Read FANG VEINS :: Chapter 3

Yonan swallowed hard, his eyes fixed ahead—toward the unknown—his breath shallow, lungs grasping only the steam that thickened the air.

The road leveled, cliffs of stone looming to the left, and to the right the edge of a precipice where boiling waves of a furious river crashed. The roar of the hot water hammered at his ears. Pebbles skittered beneath his wheels, each jolt convincing him he would topple into the scalding current, though more than three meters of ground still separated him from the cliff’s edge.

As they pressed forward, a broad path curved upward between rocks on the left. Yonan pointed with his chin.

"That road looks less rough. Why not take it?"

Sam’s father stopped, forcing Yonan and the rest to halt. His brows drew tight, his glare as though Yonan had spat an insult.

"That road is dangerous."

Yonan blinked at his anger, then looked back at the road.

"I only asked. No need for such fury."

The man’s eyes drilled into him a moment longer before he turned forward again, pedaling into the mist. The group followed.

They rode until the sound of rushing water thinned and the fog began to lift. Yonan exhaled deeply—finally, his lungs could taste air again.

They braked together beside a small spring that trickled in front of a cave. Sam’s father leaned his bike against a rock, peeled off his shoes and socks, and lowered his feet into the water.

"These waters aren’t lukewarm," he said, letting a sigh rise from his chest. "I doubt any of you will want to miss this."

Relaxation spread from him like a spell. One by one they sat, each on a stone, dipping their feet. The pregnant woman—the laboring one—seemed the most enchanted of all, lifting her face toward the sky with eyes closed, brows arched as if her feet were tasting paradise.

Sam sat beside Yonan. He slid his palms into the water with his feet and grinned.

"Feels good, doesn’t it?"

"Yeah. Makes me want to piss."

Sam pressed his lips shut, shoulders shaking.

"They’ll hear you," he whispered.

Yonan cast a glance around at the group and shrugged, toes stirring the water.

"Look at them. I bet every single one of them feels the same. Especially at their age."

Sam clapped a wet hand over his mouth, fighting laughter.

"What?" Yonan asked.

Sam drew in a breath, tried to answer, then collapsed into laughter again, face flushing crimson. Tears ran down his cheeks as he wheezed:

"I just thought of you calling her labor."

Yonan flicked his gaze toward the woman, still serene, lost in her world.

"Alright. Drop it."

Sam smirked. "Why? Guilty conscience?"

"Yes. Thanks to you reminding me every second."

Steps crunched behind them. A shadow fell across their faces. Yonan looked up into the sun-blotted silhouette of Sam’s father. He couldn’t make out more than the man’s thin mouth.

"Why not share the joke," the man said flatly, "so I can laugh with you?"

Sam dropped his head, eyes on his feet. His smile died.

"Sorry."

"If I am not worthy of respect in your eyes," his father said, voice clipped, "at least show some to those with us, you fool."

Silence held them until the man stepped back, turning to speak with the elders.

Sam nudged pebbles beneath the water, a weak smile tugging at his lips.

"His mood’s always foul here."

"I felt it too. Why? Because we spoiled their peace with our laughter?"

"Not that." Sam’s eyes lifted to Yonan. "This place. Or rather, an old story."

He drew his hands from the spring and folded his arms around his chest.

"He lived here more than fifty years ago, in that very hut where the old men rested. His parents worshiped the wild, made forests their home, until he was born and they settled. Fate, perhaps. Back then, that bald skull was a handsome boy. But my aunt—Lily—was the one they called stunning. She was born when my father turned three. My grandmother said she’d never seen eyes so golden, bright as honey."

Sam’s stone plunked into the water.

"One bleak day a woman knocked at their door, begging for help—her husband’s leg broken in the woods. My grandparents left, setting their infant daughter in the arms of their three-year-old son, asking him to guard her. But a child can hold a baby only so long. His arms grew tired. He laid her on the floor and ran outside to play."

Sam’s jaw trembled.

"He heard her crying, but thought his mother was with her. He ran, chased butterflies, threw rocks, while she screamed. No problem—mother is there, he told himself. Hours later, he remembered. He ran back… found his sister writhing, ants swarming her tiny body, crawling into her eyes, ears, even her mouth."

Sam’s lashes glittered with tears.

"And no, it doesn’t end there. Imagine a boy that age, helpless. What does he do? He fetched water, the little they had. Poured it over her. Ants clung still. He panicked. Around the hut, the only springs… hot, boiling, volcanic beneath. He thought only of saving her. He carried her…" Sam’s voice faltered, his face tilted skyward, hair veiling his eyes. One tear slipped free.

"You can imagine which spring he chose."

Yonan’s throat knotted. He looked at Sam’s father, picturing a boy committing a sin too heavy for his age.

Sam wiped his cheeks with trembling hands.

"When my grandparents returned, they found their daughter scalded to death. Weeks later my grandfather slipped from a cliff and cracked his skull. Some say poor eyesight. I think he no longer wanted to live. My grandmother survived, but her mind didn’t. For more than fifty years she’s wandered hospitals, clutching pillows, singing lullabies, swearing she still hears Lily’s screams."

Yonan bowed his head. "I’m sorry."

Sam shrugged faintly. "These things happen. Some don’t escape them." He looked at his father. "Fifty years wasn’t enough."

"Then why come back here? Why not avoid this place altogether?"

"I don’t know. Maybe he’s slipping too. Four years ago he dreamed his father scolding him for staying away. Since then, he’s brought groups here every autumn, every winter. Perhaps so he won’t face it alone."

Images seared Yonan’s mind: an infant lowered into boiling water, her screams cut short. His chest twisted. He wiped at his eyes, shame burning. Damn it. This trip was supposed to be loud, foolish, a way to forget. Not another weight to carry.

Sam’s father called them to mount up; the sun would sink soon. They rode back toward the city, and the story of Lily circled Yonan’s thoughts until it fused with another face—his mother’s.

He slipped his phone from his pocket. His eyes widened. Fifteen missed calls from Frank. Something’s happened.

He slammed his brakes. Riders skidded behind him, voices muddled in his ears. His pulse thundered.

Sam’s father touched his shoulder. "Son, what’s wrong?"

Yonan swallowed, thumb pressing Frank’s name. The line rang. Clicked.

"Where are you? I’ve been calling for hours!" Frank’s voice—strained.

"Frank… what is it?"

A sob. "Mother, Yonan… she hit her head. They say… they say she won’t make it."

Yonan’s stomach lurched. His chest heaved as though his heart would spill out. He pushed down on the pedal but Sam’s father grabbed his handlebar.

"Let me get you out safely—"

"Get off!" Yonan’s tears streamed hot. "I said get off, you idiot!"

He shoved the man hard. The elder fell, and Yonan tore past, legs pounding the pedals, rage blinding him.

Sam’s father scrambled onto his bike. Yonan vanished around the bend. "Damn it, he’ll kill himself!" he shouted. "Stay here, don’t move!" he ordered the group before tearing off, his own pedals screaming as though to shatter chain and gear.

The bald man rode hard, glimpsing only Yonan’s shadow each time he turned. The descent twisted like a battlefield drill. At this speed, the boy would reach the hot springs in moments.

He’ll fall… he’ll fall.

"Damn, damn, damn!" he spat.

Fog thickened, cloaking the path. Yonan’s shape blurred, but still he sped. At the last bend before the river’s edge, the father caught sight of him and bellowed:

"Please, slow down!"

Yonan tore through the turns like a storm, handlebars scraping stone walls. No, it’s not true. It can’t be. Frank misheard the doctors. She’s fine. She has to be. She promised she wouldn’t die before meeting my wife, my children. She promised…

Then Frank’s trembling sob. But what if it’s true? How can I live without her?

His tears blurred everything. Mist coiled around him. All he heard was the river’s roar and his own breaking voice.

Suddenly—a fork. Yonan veered right.

"Not that way, you fool!" the man’s shout cut the air.

Not that way? What—

The ground vanished beneath his wheel. For a breathless instant, Yonan was flying—then realized he was hurling straight toward the boiling, raging river below.