Frederic nodded reluctant agreement before his own servants bore him off to be examined by the Tour doctor. Celine, miraculously restored to health, insisted I see the doctor as well, although I told her there was nothing wrong with me but for an intense dose of fear and some thirst.
Despite our exhaustion, Frederic and I waited with the same anxious energy as the others who had remained in the village. Wild rumors circulated as to the identity of the attackers, but no one seemed to have any sensible suggestions.
Frederic remained silent about the word I had thought I heard from the injured guide, and I followed his lead. We didn’t want to whip up rage against their neighbors when I might have misheard or misunderstood him.
Every time I thought of the injured man who we had abandoned, I was driven to my feet to start pacing again despite my fatigue. Had I taken too long finding our way back? Had I ruined any hope he had for survival?
Chapter 18
When someone called that the expedition had returned, many voices taking up the cry, I rushed toward them. First came a group bearing a stretcher—the body on it covered in a black sheet. He hadn’t made it, then.
My knees began to shake until I saw a second group following behind with a second stretcher. The man on this one had been properly bandaged with crisp white linen, a green paste oozing out the sides. He appeared to be sleeping, his chest rising and falling with regular breaths. They had made it in time, after all. I closed my eyes, thankfulness overwhelming me. And the evidence of the paste suggested we had been right, and a poison had been used.
My relief faded, however, as the villagers surged around the black draped stretcher which had now been laid on the ground. A wailing dirge rose up, growing louder and louder as more voices joined it. I closed my eyes and for a moment the years fell away, and I still lived with Mother Nora. In this moment, none of us were individuals, but instead one entity, united in our grief, and I was one with the village.
I couldn’t have said how much time passed before the sound began to die down, voice after voice falling away into silence. We would bury him tomorrow, but already we had begun the process of incorporating his death into the fabric of village life.
I opened my eyes and met Frederic’s before he quickly looked away. His earlier words came back to me, and I knew he was right. There was no shame associated with my connection with the jungle. But it was yet another barrier between me and the prince, part of the ocean that separated us.
We stayed the next day for the burial and so Frederic could consult with the village leaders. Nothing in the attackers’ belongings indicated their origins, although the second guide had recovered enough to answer questions. He and the other guide had been ambushed, and he had been grabbed and gagged before he even realized his companion was dead.
“They were westerners,” he said, “they must have been. They were dressed like junglers, but they weren’t ours. They must have hoped to turn the royals against us easterners. If they’d escaped with me, you might easily have thought I killed my companion and abandoned you to the jungle in an attempt to sabotage the Tour.”
Frederic had said nothing to the injured man, but I could see from his face that he wasn’t convinced. When he came out of consultation with the village council, he looked weary.
“I’ve talked them down from any immediate action,” he told us. “I’ve told them we will send for proper investigators, ones who know the jungle. We cannot have a jungler civil war breaking out.”
I nodded. It would be a disaster if the long-standing rivalry turned to violence.
The next day we left the village. I exchanged a fond farewell with Josinna, aware that it would in all likelihood be the last time I saw her. Our visit had reminded me that when I remembered the jungle, it should be with as much gratitude for Josinna’s support as hurt at my foster family’s lack of care.
The members of the Tour, both commoners and nobles, were nervous now, their eyes constantly straying to the surrounding trees. At least we had a straight trip to the edge of the jungle from here. We had visited our last village.
The guards who had been chosen for the Tour came from all parts of the kingdom. Every time we made camp, even just to eat a meal, the ones from a jungler background were sent to scout the surrounding trees. We had nearly made it out of the jungle altogether when we stopped for a midday meal, and the scouts came racing back to the main column.
When Frederic had heard their report, he headed back into the trees with them and an extra contingent. As he stepped off the road, he paused and looked back, signaling to me to join him. I abandoned my food and followed, curious. Surely he wouldn’t want me if they’d found something dangerous.
He looked grim but not afraid. “They’ve found some bodies close by. Looks like they were following the road among the trees. And they want to know if we recognize them.”
The three bodies lay sprawled around the remains of a camp, as if they just keeled over while eating their evening meal one night. They had no visible wounds.
“That’s them,” said Frederic. He looked over at me. “Evie?”
I nodded slowly. “I think so.” I shrugged. “I didn’t get a good look.”
Reluctantly I approached for a closer examination, covering my nose. Several of the guards had already begun digging a joint grave, and I didn’t know where to look without making myself sick to my stomach.
“They are dressed like junglers,” said one of the guards uncertainly.
My heart sank. It wasn’t the answer we had hoped for, but I could see nothing that truly identified them one way or the other. I looked helplessly at Frederic when a splash of purple caught my eye.
I knelt down beside one of the bodies.
“Frederic,” I called. “Look at this.”
He joined me, pulling back when he got a good look. “Aren’t those…”
I nodded, looking up to meet his eyes. “Caracos berries in their hands. Yes. I think we know how they died.” I stood up. “And we know they’re not junglers. Junglers would never be dining on caracos.”
Several of the guards nodded.
“Even the easterners know to avoid caracos,” said one of them.
Frederic nodded. “We’ll send messengers back to the village with the news. And we’ll keep these belongings for the investigators. Although no one touch those berries. With any luck, the experts will find some sign of where they came from.”
I smiled tremulously, but I suspected his words were meant for the morale of his men. How could investigators possibly determine such a thing?
Back with the Tour, he filled Cassian and Celine in on my discovery.
“Ugh, how horrible,” said Celine, her usually mobile face downcast.
“At least we know they’re not easterners,” said Frederic. He looked at his brother. “But I’m afraid that means they must have been…”
“Rebels,” agreed Cassian. “Yet another disaster following the Tour.”
“I’m almost surprised Father hasn’t called us back,” said Celine.
Both of her brothers shook their heads.
“That would be a disaster,” said Frederic. “A clear way to signal to the rebels—and the rest of the kingdom—that we’re weak and losing control. The kingdom is already recovering from the last rebellion. And these new rebels have shown themselves to be ruthless and willing to accept civilian casualties. If we lose control now, who knows what chaos and violence might descend?”
I agreed and told myself to be brave, but as my eyes fastened on Frederic, all I could think was who might be killed next time?
The next day, we left the jungle behind, and with it the last of my woodshed nightmares. It turns out I had only needed to face that fear to discover I had outgrown it. My foster family were not monsters in the night, and my experiences in the jungle had not been all bad. Josinna was the proof of that.