On the Isle of Sound and Wonder (25 page)

The tearing sound jangled in the echoes of his mind.

The tree.

Aurael threw himself against the hard, invisible wall, clawed at it, screaming in a frenzied fury. It was no use. He was trapped.

Bastiano jerked awake, the sudden motion paralyzing him with pain for a searing moment. He relaxed, trying not to groan aloud.
Where am I?
Pain ran all the way through his limbs, sharp and throbbing, and he felt the sting of open cuts on his face and hands. He was covered in dirt, leaves, and broken branches.

Where is Tor?
Bastiano tasted the dirt in his mouth, coughing. He tried again to sit up, and some of the leaves slid away from his face. He looked up at the base of a massive hill, a steep incline reaching up to the sky, covered heavily in greenery.
Gods! What a fall,
Bastiano thought to himself, feeling lightheaded and sinking back. His shoulder throbbed with pain.

“Bas,” coughed a voice from nearby. “Are you all right?”

“Tor!” Bastiano turned over onto his side, looking for Torsione. “I’m here!”

“What happened?” Tor was a few arm’s lengths away, swiping at the debris that covered him. “Did we lose it?”

“Lose it?” Bastiano paused, breathing hard.
The harpy.
He shuddered. It had flown at them, picked them up, and tossed them like empty purses. They had run from it as it taunted them until they fell down the cliff, where it had apparently left them for dead. “Yes, I think we lost it,” Bastiano winced, crawling through his agony toward Tor.

“Are you hurt?” Torsione’s cheek was stained with blood from where the harpy, or the fall, had cut him. His eyes were cloudy.

“Yes, but not badly,” Bastiano lied. “Your face—!”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Tor said, and let his head drop back onto the ground.

“Maybe it thinks we’re dead.” Bastiano pulled himself closer across the rustling leaves.

“It’s a harpy, Bas. Harpies live on carrion. It’s out there somewhere, waiting. It wants us to think we’re safe.”

“Aren’t they basically extinct? I thought they hadn’t been seen in decades.”

“They haven’t. I heard of one once in the Chineh mountains, but it was old and feeble, according to the locals. Not like this one.” Tor paused. “I don’t think we’re going to survive this.”

“Don’t say that. We’re alive, now.” Bastiano moved some more of the leaves away from Torsione’s face and neck, furrowing his brow at the cuts.

“And for how much longer, Bas? We have no food, no fresh water, no weapons, no help, and a gigantic harpy that’s going to eat us. And we’re injured.” Torsione shook his head stiffly. “This certainly isn’t as lucky a day as we thought it was.”

Bastiano pulled himself to an upright position, despite the screaming of protest in his arms, and continued clearing the debris from Torsione’s prone form.

“I won’t let us go down without a fight,” Bastiano said through gritted teeth. “It’s not so bad. It’d be much worse if we were apart.”

“I don’t know about that,” Tor replied. “I think you’d have a much easier time hiding from that thing without me slowing you up.”

“Your ankle will be fine. It just needs time.”

“I’m not talking about my ankle, I’m talking about the fact that we just fell down this cliff here,” Tor said sharply, then exhaled. “Bas, I’m not sure . . . I don’t know if I can walk anymore.”

Bastiano moved a larger branch from across Torsione’s legs and saw from the angle that one of them was almost certainly broken. His chest tightened even further, and his throat threatened to close up with terror.

“I can make a splint. Out of sticks and my shirt.” Bastiano couldn’t look away from the broken leg. The cloth of Tor’s trousers was stained even darker with blood.

“Bas, you’re not a field nurse, stop acting like one. You’re going to have to leave me. You have to find some kind of shelter. There must be food on the island somewhere, fruit trees or something. We keep hearing birds. They must survive on something. You can survive on them, if you catch one.”

“Stop talking like that.” Bastiano heard his own voice harden. “I am going to keep you alive. I’ll take you with me. We can do this together.”

“Bas, you’ve got to be realistic,” Tor snapped, looking up at him in frustration. “I’m not going to make it, but you’ve got a good shot at it, if only you’d—”

“No. I am not listening to this—”

“Bas, please, don’t be ridiculous, I’m—”

“No, no, I’m not listening, you great idiot, shut up—”

“But Bas, if we both slow down to my speed, the harpy will find us. If you go, you have a better shot at surviving, that’s a raw fact; just go, for heaven’s sake—”

“No!” Bastiano roared, “I am not going to leave you here, Torsione, I can’t live without you.”

For a moment, Tor stared up at him with wide, suspicious blue eyes under a deeply furrowed brow. Bastiano’s heart pounded so hard he thought his chest would burst.
Well, now I’ve done it,
he thought weakly, and drew a shaky breath.

“I-I can’t do this without you,” he stammered. His words tumbled out of him like ripe apples from a tree. “You have to stay alive, we have to find a way to survive together, Tor. I love you. I have loved you since you first rolled your eyes at me at court when we were boys. This life has no meaning for me if you are not there. I have lost everything, everything except you, Tor. I will do anything to survive this, as long as I survive it with you. Now stop being a child and let me make your splint.” He finished with a huff, unthinkably embarrassed. He had never intended this confession to happen, let alone happen like that.

Torsione was silent. Bastiano felt the flush of heat across his own cheeks and found that he had no more words left. He made several frustrated attempts to tear one of his shirt sleeves into strips for bandages.

“Bas.”

Bastiano kept pulling on the fabric, using his teeth now to try and leverage the rip.

“Bas,” Torsione repeated quietly.

He avoided Tor’s gaze and finally coaxed the sleeve into tearing twice more, unevenly, but well enough to use as ties. He began looking around for a branch flat enough to serve as a splint.

“Bastiano!” said Tor, sounding pained.

“What?” He turned sharply, feeling defensiveness boiling up into his throat.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Torsione sounded apologetic—ashamed, even. His expression was deadly serious.

“How could I?” Bas whispered, the blazing heat of his defense melting into shyness. “How could I even consider telling you that? Every time you went away and came back home, there were new stories, new conquests, new marriage deals broken by your untamable personality. How could I even think that it would mean anything at all to you, if I said that out loud?”

Torsione closed his eyes.
He’s revolted by me,
thought Bas weakly.
It doesn’t matter. I have to help him.
“I need to find good sticks for your splint.”

“Bas, wait,” Torsione opened his eyes. “I’m in pain, but it may not be that bad.”

“You just said you don’t think you can walk,” Bas countered.

“Just . . . pull up my trouser leg and see if the bone’s sticking out,” commanded Tor, wincing as he tried to adjust his position on the ground. “If it isn’t, we can keep going in search of shelter. The good news is that my ankle doesn’t hurt anymore.” He looked at Bas, the faintest twinkle passing through his gaze.

Bastiano carefully rolled back the fabric from Tor’s leg. The blood and dirt were like stains on a napkin after a particularly messy feast, and it turned Bas’ stomach a little.
What do I do?
he thought.
I’m not a medic.
There was no bone sticking out, but the angle did not look quite right.

Tor lifted his head. “How bad is it?” he asked quietly.

Bastiano swallowed. “Not bad. That is . . . it doesn’t look broken.”

“Are you sure?”

Bastiano nodded, then shook his head and looked back at Tor. “I can’t tell,” he confessed, “I don’t know. It may not be so bad. We have to be very careful with it, but we can’t just stay here. How does the rest of you feel?” he hurried on, looking him over.

Tor exhaled slowly and tried to move again. “Tired, in a lot of pain, but not dead,” he admitted, reaching for Bas’ arm for support.

Bastiano moved to help him sit up, but gasped sharply as his left shoulder flared with pain, and let go. Tor caught his own fall and helped himself the rest of the way upright, his expression filled with concern.

“What is it?” Tor asked, his hands already carefully exploring his friend’s arm.

Bastiano winced and recoiled a little. “My shoulder, it’s . . .”

“Dislocated,” said Tor with a frown. He took a firm but careful grasp. “I can fix it. Done this before.”

“No, it’s fine, I . . . ” Bastiano trailed off, gazing back at him. “It’ll hurt, won’t it?”

“Oh, yes. A great deal,” said Torsione levelly. “But it will hurt worse if I don’t fix it.”

“Your leg, my shoulder. What are we coming to?” he mumbled weakly, his heart stammering against his chest.

“Close your eyes.”

He obeyed.

“Try not to cry out,” Tor added at the last second. “The harpy thinks we’re dead.”

Bastiano opened his eyes in alarm, but Tor smiled at him, and he felt a piece of himself relax instantly.

“I’m joking,” Torsione said, his voice low. He smoothed his hand up the side of Bastiano’s bare arm. Bastiano felt flares of warmth as Tor gently moved his other hand over his shoulder, his mouth dry as he looked back at him in disbelief. Tor’s eyes were steady, his expression calm and knowing as he leaned toward him. Bastiano’s breath came short as his heart pounded harder, and his eyelids fluttered shut in anticipation.

There was a sudden pressure, something clicked loudly back into place, and the pain vanished. “Oh,” said Bastiano, and looked at his shoulder in surprise. “Was that it?”

“Yes,” Tor chuckled, and sighed. “The look on your face!”

“That’s not funny!” exclaimed Bastiano, completely astonished that it had been so easy, so painless. “What on earth is wrong with you?” He recoiled instinctively, feeling the strength return to his arm.

“You big buffoon,” murmured Torsione, shaking his head as his pale eyes traveled over Bastiano’s face. “You should have told me sooner.”

Bastiano flushed. “I thought I was rather obvious on more than one occasion,” he admitted breathlessly.

“I baited you so many times, and you never bit.”

“How could I?” Bastiano echoed his earlier sentiment. “You are this . . . legend of romantic triumph. I’m just me. I thought you’d laugh at me, tell me it was a phase. Or worse.”

“Worse? Tell you it was unholy?” Tor’s blue eyes flickered, his mouth becoming a firmer line. “Never, Bas. And I’d never laugh at you, either. At least, not unless you let me. And you are not ‘just you,’ you are exactly you. You know you’re my oldest friend and greatest companion. And if I’d have known this—”

“You don’t have to say anything else,” Bas interrupted, looking down, his cheeks burning. “It’s all right. We’re friends.”

Torsione took his chin and lifted it firmly again. “We are friends,” he agreed. “But you have saved my life in more ways than you know. You have no idea what I think. What I feel.” He paused. “Do you think it’s a phase?” he asked quietly.

“No,” choked Bastiano, his hand grasping Tor’s reflexively. “No, heavens, no. It’s—it’s just you, Tor.”

Torsione nodded. “Good. Because I haven’t been breaking off engagements with princesses and duchesses for nothing, you know.”

Bastiano’s heart leapt.
Everything could really turn out all right,
he thought, ecstatic. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

 “So. How about that splint, then?” Tor chuckled, lifting one eyebrow.

HOW ABOUT NOT?

The explosion of wind and noise threw them apart, sending them spinning away from one another like pieces of a house picked up and redistributed violently by a tornado. Bastiano landed hard on his stomach and gasped for air. Leaves whirled and rocks flew past him. He lifted his head, squinting against the onslaught of debris, and saw the harpy standing where he’d just been, walking with black clawed feet toward Torsione’s crumpled body.

“No!” Bastiano bellowed, scrambling to his feet.

The harpy smiled at him and lifted Torsione in its talons.
DON’T WORRY. YOU’LL BE NEXT.
It beat its wings twice and soared upward, into the sky over the trees, vanishing with a smell of burnt metal and lightning.