Of Bone and Thunder by Chris Evans

handkerchief tucked into his belt. Lifting the brim of his helm, he held the liner awayfrom his forehead and stuffed the handkerchief in it so that it covered his forehead. With the extra cloth, the helm felt snug, like the beginnings of a headache, but it would keep the sweat out of his eyes. He’d be better off with no helm at all, but if Sinte saw that, he’d have him up on charges.
    Listowk looked around, moving his head slowly while keeping his eyes fixed. He doubted he’d see a slyt, but he might possibly catch some movement. The jungle was a jumble of black and gray shadows. There could be a slyt phalanx standing five feet away and he would never see it. The idea that somewhere out in the dark an arrow was being aimed at his throat, or his crotch, wasn’t easy to shake. He realized he’d tucked in his chin and lowered his crossbow to protect himself.
    Letting out a long, slow breath, Listowk raised his glance and brought his crossbow back up. He felt naked, his flesh as insubstantial as cobwebs. The jungle humbled him, but he didn’t resent it. In exposing his vulnerability, the jungle revealed more of itself to him.
    Knowing his eyes could only tell him so much, Listowk focused on his ears. The night sounds of the jungle, chaotic and maddening when he’d first arrived, were giving up their secrets. He’d made a point of leaving the security of their beach encampment—without informing Sinte—and walking into the jungle. He wanted to know this land. What he found amazed him. The “noise” had an order and rhythm that ebbed and flowed throughout the night. In a way he’d never be able to explain, the jungle was talking to itself.
    There was a clear difference in the sounds this high up the mountain. The jungle’s accent had subtly changed. But what he strained to hear was what wasn’t there. Just as the insects had quieted around the patrol, they paused in their chorus as predators neared.
    There. A good two hundred yards down the western slope and a hundred to the north, a sliver of silence weaved its way through the jungle. Listowk tilted his head to better track it. Whatever it was moved at a steady, slow pace. It could be slyts—they were wily little bastards—but he suspected it was probably a jaguar or some other big cat. He remained still until the silence faded and he could no longer follow its path.
    Realizing the rest of the patrol would be getting antsy, he started walking again, using his left hand to gently push aside leaves and fronds. He could tell by the outline of the leaf whether or not it hid thorns and did his best to steer around those. It had been a quick and painful lesson when they’d first arrived. The plant life in Luitox seemed no more inclined to be hospitable than the damn slyts.
    He rested the butt of his crossbow on his right hip and kept the weapon pointing forward as he walked. The safety latch on his weapon was off, but he was walking spear tip. Anything in front of him wasn’t going to be friendly. He slid his main finger up and around the stock and gave the bowstring a tap to make sure it was taut. He wasn’t about to get caught with a limp string. He cursed himself for not reminding the others, but he had to trust that he’d trained them well enough.
    He started to duck under a hanging vine, then stopped and backed up a pace. The vine was really a section of coil from a snake draped over a series of branches. The part of the snake Listowk could see looked as thick as a man’s biceps. It was too dark to make out its markings, but judging by its size he figured it for a squeezer. Probably not poisonous, but they still bit hard. He backed up another step and decided now was as good a time as any to begin looping around to the east.
    It took close to an eighth of a candle to make the full loop and pick up the main path the shield used going up and down the mountain. After the slow, energy-sapping walk