The Waters of Centaurus by Rosel George Brown

Author:Rosel George Brown [Brown, Rosel George]
Language: deu
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

Sibyl huddled deeper in the crotch of the tree, pulling the creeping moss closer. The natives spread out quickly now, with Gide shouting them on. They wouldn’t like this at all, being out at night, except that with the torches perhaps it seemed like a festival. A group of them were moving along the path toward her hut. A damp wind swirled their torches and brought the rancid smell of old bluette oil.

“Go up the trees,” Gide shouted in Seian.

Sibyl started down the balloon tree. She hadn’t thought they’d hunt at night when she went up it. It was the worst place to be because there was nowhere to run to. She knotted the moss around her neck and jammed her chin down in it to hold it, and began climbing down. The drizzle had dampened the tree trunk and the rough bark was hard to get a grip on. Sibyl got a long tear along the side of her arm. Not far now to the ground, but a torch was coming toward her. The creeping moss, which seemed to be developing a desperation of its own, was crawling sideways off her, clinging to the tree trunk. She yanked at it irritably and was about to slide down to the next branch...

The torchlight caught her helplessly sliding, pulling with one hand at the creeping moss, and a loud laugh rang out. As she landed on the lower branch, still far from the ground, she turned to see Gide, his face demonic in the blowing light, his lithe body bent to the right, coming up with a thrust behind the glittering spear in his right hand.

"You look ridiculous!” he cried, casting the spear on the accent of the word.

Sibyl stood frozen, unbelieving, screaming within herself. No. Not death. Not yet. Not... and slipped, so that the spear slammed against her arm, carrying her off the branch and onto a bank of blossoming bluettes. A fist of pain still ground at her and she found the spear stuck in the hanging flesh of her upper arm. All she could think of in the halves of a second was that it was like being hit with a brick, not like being stabbed. That someone had gotten things wrong and...

Gide was shouting for the natives, and the drizzle was getting worse and the torch he had tossed to the ground guttered out. The darkness was heavy and smelled now of blood and the breathless sweetness of crushed bluette blossoms. Gide kneeled down searching with his hands. “Where are you?” he asked in a thick voice. His hands found the spear and he pulled it out.

Sibyl's flesh tore with a violence of piercing pain that turned her mind black for a moment, but it brought her back to reality. Gide’s foot was on her stomach. She caught his ankle in her hands and rolled to the right as he brought the spear down. The spear plunged deep into the damp ground, where Sibyl’s heart

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