Page 102 of By the Moonbeam and the Mist
Mr. Conine had been leading us up the slope of the jungle mountain for the last forty-five minutes, until we’d surpassed the furthest point we’d ever gone and the upward angle of our trek had risen into a vertical mossy cliff.
Now, we were all dragging ourselves upward rock by rock, foothold by foothold, the mixture of our panting and humming bleeding into the song of the jungle. Perhaps before becoming Wild Whisperers, a few of us would have fallen to a skull-crushing death by now—but whenever someone’s foot slipped on the silky surface of moss, a bramble or branch would jut out to catch them.
“You’ve got it,” Gileon called from where Emelle and I were climbing side by side. “Nuisance says we’re almost there.”
I glanced upward to find the bumbling dot of his beetle friend hovering near what looked like an edge, which Mr. Conine himself was about to reach with a few more pulls upward. As was Rodhi—the fastest climber of everyone in the class, apparently. Sweat sparkled on Emelle’s face as she forced out a laugh.
“I’m not sure I evenwantto get there if this is just the beginning of the lesson.”
She’d been more morose than ever the few times I got to see her during classes. The news of her village had dwindled away to nothing over the last few weeks, so I couldn’t blame her for the darkened edge to her voice, but still… I wished I could do something, say something, to put a smile back on her face.
“Maybe Mr. Conine has a picnic waiting for us at the top,” I panted, my muscles straining as I pulled myself upward, “and we’ll simply get to eat it while we overlook the entire Institute.”
I was wrong, though. As soon as everyone in the class had reached the top, Mr. Conine only led us onward, through thickets so dense that it would have been impossible to push through the crisscrossed branches if we were in any other sector.
As it was, Mr. Conine himself sent out a humming song that had this upper part of the jungle parting for us, until it all opened up to—
“Welcome,” he said finally, spreading his arms wide, “to the southeast end of the Esholian river system.”
We all lined the bank of a massive stretch of murky, slow-moving water that spread as far as we could see from one direction to another in snaking twists and turns. Edging closer, I had the distinct impression that hundreds of reptiles and fish were observing us quietly from its depths.
“This river system spreads across the entire island,” Mr. Conine resumed, “making it the perfect travel system for those less inclined to take carriage by air. Now, while Element Wielders might simply control the speed and direction of thewater and Object Summoners might propel boats in whichever direction they choose, we Wild Whisperers must rely on aquatic creatures to carry us to our destination.” He turned to face us, a smile wrinkling his leathery skin. “Can anyone guess which water creatures might be willing to pull a Wild Whisperer across the island if only we are devoted enough friends?”
Rodhi bounced on the balls of his feet, but didn’t say anything. On his other side, Dazmine wrinkled her nose at him as if she’d found herself next to an overactive toddler who might wipe boogers on her at any moment.
I snapped my gaze back toward Mr. Conine as he waited for someone to answer. It was best not to make eye contact with Dazmine, not to reveal that we were anything more than unfriendly peers.
“Crocodiles?” Mitzi Hodges guessed after a few seconds of buzzing silence. “They’re probably strong enough to pull us.”
Mr. Conine shook his head. “Too proud.”
Norman Pollard raised a finger. “Giant turtles?”
“Too slow.”
“Frogs?” Gileon asked.
“Um.” Mr. Conine scratched his sideburns awkwardly. “I think frogs are a little too small. Anyone else?”
Finally, Rodhi burst out with, “Dolphins, of course.”
“There you go.”
Mr. Conine snapped his fingers in Rodhi’s direction, to which Emelle and I exchanged startled glances. Since when had Rodhi become an expert in Predators & Prey? Although, come to think of it,Ishould have known that answer, too—I vaguely remembered a local fisherman talking about a family of dolphins that kept stealing his nets in the part of the river that flowed near Alderwick a few years ago.
Mr. Conine nodded at the general air of awe and excitement. “The river dolphins live in families of three or four throughoutthe entirety of the river system, and they’re always curious to meet you. If you can coax them out of hiding, that is… for they are also much shyer than their saltwater counterparts.”
He waited. After a few seconds of everyone standing stock-still, the class burst into motion and sound, some people calling for the dolphins in high-pitched voices, others getting on their hands and knees on the bank and swishing palms throughout the water.
Maybe it made me a massive cheat, but curiosity had me instinctually pushing open my blockade like the hinges of a shutter, funneling that opening toward the river.
To my surprise, it worked. The cacophony of my classmates hit the sides of my blockade, but I could suddenly pinpoint several dozen thoughts lurking within the river.
Hulking within the seaweed of the silty riverbed, a crocodile was debating whether or not it could stuff down another catfish.
A female turtle was having a nightmare about cracked eggs.
A male poison dart frog, hidden within the weeds by the bank, was desperately trying to get the attention of a nearby female by swelling up his throat to twice its usual size.
