The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar [85]
Finally he stood, feeling exposed, and joined the path, heading downwards, towards the forest.
He paused before the first row of trees and peered into the interior. It was dark, and smelled of rotting vegetation. No drums, he thought. It was something of a relief. Not much, though.
Finally he stepped into the forest.
Going was slow. The forest grew on a slope. Twice he lost his purchase and slid down, grabbing desperately at something to hold. His thumb seemed to be working well. It was small consolation. When he finally reached bottom he discovered a narrow brown spring and followed it. He didn't dare drink the water, though he knew he would have to, soon. His throat was parched, and the sweat slid down his face.
At last the land opened up, the forest thinning, and he found himself before a small lake (really, he thought, a mere pool of water) in a clearing. He didn't know where he was. He had not, he thought, penetrated far into the island. He couldn't tell what was ahead.
Exhausted, he sank down and drank from the water. It tasted surprisingly cold, almost as if it were cooled by some underground engine. The thought made him choke laughter, until he realised that, for all he knew, it was a serious possibility. He splashed some water on his face, then stood.
It was then that he saw the insect.
The insect had come down to him from the canopy. It buzzed lazily down, marking figures of eight in the air. It seemed to be studying him. Then it descended with a burst of speed that had Orphan recoil back – and it fastened itself to his arm.
He stood very still. The insect's feelers tingled against his flesh. Then a sharp pain erupted in his arm and he bit his lips to stop a shout from escaping. The insect had bitten him.
Carefully, slowly, he looked at his arm. The feelers had sunk into his flesh. The insect seemed to pulse. Blood, Orphan thought. It was emerging from his body, absorbed into the insect's own. Already, it seemed fatter. He didn't dare try to kill it. Something stopped him, an awareness that this was not a normal insect, that it was – it was a machine of some sort, he thought. And – the island's defences? It was checking him, he thought – checking his blood? Fear gripped him then. I won't pass this, he thought. I'm an intruder. He didn't dare move.
For a few more moments they stayed as they were, a frozen tableau of man and insect, or man and machine. Then another, smaller pain came, as the feelers were withdrawn and the insect crawled over the two small puncture marks and smeared something cool from its belly onto the wound. Then its wings started again, and it rose into the air, looking bloated, and disappeared into the trees.
Did he pass? He didn't know.
If I didn't, he thought, I will soon find out.
The thought didn't make him feel any better, but he noticed that at least he wasn't bleeding. Whatever the insect had put on the wound, it had sealed it neatly. Orphan wondered what other things might be hiding on the island, then thought he really didn't want to find out.
He set off again. He walked around the small lake (reservoir? he wondered), noticing as he did the flowers that grew on the banks. They were tall, fleshy plants, the petals bright and heavy, like opening palms. A stalk as tall as he was seemed to rotate gently in the wind, following Orphan's direction.
I'm being watched, he thought. And then, Don't be ridiculous.
Still, the feeling persisted. He continued his way along the lake when he saw an opening on his left. Another path, this one wider, leading off between the trees. He followed it. The ground continued to slope down.
He began to hear sounds in the distance. In the beginning, it was only the screech of a bird in the