Page 66 of The Demons in the Deep: Extended Edition
She was on a beach. Alone.
Last thing she could remember was the end of the race, in which Flay’s crew placed second—
No, that wasn’t it. A few days had passed since then. Days spent roaming the university, exploring its laboratories and libraries…hours of reading, of observation, of experimentation.
And then—experimentation with Rake. Showing him her body, and examining his. Their walk back to the inn, during which he told her of the mermaid city and confessed his love—
Then a blissful rush of intense pleasure while he was inside her. The “climax” Kestra had spoken of—Mai’s very first, and with her beautiful monster. She flushed at the memory.
Afterward, she and Rake had told no one. They’d spent the evening in the pub, sharing jovial laughter and good food. She’d danced with Rake again. He’d stepped on her feet only twice.
She remembered feeling so calm in his arms while they danced, as if the whirlwind of frenetic mental activity in her brain had finally eased. The prick of his claws against her skin was oddly clarifying. He’d worn a high-collared shirt to conceal his gills, and he’d kept his hair pulled over his pointed ears, but he had still looked wildly alien. The other people in the pub kept a cautious distance, and Mai had appreciated that power of Rake’s, how he could create a cushion of space around himself.
She remembered drinking a little, dancing with Flay. He’d said something about the Hunt, how he suspected it would occur within the next day or two. He’d talked about increasing the intensity of Rake’s training for the Brawl.
And then there were no more memories, and she still didn’t know where she was.
She stood up, her booted feet sinking in sand. As she scanned the beach, taking in the scattered rocks at one end and the tidepools at the other, she spotted a satchel two paces away.
Inside was a waterskin, a small knife, a sack of biscuits, and a note.
“Congratulations, sailor! You have been selected to represent your crew in The Hunt. You will have a few hours to acclimate yourself, explore the island, and decide on a strategy before the hunters arrive. Tides favor you.”
Mai read the note twice.
Selected to represent theWind’s Favor. Which meant she was to be hunted down by one of the rival crews.
Flay and his people would be hunting a member of some other crew. They would receive a point value based on how quickly they captured their target, and more points based on how long Mai managed to elude the hunters from the rival crew. That much she had gathered from Flay’s explanation of the Hunt—she hadn’t paid much attention when he’d spoken of it, because she didn’t think it concerned her.
Obviously it did, since she’d been drugged and deposited here without her consent or knowledge. She wasn’t sure who had dressed her in these durable clothes—they certainly weren’t the last ones she could remember wearing.
Whoever had chosen her to be Flay’s runner clearly expected her to be an easy catch, not much of a challenge. It was an obvious ploy to put Flay at a disadvantage.
And that set Mai ablaze, from her toes to her scalp.
Flay could be irritating sometimes, especially when he was enjoying Kestra’s mouth and curves a little too much in front of everyone—but he was good-hearted, kind, generous, and sincere. She loved him like a brother—like the one she’d lost. And by the tides and the Mother Ocean, no one was going to hurt Flay through her.
She sucked in a long breath—cool sea air, salty and wild, tinged with the green freshness of the foliage nearby. A gull flapped down to settle briefly on the sand before taking off again. Its cry echoed across the surf.
First goal: find out how large the island was.
Second goal: determine a strategy for remaining uncaught as long as possible.
She could climb a tree and stay still. If she remained in one place and made no sound or sign, the hunters would be less likely to find her than if she went running all over the island leaving a trail. However, if they did find her, she would have nowhere to run.
Or perhaps, instead of focusing on where to hide or how to avoid being trapped—she could trap her pursuers.
Swift steps carried her up the beach and into the trees. She stayed within their dappled shade for a while, keeping the shoreline on her right. Then she cut inland, tromping through dense foliage, knocking aside vines, sidestepping oozy areas that looked suspiciously apt to suck her down.
After a fast walk, she found what she’d been searching for—a high point, a rocky hill where she could get some idea of the island’s dimensions. Standing on the crest of that point, she surveyed the shimmering green forest, the white sandy spits of land stretching into the ocean, and the peak of a second hill, somewhat shorter, crested with enormous jutting boulders.
She picked out the spot for her plan immediately—a flat area near the top of the second hill, entirely walled in by rocky bluffs and boulders. Narrow choke-points, steeply sloping ground, and multiple ways to exit or retreat. Now it was simply a matter of setting traps.
She did not have to elude the hunters forever. They would catch her eventually. But every second, every minute, every hour she could buy for Flay’s team was a victory. And even after the hunters caught her, she could perhaps delay them on the way back. If she recalled Flay’s explanation correctly, her capture did not count until her feet touched the pier in Stragnoag. That was the time that would be recorded for the purposes of the contest.
Mai shucked off her light coat and tunic and set to work unraveling them as fast as she could, thanking her lucky stars that the threads were tough and durable. She tied strings tree-to-tree, all around the second hill. With rope, she could have made more effective snares, but she did her best with vines, laying loops of them on the ground, winding them over branches, attaching them to the trigger threads. None of it was very durable, nor would it slow the men down for long. But all she needed was a little extra time, and some warning when they approached.
Back on her hill, she found some lithe saplings, and with strips of leather sliced from the satchel, she fashioned makeshift slingshots and catapults as tall as she was, with piles of small rocks nearby to be used as ammunition. She heaped up more rocks into piles that could be shoved and tumbled down the slopes, hopefully tripping anyone who might be trying to climb up. The routes to the crest of the hill were narrow, and anyone trying to reach her would have to sidle between boulders.
