Snatched

by Vijaya Schartz

  "He’s a good man." Morrigan looked up at the pale sky. "May the Goddess of Eternal Peace bless his gentle soul."

  Zania’s throat constricted as she wiped a tear from her face with her forearm. "If I survive this ordeal, I’ll make sure Grayson’s bravery is remembered among his people. All the survivors should know that they owe him their lives."

  A large fly buzzed around Zania’s head. She swapped at the insect. "Coal!"

  The translator slowed to her level.

  "Tell them to lower their hat veils." Hardened warriors didn’t mind the jungle pests, but civilians would.

  While Coal reported her words, Zania made sure he didn’t improvise. She suspected the slick trader might be one of the stable owners who organized the illegal fights. But she couldn’t accuse anyone on a gut feeling, so she would keep watching him.

  Upon hearing the translation, the refugees promptly unfolded the veils attached to their wide brim hats. It would protect their faces from insects and other flying pests. In long gray robes, gray hats and hanging veils, they looked like a cortege of wraiths wandering through the forest in the morning mist.

  *****

  At the head of the column, axe in hand, Svend hacked his way through the vines and the dense vegetation that had reclaimed the old road going west. On each side of him, Gray, Dakini and the Gorgon widened the path.

  According to the ancient maps, across the mountain range, there would be a large valley and a wide river, ten days march from the city, and the remains of a once vibrant town. But at this pace, it would take weeks to reach it. He certainly hoped the city shields would contain the eruption, or this expedition would perish.

  Squinting through the foliage, Svend remained alert to any smell or sound that would signal a large predator. "The mist is hiding the ground. There could be quick mud ahead." Segments of pavement and flat stones had collapsed in many places, and if they came upon a bog, the four warriors clearing the road would be the first to sink.

  On his right, Dakini slashed branches with her Labrys. "Quick mud or tigers, even with the protection of the tribes, these people are doomed. They’ll never adapt to this kind of life. Look at them!"

  Gray and the Gorgon ignored her comments and kept hacking.

  Svend advanced at a rhythm the four of them could keep all day. He had to admit Dakini’s assessment might be true. "The shuttles will return to evacuate our weakest elements." Svend respected Dakini’s insight and leadership, but he hated her lack of compassion. His mind seethed at the idea of marrying her. Since he’d discovered her sinister side, he couldn’t erase from his mind the image of a black scorpion.

  The jungle proved more difficult for a large group than the tunnels. But when the mountain erupted, the tunnels would fill with lava, trapping and incinerating anyone inside. But since Zania had destroyed the satellites, the exodus stood a better chance on the surface.

  "Watch out!" Dakini’s yell held fright.

  At a rustling overhead, Svend stopped and Gray bumped into him.

  The cold weight of a huge reptile dropped on Svend’s shoulders. He struggled with the slick creature that flowed down under his arms, caging his chest. As the snake whipped around his hip, Svend grasped the head and clutched it in a death grip, away from his body.

  He could barely breathe as the chilly coils compressed his ribs. Dropping the axe, he pulled out a dagger from his belt. In one cut, Svend severed the snake’s head. Blood spurted, showering him.

  Horrified cries rose from the citizens behind him. They reacted to fear but also rebelled against such violence and bloodshed. These people didn’t even kill to eat. With such a mind set, how would they survive, indeed?

  Svend threw away the head. Shrugging the writhing carcass off his body, he took a deep breath, feeling for broken ribs. Glad to find none, he stepped out of the coils, heart beating fast, and gazed upon the beast. "Large enough to swallow a child whole."

  Dakini kicked at the convulsing, headless snake. "Should we keep the meat for the evening meal?"

  "No time to clean or cut it now. Besides the smell of fresh meat might attract other predators." Svend bent down to retrieve his axe. "We have enough provisions for now. We’ll hunt when we are at a safer distance."

  Dakini booted the thrashing remains to the side of the trail they’d carved through the brush. "This is only the beginning. What about the tigers? We’ll probably lose just as many citizens to fever, poisonous frogs, or even toxic plants... Stupid vegetarians!"

  "Let’s go. We can’t afford delays." As he resumed the march, Svend remained silent. He didn’t want to talk to Dakini and ignored her bragging about seeing the snake first.

  Svend felt trapped. He didn’t have the option of keeping Zania as a concubine, like the kings of his old country. Not that she would ever accept such an arrangement. Svend had briefly considered eloping with Zania, but they could not survive alone in the jungle.

  Besides, Dakini would still wage war on the Viking tribe for his defection, and thousands would pay dearly for his selfish act. When Svend had discussed his predicament with Gray and the Centurion, in hopes of negotiating a peaceful solution, they’d remained unsympathetic. They’d requested that Svend sacrifice his personal feelings for the sake of all concerned. In such uncertain times, tribal law must prevail.

  What hurt Svend the most was Zania’s refusal to hear him out. Did she believe him unfaithful? She had to know him better than that. Didn’t she realize how much he loved her? Of course, he’d never expressed his feelings in so many words. Warriors had no use for such talk.

  Until he found a way out of that snare, or resigned himself to an unsavory fate, Svend would have to keep up appearances and let Dakini flaunt him as her future husband. Many lives, including Zania’s, depended on it.

  *****

  Zania picked up a little girl who couldn’t walk fast enough and propped her on her shoulders. She hoped the child wouldn’t slow her down if she needed to fight a predator. But she saw no danger in the immediate vicinity.

  Birds screamed overhead. From high branches, monkeys dropped overripe fruit that splattered on the ground. Amongst the overpowering smell of sweet fruit and humus, insects chattered in a loud cacophony.

  As the sun gradually heated the jungle canopy, the humidity drenched Zania in sweat. But she remained alert to the dangers lurking in the thick foliage. Predators might attack the end of the column, and try to separate the slackers from the herd for an easy kill.

  After hours of marching, the caravan halted, and the refugees spread their blankets to sit, eat, and drink. Did they think this was a picnic? Zania let the girl down.

  "Thank you," the girl said shyly, her face hidden by the wraith-like veil, then she ran back to her family.

  The citizens lined up around the antigravity plate to claim their lunch ration of fruit and bread. Warriors could go a day without food, but these civilians didn’t have the strength to go on without a midday meal.

  Zania stopped Coal, her translator, recognizable despite his veil at his black arm band. "Do not let anyone wander alone in the forest under any circumstances. If they want to relieve themselves, they go in a group accompanied by a warrior. Okay?"

  Coal nodded then passed the information. Zania listened to make sure he didn’t twist her words. The more she observed him, the more she suspected the man was one of the traders who organized the killing games. There was an arrogance about Coal, as if he considered himself above the law, above everyone else, an unusual attitude in such a tame society... like a lion amidst the lambs.

  As she and Morrigan distributed the food, Zania listened to the citizens venting their feelings. Although they expressed relief at leaving the doomed city in the nick of time, they eyed their new surroundings with mounting alarm. Conversations and comments expressed doubts about their future in such an inhospitable environment. To them, this tropical wilderness could never become home.

  As they sat down to eat, Zania had a view of the empty road behind them, like
a green tunnel cutting through the forest. Soon, the vegetation would reclaim the road. Ahead, as the citizens sat, she could see the head of the column, almost a click away, and the green vegetation blocking the path ahead.

  Around her, tired citizens unwrapped their feet to examine and treat large blisters. They passed around the medical kit to treat bleeding sores, rashes, insect bites and scratches. City physicians administered vitamin boosts to keep up their strength. Morrigan went from family to family with her satchel and examined sores and insect bites. Fortunately, except for small lacerations, the citizens of Dagora seemed to enjoy perfect health.

  Zania only observed and took note of the citizens’ concerns, so she could address them later. For now, they had to get away from the volcano. The extended city shields did not guarantee safety. The farther they were when the mountain blew, the safer. But the civilians grew sluggish and would need many more stops along the way.

  When the column resumed the march, the pace slowed even more and gaps formed in the procession. Slow elements from the caravan ahead now swelled Zania’s group.

  "Keep the ranks tight!" Zania yelled to Coal, her translator. Safety lay in numbers. "They must keep up with the column. I can’t have any stragglers."

  Coal nodded and smiled under his gray veil, as if appreciating Zania’s commanding skills. Could it be the pride of a slave owner for his property?

  By mid afternoon, many in Zania’s group showed signs of serious fatigue. A middle-aged man had to be supported by two young ones in order to keep pace. Zania sat a small child between crates on the antigravity plate. Morrigan offered a shoulder to the pregnant woman, who smiled, grateful for the support.

  According to the sun still shining through the canopy, hours remained before sunset. They kept on marching.

  Finally, the column halted in a large clearing to make camp. Although it was early, the location offered many advantages, and Zania understood why Svend had picked this place. They would see any predator coming from a distance, and the higher ground would prove easier to defend.

  After unfolding large canvasses to protect from ground insects, the citizens relaxed, glad for the clearing that allowed them to mingle and congregate at will and comment on their experiences. As they settled for the evening meal, they seemed less wary of the jungle. They smiled and nodded at Zania and Morrigan through the veils, expressing gratitude for their help. With time, Zania hoped their fear of the warriors would erode.

  "Have them remove their shoes and air their feet," she told Coal. "You don’t want jungle rot eating your toes."

  The veiled man with the black armband bowed, too politely for Zania’s taste. She couldn’t help thinking that his excessive marks of respect might hide a dark purpose.

  Zania turned her gaze toward the top of the volcano, across the vale. As the crow flies, it stood only thirty clicks away, now capped by the shimmering shield.

  But she had work to do. Leaving the citizens to their rest, Zania joined Morrigan to gather wood for the fires. It would take many blazes to keep away the night prowlers.

  As she gleaned wood, Zania caught herself looking for Svend’s tall silhouette in the crowd. Her gaze followed him from afar. Once, he noticed her and stared at her from a distance. Why did he bother? But more importantly, why couldn’t Zania just wipe him out of her mind?

  By nightfall, the warriors had gathered enough wood to light a circle of small fires on the periphery of the clearing, and a few larger blazes inside. The tribes would keep watch and sleep on the outer circle of the camp, keeping the citizens safely in the center.

  If any predator slipped through the vigilance of the sentries, it would encounter the fires, then the off-duty warriors, before getting to the citizens. Zania admired Svend’s strategy. He made a good leader. In the morning, the shuttles would return and lift away the weakest elements, women and children.

  Morrigan volunteered for first watch.

  Inside the ring of fires, facing the no-man’s land of grass surrounding the camp, Zania removed sword and boots and rolled herself in her blanket, hoping to dream of better circumstances. She wondered if there might be an alternate universe where Svend could love her and be faithful.

  *****

  Zania awoke to someone shaking her shoulder. She flipped the blanket open and stood in one leap, bare sword at the ready.

  Morrigan had stepped back in anticipation of Zania’s reaction. The woman smiled, her fiery hair and face flushed in the glow of the fire. "Your turn to watch."

  "Oh!" Zania stretched then sat and pulled on her boots.

  Morrigan added a log to a nearby blaze. Crackling sparks illuminated the smoke rising into the night. "Do you mind if I sleep in your blanket?"

  Zania sheathed her sword and shivered. The temperature had dropped noticeably during the night. "Go ahead. It’s nice and warm."

  Morrigan laid her long naginata on the ground then sat on Zania’s blanket and caressed her cheek with one corner. "It’s not for the warmth. It’s just that... it smells like my Zania. It makes me feel safe."

  "Knock yourself out." Zania chuckled as she secured the long scabbard to her belt and checked the daggers in her boots. If such a small thing as a blanket could give Morrigan comfort, Zania saw no harm in it, as long as the woman understood they were just friends.

  "Be careful out there." Morrigan lay down and covered herself completely with the blanket, including her red hair and the naginata.

  Zania heard her friend’s sigh of solace. She glanced at the feminine shape breathing softly under the brown wool blanket. The rise and fall of her chest enlivened the large Z painted white on the coarse wool, Zania’s distinctive mark of ownership, from her days in the Amazon bunker.

  Scanning the camp, Zania noticed a few warriors changing guard, like her. She instinctively looked for Svend or Dakini but saw neither. The exhausted citizens slept fitfully on the canvas covering the hard ground of the clearing. Some moaned in their sleep. Others snored. Many stirred in their uneasy slumber. They looked so vulnerable. Would they ever learn to survive on their own?

  Zania crossed the outer ring of fires and walked through thirty meters of grass toward the dark tree line. Other warriors switching guard exchanged a few words in the night. Spaced ten meters apart, the sentinels taking their shift disappeared into the tree line. Zania wondered whether Svend was sleeping or standing watch.

  She found a large tree at the edge of the clearing and used her daggers to climb it. When she reached the lowest forked branch, she sat and leaned against the rugged trunk. Enveloped by shadows, she could see the camp fires in the clearing, too far to shed their light on her.

  As Zania scrutinized the dark underbrush, her eyes adjusted to the night. She perceived the slight movements of the fronds and the gloomy depths of the forest. Her ears picked up small sounds, like the faint rattling of a large insect wandering across the leaves. She settled comfortably on her branch. With the camp to her left and the forest to the right, she waited.

  Zania thought about Grayson. Still alive, and alone, trapped in the abandoned city. Was he praying in the Temple of Eternal Peace? He knew his end would come soon. Zania felt honored to have known such a man, and she wished she had told him that. She never said goodbye.

  Although a desert warrior, Zania felt at home in the lush forest. What others considered a hostile jungle, she viewed as a green paradise, an opportunity to start over in harmony with nature. Given a chance, she wouldn’t mind making a home on this wild planet. And if she had her way, she would do it with Svend. But in life, nothing ever worked as planned.

  The snap of a twig below alerted her to a presence. Perfectly still, dagger in hand, Zania waited for the beast to pass under her branch. Then she would pounce.

  "Zania!" A male whisper. "We need to talk."

  Zania froze but her heart beat like a frenzied jungle drum. Should she relax or attack? At the sight of Svend looking up at her, Zania wanted to scream her rage at his betrayal. Instead, she jumped from the
branch and dropped on him like a harpy.

  Under her assault, Svend blocked her dagger arm and wrestled Zania to the moist ground.

  With tears of silent fury, Zania fought him with all her might to alleviate her anger, but when he pinned her down and brought his lips close to hers, she realized she wanted his kiss more. The contact of his body pressing on hers melted her hysteria into liquid heat.

  In his embrace, she could forget about the volcano, Grayson’s sacrifice, Morrigan’s grief, and the death of her alter ego. She’d killed her own self, for Aries’ sake! But Svend’s touch made all this bearable.

  Despite all the warning in her head, Zania couldn’t resist. She needed Svend. Relaxing her grip on the dagger, she let it drop and pressed her mouth to his with fierce desperation. Svend responded in kind, and Zania lost herself in the frenzy of his kiss.

  Now Zania wanted to be consumed by the blazing passion that flowed between them. Forgetting everything about the world around her, she welcomed what she missed so much. Svend’s strong ministrations.

  The sounds of the forest faded, faint and remote, as Zania focused solely on the pulsating blood rushing through her veins. Her world shrunk to the soft mushy ground yielding under her back, the bits of dead leaves crunching in her hair, and Svend’s possessive touch.

  Every inch of her skin came alive with the heat of Svend’s body upon hers. She enjoyed the excruciating contact of his leather-clad thighs against her bare legs. His exposed torso weighed her chest. His long hair fell like a flaxen curtain around her. His strong hands clasped her hips.

  When his mouth moved down her throat, Zania moaned in anticipation. She’d never felt so vibrant. The mossy scent of Svend’s skin and hair replaced the smells of the jungle. Danger could lurk around them, but Zania didn’t care. Let death come now, and it would be a perfect death, without regrets or fear, or pain.