes. She didn't want to see the exact moment that he placed his

life in her hands. She didn't want to hear the loss of hope in his voice, but despite not being able to

actually hear his words, she felt them. She knew if she were to reach out to push him, he wouldn't resist.

He wouldn't try to take her with him when he fell. His hands were hanging loosely at his sides, he was

watching her, his fear on his face, but he would make no move to save himself from her.

“What kind of man are you?” she shouted at him. His silent stare ripped into her deeply than any dagger

could have. “Damn you! Damn you to hell!"

He watched her turn, saw her fling herself at the vine that had brought her to the place where they were

standing, saw her swing out into space, out of his sight, and he ran after her. He reached the decline just

as she slid down the vine and landed on her back at the bottom. He didn't think as he leapt for another

vine to follow her down. The pithy fiber burnt his palms as he dropped hand over hand down it, but he

barely noticed. Just as he reached the bottom, he saw her running at a hard clip down the pathway away

from him.

“Genny!” he called after her, afraid she'd tumble and fall over some hidden root, hurt herself badly in her

headlong rush to get away from him, to erase him from her sight.

She could hear him thundering after her as she skirted the trees, ducked under low-hanging branches

and slid on her rump down mounds of rotting vegetation. She could hear him calling her name and the

sound was like a steel blade digging into her heart.

“Genny, wait!"

She thought it was sweat running into her eyes, blinding her, but it wasn't. It was her tears. Her anger

pushed her forward, faster. She'd had him in her sights and had let him go! She cursed as she ran. He

could have been at the bottom of the cove, drowning, if she'd only had the courage to push!

“Genny!"

One moment she was running, the next she was falling into space, her arms waving as she dropped like a

lead weight. She didn't even have time to cry out, to make a sound before she landed with a horrible thud

that knocked the breath from her lungs.

He saw her go over and his breath stopped. He shouted her name and plunged into the section of mango

grove where she had been running. Carefully, he skidded to a stop, reaching out to grab hold of a tree

branch just in time. The branch halted his forward rush and kept him from falling. He scrambled to hold

on to it, swinging back from the drop off, crashing hard into the side of the steep hole. But the branch

snapped with a sharp crack and he went sliding belly-first down the side of the hole.

She rolled to her side, doubled up, trying to breathe. Her eyes were watering, her lungs parching. She

heard him crashing down the side of the hole where she had fallen and snapped her head around to see

him tumbling sideways toward her. She managed to crab-walk away from him as he landed with a soft

thud at her feet.

He was unconscious for well over two hours.

Genny was beginning to think he would never wake up. There was a thin trickle of blood at his right

temple and he was lying so still, she was positive he had suffered some severe internal damage. Not

wanting to even so much as touch him for fear she'd bash his head in with one of the many large rocks

strewn about, she repeatedly called his name, cursed him, insulted him, and finally fell into a sullen silence

when he didn't respond. When his lids flickered, when he groaned, she heaved a sigh of relief.

“Wake up!” she hissed at him, tossing a stick at his chest.

Syn-Jern opened his eyes and stared up into a canopy of thick black leaves. The sun was low in the sky,

the shadows around him creeping in. He felt something strike his cheek and turned his head that way to

see Genevieve Saur glaring at him.

“Just how the hell do you suppose we get out of here?” she snarled.

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“Have you seen Genny?” Weir asked one of the village women as she scrubbed her clothing at one of the

large cook pots.

The woman glanced up and shook her head.

“I haven't seen Syn-Jern this morning, either,” Patrick remarked.

“They gods-be-damned sure ain't together!” Stevens spat as he pushed away from a tall palm. “He most

likely went looking for that sound he thought he heard."

“What sound?” Paddy asked.

“Angel Falls, I reckon,” the washerwoman told him. She smiled coyly at Paddy. “It be a waterfall,

Milord. Would you like to go see it?"

Paddy frowned. “Not with you."

“If you see Genny, tell her I need her on board before sunset,” Weir informed the others.

“That is if she's going."

“She'll be going!” Stevens growled.

Patrick fell into step beside his friend as Weir headed for the ship. “Think she followed him."

Weir's scowl was dark. “I know damned well the little busybody followed him!"

“You don't think she'd ... well, you know, do something to him, do you?"

Weir stopped dead still in his tracks and turned to stare at his old friend. “You don't think she would, do

you?"

“I don't know, Weir. She doesn't like him.” Patrick chewed on his lip. “Do you think we should try and

find them?"

They stared at one another for a moment.

“Let's go,” Weir snarled.

* * * *

He tried to sit up.

It was a mistake.

“Oh, my god!” he gasped, his left hand going to his right rib cage.

Genny looked at him with scorn. “Did you get a boo-boo?"

It felt as though his entire right side had caved in. If there weren't any broken ribs, it would be a miracle.

He could feel something grating inside him as he tried once more to sit up.

“Shit!” he spat.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Genny snapped, coming to her knees. “What the hell's wrong?"

He managed to turn his head further toward her and fixed her with a look that could have passed for

pure astonishment. “I think I've broken some ribs."

“Is that all?” she mocked. She locked her gaze with his and lifted one side of her mouth in a smirk.

“Serves you right for what you did to Paddy!"

He groaned, more for exasperation with her than actual pain, although he had plenty of that. He tried to

take a deep breath only to find the expansion of his ribs an excruciating agony. He gasped and quickly let

his breath out as far as it would go.

“Get up and get us out of here,” Genny told him, standing up and dusting the clinging leaves and soil from

her cords. When he didn't respond, she walked over to him and stared down at him. She nudged his

thigh with her boot. “I said get up, Sorn."

He looked at her. “Go away."

Her eyebrows shot up. “Go ... away?” she asked, her tone of voice letting him know she thought she

had misunderstood him.

“Aye. Go away.” He was panting with pain and unable to understand why the woman just stood there,