by C K Burch
Dust and Jack turned to each other.
“To an extent,” Karaang clarified. “If too much time has passed and the mind has withered, the honey does nothing. A mindless corpse shall arise in the place of the living, which does little good to all. But, in addition to healing, the Amrita provides great strength and resistance to injury. We consume the Amrita on a consistent basis so that we may have the stamina to hunt, and prune the outer circles of the city.”
Jack quickly elbowed Dust to indicate that she'd been right in her deductions. He smiled in appreciation and nursed the quickly forming bruise on his tricep; her excitement apparently came with a lack of restraint.
“We could go on, but we must cut short.” Karaang held out her hands towards the far end of the hall. “There has been much combat today, and so we must revive our bodies. Food has been prepared, and so you, too, shall be invited to dine as we do.”
On cue, the doors behind them opened, and the sounds of a multitude caused Dust and Jack to turn around. Waves of Bandara came pouring into the hall, murmuring amongst themselves, meandering to various seating positions at the tables. As they settled, bearers of large platters of steaming hot food came in a line, dropping said platters off at the tables, two or three at a time. Oddly, it appeared that the first tables – the “lower” of the hierarchy – were served first, and that Karaang's group of elders were serviced last. This continued with each course, which led Dust to turn to Karaang in question.
Karaang spoke first. “Your questioning mind is open. These are the farmers, the gatherers, the providers of our village. We who fight, we fight for them. They shall reap their rewards first, and then we. Perhaps this is not how it is amongst humans?”
“No,” Dust confirmed. “No, unfortunately. Usually those who are seen as lesser are the ones who are served last. If at all.”
Johyung scoffed aloud. “Savages.”
Dust could not find an argument against this.
The feast was plentiful: fruits, succulents, meat both white and dark, sauces, and drink. While most of the meat was pulled from the bone and tender like chicken, he noted that some of the strips still held porous, sometimes reptilian skin on the backs. These he peeled away, and were the most delicious and moist of all. No protest to any of this. Juices and seeds ran over his lips as he ate the fruits, which he complimented with a rice-like pudding of sweet and salty composition. But it was the drink which he gave the most hesitance to – heavy, almost cloying, but rich and warm. He smelled it and gave it the lightest of tastes. Mead, more than likely crafted from the honey of the land. And, from the scent, highly alcoholic. From his cup he drank warily, despite the rather delicious brew within. Jack held no such restraint. Her first goblet disappeared before her plate was half cleared, and her second goblet done in the same fashion. It would probably prove to be an interesting night.
Considering the potential for inebriation, he casually turned to Karaang, who was again staring at him like the dinner they were enjoying. One of her eyebrows raised in query, and her eyes held the same type of want that Dust had seen in many men and women before. He swallowed hard upon little but saliva; nerves hit him like a jackhammer. How rude would it be seen to deny the advances of the leader of a prehistoric tribe of monkeys?
On went the night; there was laughter, discourse, questions of mankind and technology, the answers of which Dust gladly gave with his best oration. Jack would chime in as best she could, the mead taking control of her wild gesticulations and flailing limbs. The Bandara became enamored with her quickly, and for this, Dust was glad. She deserved a reprieve after the events of the day, and most certainly needed this buffer if the worst was to come for Cairn. As this went on, Dust gave in and finished his first goblet of mead, and finally, a second. All around him the world became dimmer, brighter, and then resolved into a crisp clarity of sobriety. He raised his eyebrows. No wonder Jack was drinking so much of this: the healing properties of the honey within took away the drunkenness with frightening efficiency, and if one wished to remain drunk, they needed to drink quite a bit of the stuff. To this, Dust toasted himself, and poured more.
As the evening wound down, and the hall was beginning to clear, Karaang finally pulled Dust aside.
“You are strong,” she murmured, “and a brazen warrior. You make me curious.”
Dust choked in response. “Uh, how?”
“You have understood by now, our tribe is all female.”
“Yes, you uh, you mentioned that.”
“I have always been curious about the phallus that human men wield, and how it works with one of our set. Stories from millennia ago, when our kinds were more entwined, have done little to satiate my thoughts. Would you care to satisfy my curiosity? Strictly for....educational purposes.”
Internally, Dust screamed. He'd performed some sexual acts that had been outlawed in certain countries, but he'd yet to have any experience with anything that was not a human. And while he didn't intend to break that streak, he was flummoxed for a way out of this current situation without highly disrespecting the leader of the tribe. Beet red blush warmed his cheeks as he fought for a response.
Miraculously, Jack approached at Dust's side. She stumbled and swayed, but she wrapped her arms about Dust's midsection and curled her torso up against his in a way that unmistakably staked territory.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Jack cut in, “but I must inform you that his phallus is already claimed.”
Dust found himself caught between the wills of two drunk women, only one of which he could hold any responsibility for, both of whom were speaking about his genitalia as an object. Were the circumstances different – and one of them a human being – he might not have minded as much. He attempted to hide his surprise and smiled. “Yep. Phallus claimed.”
Karaang laughed and placed her hands on both of their shoulders. She turned to Jack. “And well spoken that it is! It would be unbecoming of my stature to pursue this further. Please, take your leave and wield him for the remainder of the night. Such release before a battle is good preparation and makes excellent clarity. May your cries echo through the night!”
“I shall,” Jack agreed, and she smiled lasciviously at Dust. She smacked his ass. “Onward, meat!”
Karaang waved for a guide, who then led Dust and Jack out of the hall, and up a rope-bound elevator to one of the huts in the trees. With no sense of time or the world outside, Dust suddenly found himself both very tired and highly aroused. Perhaps he'd not wanted to sleep with Karaang, but few could say they had been approached for sexual acts by the leader of an ancient species. An odd bit of trivia to walk away with, but he felt the need to bolster his ego somehow.
He leaned in to Jack. “Thanks for the save, boss,” he whispered.
“It was a pleasure,” she replied, but gripped him tightly. “At least, as much a pleasure as I can get for now.”
Dust's relief was marginalized. What the devil was going on?
As the guides raised them up to the hut of their chosen, they simply gestured for the two humans to let themselves inside, after which the Bandara then lowered themselves down to the ground. Stranded, and at least with the destination before them, they moved aside a long pelt that served as a door, and entered the hut.
From the scent of things, which was wet fur and clove, this hut was normally occupied. There was little light to be had in the room, save for firelight streaming in from the outside via open holes in the thatch ceiling, so making out details was difficult. A padded bed stuffed with what was probably dinosaur feathers lay in one corner, and trinkets and baubles decorated the walls. What appeared to be a woven trinket similar to a Native American dreamcatcher dangled from the center of the roof, turning lazily in place. Dust passed his glance quickly over a chest, a small table, and the weave of a cloth – probably a blanket or dress in mid-crafting – before Jack stumbled and nearly fell. He caught her, but could not catch himself, and they both fell awkwardly upon the mattress.
Dust
pondered a way out of his current situation. Clearly, she was drunk, and not thinking straight. She had other partners. And preferred women. Whatever had spurred this line of thinking of hers onward, perhaps simply mead and a competitive streak, he needed to use diplomacy as best as possible here. Or, at least, to hold fast until the effects of mead resolved again into sobriety.
“So,” he began tenuously, “uh, Jack, about, uh, my, you know, uh – ” Damn. He didn't have the words. Anxiety filled the room. How the devil was he supposed to belay all of this?
Jack stared at him for a half a moment, her eyes wide and enveloping, but she could not hold it. A fit of laughter finally escaped her lips and began to guffaw, loudly, until tears ran down her cheeks and she clutched at her aching sides.
“Dust McAlan,” she laughed, “the Casanova of the Pulp Age, wooer of all sexes, is gunshy in bed before me! Oh! Oh! This is too much to bear!”
Dust was not as amused as she. “I'm not gunshy, I'm simply looking out for you. You're drunk, and I should, I don't know, be a gentleman.”
“Oh my goodness.” She wiped away tears and sidled up to Dust. “You egotistical dimwit, I should kiss you for being so oblivious. I do not want to have anything to do with your phallus. I merely put on an act for the benefit of the matriarch so that I might retrieve you from her lascivious clutches.”
“Oh.” Well, if that didn't deflate his tension – and his pride – then he wasn't sure what would. “Well, you know, it was a very convincing act.”
“You're cute when you don't know what's going on.” Oddly, she kissed his cheek and curled up against him in the bed. A lack of sexual tension followed, as it seemed she simply found comfort in his embrace. “Is this alright? After the events of today, I don't feel like laying alone. I would care for...I don't know, some sort of embrace.”
“Yeah, uh, yeah sure this okay.” Dust settled himself and got comfortable. At the very least, Jack was easy to lay beside, and as such, could also use some warmth for the evening himself.
Silence passed. Jack sighed. Somberly, she spoke. “I suppose I ought to say thank you for not attempting to remove my clothing, despite appearances. Knowing your reputation, I half imagined that you would, but I felt as though you wouldn't take advantage of a drunken offer.”
“Based on what, exactly?”
“Well, on the Venture, you could have taken a pass at me whilst I was inebriated, but you didn't. It spoke highly of your character.”
“Thank you. And I guess I should say, you're welcome. And don't mention it, you know, I'm going off of what you've told me about yourself.”
“Which is?”
“Well, you don't like men, for starters.”
“I mostly don't engage with men. I primarily engage with women, but mostly does not mean never.”
“Oh. Right. That's, uh. You know. That's a fun fact.”
“Oblivious and cute.”
Dust grumbled. “Cut it out. I'm not cute.”
“You are. And you're a decent bloody person. Which, after all of this, is a remarkable thing to discover about a man, I must say.”
Quite fair. Dust nodded in reply, as there were no adequate words to follow with. He felt it would pat himself on the shoulder too much if he agreed.
Jack sat up and looked at him. “Tell me something, Dust. Why? Why is it that you maintain this roguish character? I'd heard your reputation, I'd heard you could be a heel, something you even laud yourself over, and yet here you are, a gentleman in your actions and style. You've protected me and Cairn and you've stood up for both of us against my brother, and you have yet to strain my trust in the slightest during this journey while what feels like every man in my immediate vicinity is doing the opposite. What exactly is it you are, hmm? Why do you protest over being a decent person?”
“I'm not,” he protested. “Really, I'm definitely an asshole, I'm just a whole different other kind of asshole, you know? I've got all kinds of flaws and misgivings, but breaking the bonds of loyalty isn't one of them. At least, well, lately.”
“Explain yourself.”
“Uh, well, that's a bit of a story.”
“We have the time and the night. I'm curious how you still consider yourself an asshole.”
He spun his hands in the air, unprepared to begin to dictate his previous life follies. “Look, I've, you know, I've stolen research, I've broken ties with family members over who-was-right-and-who-was-wrong, I haven't always treated my partners with the, well, I guess, utmost respect, which is probably why I float from bed-to-bed instead of attempting longer lasting relationships, which, you know, those are hard to maintain and I'm not very good at maintaining them. But I've been trying, you know, I've been trying a lot lately, and I don't know if you think I make it look easy, but let me tell you, it isn't. Being a decent human being is one of the hardest things I've ever done. I've been a shitty person, I've stepped on toes to get what I wanted, I've done my share of woes and why-did-I-do-that, and I just. Look, I'm still a shitty person and I don't do the best with treating people right, but I'm trying. So, you know, don't go giving me more credit than I deserve.”
She stared at him, and made a circle in the air with her finger. “And thus far all of your actions on this expedition have been what you would call trying to be a better person?”
“I'd define it as trying, yeah.”
“I daresay you aren't giving yourself enough credit.”
“Well, first off, thank you, second, probably compared to the other men in your life I must seem like a goddamn saint, so, you're welcome for that.”
A sharp, wry chuckle. “Quite.” She placed her head onto his shoulder once more. “So. Guns, as it were, you asked about before. Why I can't stand them.”
Ah, yes. That topic. “Well, you know, you still don't have to – ”
“My mother was killed by a bullet.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Intentionally?”
“Accidentally.” She sighed, deeply, and continued. “My mother aspired to ensure that I would see my self-worth first and always. She was the one who inspired my love of history, and my want to seek out adventure in the field. Of course, father denied my access to anything outside of visits to the museum, but my mother, oh, she was adamant that I be given the same opportunities as my brother. Which is why she insisted that I learn how to fight. And how to shoot.” Lost in reverie, she smiled, looking up at the sky through the thatch roof. “Pistols, revolvers, rifles, shotguns. I was good. Very good, which filled her with pride, and spurred me on further to be better. She was just so proud of me, of seeing that I was accepting my limitations and pushing past them, so I wanted desperately to break down the barricade my father had put in front of me, if only so mother would see it and be proud. And then – ”
Based on her long silence, here, now, was the tragedy of the tale.
“It was a warm day,” Jack continued, “and there were many of us on the shooting range. Some were learning to fire for the first time. Mother was with me, and I was practicing with the rifle. Somewhere within the volley of shots taken, there was a misfire, a pistol that had been mishandled, and the bullet struck mother in the head. She was killed instantly.” Her breathing paused. As this happened, Dust realized he was holding his own breath; in the silence, he wondered if she would continue her story, which was confirmed by a barely controlled exhale. “She didn't even make a sound. I had no idea until after my next shot, as I realized that people were shouting and running in my direction. I turned, and I saw her, lying on the ground, and for the most hopeful moment I believed she'd merely fainted. Then I saw the blood. I – ” Her words cut off sharply, unable to revisit this particular vision. “It took days for the young man who'd misfired the weapon to come forward out of shame, and I'll never forget the look on his face as he cried and cried, begging for forgiveness. I did not grant it. And I never touched a gun again. Well, until today.”
“How old were you?”
“I was eighteen.”
“A
nd now?”
“Twenty-four.”
Dust whistled. “I'm sorry.”
“It's fine. I've heard that enough from a great many people to be able to get on with things. As it were.” She stared at something far away in her mind. “I fear I lost something on that day that I always believed my mother held. As strange as it sounds, when father granted me the freedom to go out and adventure as I wished after mother had died, I felt more entrapped than I had when she was alive. I saw this venture as a way to reclaim it, to take back from death what it had stolen from me, and yet...here we are, and I wonder, what sort of right have I to attempt such a thing?”
Dust shook his head. “Don't try to do what you do for her. Do it for yourself. It sounds to me like she was raising you to do just that. And you know, sure, this expedition has been a little bumpy. This line of work, it's not for the faint of heart. Things never go according to plan, ruins are never how they're imagined to be, and the truth behind history is often times much stranger than we know how to fathom. But if you're feeling like you haven't done right by this, or by whatever sense of freedom your mother wanted you to have, I can guarantee you're doing great. From a professional stance, even.”
She sighed, and nestled her head deeper into his shoulder. “Thank you. I believe I needed to hear that kindness.”
“It's the truth, boss.”
“Perhaps.” She paused. “Do you think Cairn is alright?”
“Jesus.” He let a long sigh escape him. “I don't know. I don't think you can afford to think about that until we know for certain. It's gonna....shit, Ryder knows how to hold down a fort through the night. Whatever's out there, and I believe Karaang when she says it's vicious, if anyone's gonna keep that party safe through the night, it'll be that Aussie.”
“Ugh. I wish I didn't have to consider being grateful for that man. So long as I find Cairn safely, then I suppose it will be worth it.”
“What about Thomas? He engineered this whole betrayal. And that crack he took at you, about being a stain on the family – ”