The second instruction: Be respectful. Show deference. And then, to Echo, she added: For the love of the gods, keep your mouth shut and let Sage do the talking.
Echo had bristled at that. Her smart mouth had gotten her out of as many scrapes as it had gotten her into, but the steely look in the Ala’s eyes made her think that, perhaps just this once, discretion would be the better part of valor.
The third instruction: Deliver this—the Ala had handed Echo a small package wrapped in plain brown paper—unopened to the head of the clan.
Echo had been on her best behavior and had not opened the package despite her burning curiosity. When the Ala had placed it in her hands for safekeeping, Echo had given the package a good shake, but no sound provided a clue as to the nature of its contents. When she had asked what it contained, the Ala brushed off her question and said simply, Something their leader greatly desires.
Cryptic, but so long as the package wasn’t ticking, Echo could live with mystery for a few more hours.
The package rested in her backpack, carefully arranged on top of her other belongings so that it didn’t get crushed. That had been the Ala’s final instruction to Echo: Do not damage this package. Your life may depend on it.
All in a day’s work. Echo would have felt downright bereft if she’d been packed off to the middle of the jungle without a single ominous warning. She was growing accustomed to them. Ominous warnings were a part of her routine now.
They trudged through the rain forest, brushing aside low-hanging vines and stumbling over roots hidden by the thick carpet of fallen leaves that squelched beneath their feet. It could have been two hours, or ten. Time ceased to have meaning. It passed in a haze of sweat and buzzing mosquitoes and the occasional screech of some unseen bird hopping around the network of entwined branches overhead.
Echo was just about ready to lie down and pray for the sweet oblivion of death’s embrace when Sage came to an abrupt stop.
The chatter down the line, which had been the only thing keeping Echo awake, grew quiet. The birds and beasts held their tongues. Even the drooping ferns ceased their susurrations. It was as if the jungle was holding its breath, waiting for something. Or someone.
Echo’s skin prickled at the nape of her neck. She could have sworn she felt a penetrating gaze marching along her flesh.
A sound broke the stillness as a figure materialized out of the indigo shadows. Footfalls, deliberately placed to snap dead twigs. Echo realized a moment too late that the approach was a distraction. Something sharp and solid pressed against the soft skin behind her ear. Like the head of an arrow, nocked and ready to sink into the vulnerable flesh of her throat. They’d all been so busy looking straight ahead they hadn’t bothered to check behind them.
Stupid, Echo thought.
Tired, her body reminded her.
Dorian swore in rapid Drakhar and the arrow pressed harder against Echo’s neck.
The person wielding the bow and arrow spoke in low, unhurried Avicet right into Echo’s ear but the dialect was unfamiliar to her. Without turning her head, she swiveled her gaze to Rowan, who was in much the same position, though the weapon held to his jugular was a wickedly curved blade. “Translation?”
Rowan swallowed, and then looked like he regretted the motion as the knife’s blade pressed deeper into his flesh. “She said, ‘We don’t take kindly to strangers in our land, even if they come wearing feathers.’?”
Lovely. They were off to a fantastic start.
Sage and the person holding the arrow to Echo’s throat exchanged words in Avicet, and after a few tense minutes, the arrow retreated and Echo could breathe again. Someone prodded her in the back, ushering her forward.
“They’re taking us to their camp,” Sage called down the line. “Everyone be on your best behavior.”
“I’m always on my best behavior,” Echo said. She couldn’t help it.
Rowan snorted, Sage sighed, and the person behind Echo poked her even harder in the back. They trudged through the rain forest and into the settlement. Echo hoped whatever was in the package was enough to guarantee that they made it out alive.
—
An Avicen with the greenest feathers Echo had ever seen was sitting in the center of what she could only describe as a tree house. Or maybe a tree mansion. The Avicen of the rain forest didn’t live in huts on the ground, but in wood structures built into the trees like miniature palaces. Winding staircases wrapped around ancient trunks, and bridges made of rope and smooth wooden slats connected the dwellings, forming a complex network high above the ground.
The team of scouts they’d encountered in the wild had led them here, to the most elaborate of the dwellings, located in the center of the village. One of the scouts must have gone ahead to alert the Avicen of their return, because a party had been waiting for them, resplendent in armor suitable for hot, humid jungle terrain and with weapons polished to perfection: spears topped with wickedly curved blades, bows made of gleaming dark wood, more daggers than Echo could count.
In the center of it all was the green-feathered Avicen—the group’s matriarch, judging from the deference the others showed her. She studied Echo with eyes as black and as sharp as the Ala’s. When she spoke, her voice held all the authority of a queen comfortable with her power. “You dare bring a human into our home?” With a disdainful look at Caius, she added, “And two Drakharin?”
“The Ala has decreed that these Drakharin are our allies,” Sage replied. “At least for the time being. What could have possessed the Ala to bring them into the fold the gods only know, but I have no interest in breaking her oath of allegiance. She can be most fearsome when she wants to be.” Sage motioned Echo forward. “She is no mere human. She is the firebird, the one prophesied to bring an end to our troubles.”
An explosion of hushed whispers arose from the assembled Avicen, but the green-feathered one silenced them with an upraised hand. “I have heard speak of the one you claim is the firebird. Come here, child. Let me see you.”
Echo glanced at Sage, who offered a shrug that wasn’t particularly comforting. Gripping the package, Echo approached the clan’s matriarch. As soon as she was close enough, the Avicen’s hand shot out to grasp her chin. Echo held still as the woman tilted her face from side to side, examining her.
Whatever she saw must have met with approval, because a pleased smile flashed across her face like a whip. “And here I thought the Ala was spouting nonsense.” She let go of Echo’s chin and looked down at the package. “Tribute, I assume?”
Echo nodded mutely and held out the package.
The Avicen accepted the package and delicately opened the taped seams. When Echo saw what it was, she wanted to scream. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.