Given the darts, she could figure out the contents of the bottle that had been attached to them. Still, she set the darts aside and picked up the small, glass bottle. It had a thin neck, slightly shorter than the dart shaft and just wide enough to fit the tip of the dart along with the shaft. Below the neck was a bulb of glass. When she gently shook it, she heard the liquid sloshing inside. The glass was colored dark red, like a garnet, so the liquid inside probably couldn’t be exposed long term to light.
The bottle was corked by something firm, perhaps wood, coated in wax to give a tight seal.
Recalling the necklace of teeth and finger bones that had disappeared from the cave after she fell asleep, she pondered the small bottle of poison and the darts.
One dart had dropped her like a stone. She had no idea how long she’d been out, but it must have been a significant amount of time, given the fact that she’d awakened in this cave with no memory of the trip here from wherever Jotaha had captured her.
He’d been kind to her so far, and more than generous to an alien stranger, of a species he clearly wasn’t in the habit of welcoming. She couldn’t say if any human encountering him would show the same restraint or generosity if they somehow gained the upper hand on him.
She withdrew a dart from the suede bundle and balanced it on her leg as she turned her attention back to the cork in the bottle. It popped from the bottle with only a slight sound, and Sarah was careful to keep her nose away from whatever fumes might rise from the opening.
Holding the bottle in one shaking hand, she used the other to dip the dart into it. A few turns of the tip in the liquid filling the bulb should coat it thoroughly. She hoped it wouldn’t be a lethal dose. Just enough to slow someone down.
Someone like her seemingly benevolent captor, if he grew hostile and completely changed his behavior towards her. This weapon, one of his own, was the only one she had that might be able to give her a chance at fighting back against him if he were to suddenly attack her—or lead her to her imminent death.
She actually liked Jotaha, or at least the person he was presenting to her. He seemed like a nice guy—lizard guy. Even if he didn’t always treat humans so gently. Given the uniforms and weapons she’d found in that pit with those bodies, she had no doubt it hadn’t been a peaceful envoy attempting to make first contact with underground aliens that he’d killed. The military was great to have around when the bad guys threatened, but she often wondered if the government even knew who the real bad guys were—or even if they’d become them. She respected the soldiers but didn’t trust the people giving the orders.
Thus far, Jotaha hadn’t been a bad guy to her, but he was still an alien, with unknown motives and a wholly unfamiliar culture. She had no idea if he was planning to make lizard mutant babies with her, or fatten her up to eat her, or take her back to his village as a sacrifice to some unknown alien god. She’d consumed way too much horror and science fiction in her life to just trust Jotaha on his actions alone, and sadly, she couldn’t understand his words. Being able to ask a slew of questions might clarify his intentions, or it might just mean he lied through his forked tongue.
She recorked the bottle carefully, pressing the wax stopper down to be certain it sealed properly. She wrapped the newly coated dart in a folded length of cloth she’d found at the bottom of his pack, after making certain the blue, viscous liquid on the tip had dried and hardened before surrounding it in a thick barrier of the coarsely woven fabric. Crumbs of blood bar suggested the wrap had once held the food item, and had no doubt been folded and stored for future use.
Jotaha might notice it was missing, and might suspect she’d taken it, but she was hoping he wouldn’t, given that there were several other used cloths in there with it. A human probably wouldn’t keep count of how many discarded food wrappers they had at the bottom of their pack.
As for the missing dart, she hoped he wouldn’t count them, and made certain the dart she’d taken had been from the end of the neat line of them, where other darts were missing. If he wasn’t paying super close attention, he might just assume it was one of the ones he’d already used.
She was careful to put everything back in the pack exactly the way she’d found it, hoping Jotaha didn’t have the alien version of OCD to the point that he would notice slight variations in the positions of the items. The whole time since she’d made the decision to steal a poisoned dart, she’d feared that he would return. Her heart thudded in her chest as she packed everything back up, her hands shaky as she pulled the strings on the opening of the pack tight, then settled it against his fur bundle.
If he discovered this theft, she could create the very problem she feared. She could anger him to the point that he hurt or killed her, even if that had not been his original intention. The problem was that she didn’t like to have anyone else in control of her fate, especially if their motives were uncertain. She’d learned the hard way that she couldn’t trust anyone but herself.
The risk of stealing the dart was high, but not higher than leaving her life completely in the hands of an alien stranger. She tucked the bundled dart under her bra strap, pointing the tip away from her skin, even though it hopefully wouldn’t pierce the thick fabric sheath she’d wrapped around it. The feathers tickled her collar bone, but were successfully hidden beneath her shirt. The heavy flannel fabric pressed them flat enough that they didn’t betray the presence of the dart.
She was sweating with nerves by the time she returned to the stone ring and sat down. She groaned as the movement put pressure on a bladder filling up from the tea she’d had that morning. It was still not at critical volume, but she hoped now that Jotaha returned soon, or she would have to find a solution to that problem, even if she could hold off the other for a bit longer.
The dart seemed to weigh on her chest as she watched the tunnel opening, awaiting Jotaha’s return.
14
The chanu zayul could not heal him fast enough, several of them damaged beyond survival. He could feel them releasing their hold on his spine, withdrawing their tendrils, crawling towards the bite mark at the base of his skull. Their agony was almost paralyzing as they made the final effort to leave his body before their death became toxic to him. If some did die inside him, he hoped enough of them would survive to consume the bodies of the dead so they did not fester and kill him.
His steps were slowing, the pain in his back negligible in comparison to the pain from the neck wound. The nixir could not have chosen a better place to bite him, as long as it was prepared to die in order to defeat him. Given that it should have already been dead, he didn’t feel a sense of victory that the loss of the chanu zayul had taken its life in return.
He left the broken dart gun in his back, right beside his shoulder, because the chanu zayul were too weak to slow his bleeding. He would have to wait until he could use his healing powder to staunch the wound. He suspected the nixir had been hoping to strike his heart, perhaps believing it to be in the same place as the nixir’s own. He was fortunate that it wasn’t. This new type of nixir had used strength and force he’d never encountered before.
They were growing stronger. Deadlier. As if they weren’t already deadly enough to pose a significant threat. This was something the elders must be told. A single Jotaha per boundary might not be enough anymore.