Page 23 of By the Moonbeam and the Mist
Wren was still shaking her head by the time we all split ways for a second time that day. While she headed off to History, the rest of us flowed toward the arboretum, where Mrs. Wildenberg was waiting for us between perfectly pruned elderberry bushes.
“Hello class,” she said in that warbling voice of hers. “Welcome to your second year as Wild Whisperers… and yourfirst class with me where we will do more than lie on our backs and listen to the music of the flora around us.”
Norman Pollard groaned. A few others echoed his sentiment. Last year, the Language of Plants 101 had been our reprieve from more laborious tasks. A time to just meditate and relax.
The Language of Plants 102, it seemed, would be a bit more rigorous.
“If you’ll follow me, we’re going deeper into the jungle today.”
Mrs. Wildenberg turned. It was a painstakingly slow trek upward as she led us all at a hobbling pace away from the arboretum, away from campus itself, and into the lush density of foliage and trees and vines.
Thanks to my dress, my bare arms and ankles had taken about a hundred different bug bites by the time we all came toa thicket of strange, towering plants I’d never seen before.
Pale green stalks rose high above our heads, swaying slightly although there was no wind. Bristles covered each of them, red and bulbed, with diamond-like dew drops glistening at the end.
“Do you hear that?” Emelle whispered to me. I was thankful that she hadn’t acted strange or angry after our talk in Ms. Pincette’s class.
I strained to listen, but… no. I didn’t hear anything. Not even the usual hum of the trees, the croon of wildflowers, or even the hundreds of whining conversations of the same insects that had bitten the shit out of me on the way up. It was as if the entire jungle had sucked in a breath and held it.
A second later, something snapped around my arm and pulled.
CHAPTER
10
Iwasn’t the only one who screamed.
All around me, my classmates kicked and shrieked as dozens of those stalks whipped out and curled around their limbs, too.
Mine was pulling me toward it, those bristles latching onto my skin like leeches. I tried to reach out for Emelle, but she was yanked backward into hers, and on her other side, Rodhi let loose a stream of curses as he was snared, too. Even Gileon’s brute thrashing couldn’t tear through the plant’s hold, his rhino beetle fluttering around his head frantically.
Mrs. Wildenberg, however, remained untouched.
She calmly surveyed us in the middle of the thicket, and for a heart-stopping moment I wondered if she’d brought us here to die.
“Giant sundew,” she crowed finally.
We all quieted down despite the slight stinging I was sure everyone else was feeling where those bristles had latched onto our skin.
Mrs. Wildenberg gave a wrinkled smile. “They feed on insects, rodents, and sometimes even larger creatures—such as humans.”
Strangely enough, I caught Dazmine’s eye from across the thicket.
She looked away, but not before I caught the slightly raised eyebrow that seemed to say:yep, Mrs. Wildenberg is definitely insane.
“Sundews take several hours to digest their prey,” the elderly instructor continued, turning in a slow circle, “and that’s when their prey are the size of our palms. So rest assuredyouall would take days.” A dry laugh crackled out of her. “But we aren’t here to dissolve into puddles of protein. We’re here to learn a new language.”
And then she began to make her hobbled rounds, clicking her tongue in eerie, rapid intervals.Tk tk tk tk. Tk tk tk tk.
One by one, the bristled stalks relaxed their grips on us and unraveled, lifting skyward to resume their gentle swaying. I rubbed my arms, where tiny, oozing dots had joined all the bug bites. Great.
“Now, what use do we have for our carnivorous friends?”
In the silence that followed, I couldn’t help but think that if Fergus and Jenia were still here, they’d be throwing a hissy fit together about what had just occurred. Now, though, the class stood unnervingly still, listening with rapt attention. As Ms. Pincette had said, our own lives were at stake if we didn’t take these classes seriously—because taming a sundew might be a part of our first quarterly practice test. Or even our Final Test.
“Anyone?” Mrs. Wildenberg asked.
Norman Pollard flashed two fingers in the air.
