“Rachael, I’m going to carry you. I don’t expect you to walk.”
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Christine Feehan
“That’s silly. I’m weak more than anything else. It isn’t that painful. Well, it’s painful because the swelling hasn’t gone down yet.”
He gathered her into his arms. “I spent all these years alone. No one ever argued with me.”
“And now you have me,” she said with evident satisfaction, settling into his body. “Do you have any idea where we’re going? I thought you said he could track us.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” He was already moving through the network of branches, far faster than Rachael considered safe.
Despite the heavy pack and her additional weight, Rio wasn’t even breathing hard as he landed on the ground and began to jog, weaving through the trees back toward the river. She buried her face against his neck, trying not to cry out with each jarring step.
The roar started softly, a muffled, distant sound that quickly began to gain in strength. Rachael lifted her head in alarm, suddenly afraid of where he meant to take her.
11
THE forest appeared stately, the majestic trees rising like great cathedral pillars all around them. Smaller trees were scattered everywhere, creating a patchwork effect of silvery leaves, explosions of color and dark patches of bark. Staghorn ferns hung from trees, the vivid green prongs rustling in the slight wind as they hurried by. Moonlight filtered through the chinks in the canopy, casting flecks of light here and there on the wet forest floor. Rachael caught glimpses of leaves in every shade of red, iridescent greens and blues, anything to increase the refraction and absorption of light into the leaf pigment.
Rachael clung to Rio as he jogged through the forest. The dark never seemed to bother him. He moved at a sure, steady pace. She heard deer bark the alert signal of predators in the area as they passed, causing Rio to swear under his breath. Two very tiny deer burst out of the bushes ahead of them and raced into the undergrowth.
The roar of the river grew. The continuous croaking of frogs added to the din. Rachael’s stomach lurched crazily.
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Christine Feehan
“Rio, we have to stop, just for a minute. I’m going to be sick if we keep going.”
“We can’t, sestrillaj we have to reach the river. He can’t track our scent in water.” Rio continued moving over the thick, wet vegetation on the forest floor. It was dark and damp with small pools of water here and there. These and forest wallows didn’t slow him down. He avoided the unnatural pile, of leaves and twigs signaling the nest of the resident bearded pig. Ticks carrying anything from tick fever to scrub typhus were often abundant in the nests and Rio took care to stay away from them.
Rachael concentrated on the forest rather than her discomfort. Twice she caught glimpses of large deer with thick horns, the samba deer, largest in the forest. It was dizzying to be rushed through the forest at night. There was an eerie feel to the way the canopy swayed above them, continually changing the patterns of light through the trees. Plants and fungi covered tree trunks so that plants appeared to piggyback on top of one another, creating a lush environment. Every now and then Rio gave a soft, grunting cough, alerting the animals to his presence in the hopes the nightjars wouldn’t raise an alarm as they darted overhead catching insects on the wing.
The roar became louder. Rachael realized they’d been traveling at an angle upriver to meet the flooded banks. She put her mouth to Rio’s ear. “You’re not taking me to your elders, are you?”
He heard the little catch hi her voice. “I want the sniper to think I am.”
Rachael didn’t answer, comforted that he wasn’t abandoning her. They were slogging through the swamps, climbing carefully over the myriad of tree roots extending out from the base of the trunk creating little mini cages. Water lapped at Rio’s knees. The look of the forest changed as they neared the river’s edge. More light was able to penetrate the canopy, and many of the trees were