savage 07 - the dark savage

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “Okay—I admit I misunderstood your intent but you're a scary guy—tree dude—whatever.”

  Ulric ignores everything but the answer he seeks. “What ailed her—made her sick?” He presses.

  Jim sighs, running a hand over unkempt, inky hair. “She took some herbs, deadly stuff. Dried foxglove. It was deadening her heart.”

  Ulric drags Jim to him by his fist. “Why?” he shakes Jim.

  “Argh!” Jim says, teeth snapping together.

  “Ulric, I think you might break his neck,” Brom states with calm indifference.

  Ulric sets Jim down and he glares. “Thanks, that sucked. Anyway—her mom is a first rate psycho, bent on this Rite of the Select event. Which Calia had agreed to. If—Philip could be a part. They were so sure of their,” Jim waves his hand around as though searching for the right words, “soul-compatibility, she wasn't worried about Phil being the lead contender for the mating thing. In essence, Calia was placating her clan. But then Alanna wanted me to pay with my life for the Fragment beating Edwin to death—”

  “Calia's brother?” Brom asks.

  Jim nods. “Yeah. Then Alanna says Calia has to partake, and if the big guy isn't part of the line-up then I go free. Well, they really left her a shit ton of stupid choices. She'd be forced to mate with someone from her home clan—which really seemed like the underlying goal for her mother all along, but I'd go free. If she refused, they'd murder me.” Jim makes a slicing gesture at his throat.

  Ulric is troubled. He wants—his ultimate goal—is to assimilate the women into the Clan of the Tree. But he will never be compared to the Fragment. Or be responsible for coercion by more subtle means. But his clansmen should have a fair choice for compatible women, the same as any males of worth.

  Ulric opens his mouth to reply when Jim says, “The Rite is crap anyway. It's really just an arrangement of indigenous material that seeks out genetically compatible people. You stick a Band girl—excuse me—Select, and a Band boy—and boom—the most genetic superior match will rise to the surface. The clans think it's magic.”

  Brom narrows his gaze at Jim and he hikes his shoulders. “It's not rocket science.”

  “Rocket science?” Brom's eyebrows lift.

  “It's not complicated,” Jim clarifies.

  “How do you know this, and the clans do not?”

  Jim's cheeks burn with renewed color and Ulric's nostrils flare, picking up his shame before he even knows it manifests.

  “Because the Travelers are responsible for it all.”

  Ulric stares holes through Jim, silently willing him to explain.

  “This world?” Jim says, reaching for the distant sky seen through the trees, “the world of the spheres is engineered. You guys are nothing but a big fat petri dish.”

  “I do not like the sound of this, Jim,” Ulric says in a voice full of dangerous promise.

  “Yeah. I feel pretty shitty about it too but don't kill the messenger, Ulric.”

  “Not yet,” Ulric grates over his shoulder.

  Ulric gives him the look the Traveler deserves, him and Brom walking off to connect with the four who reluctantly travel with him.

  Jim follows.

  At a distance.

  Chapter 11

  Elise

  Adahy holds Elise, her head falling back against his chest. “Ulric is the lesser of two evils.” Her eyes take in the cold that robs the world of life. Every surface is a clinging blanket of white. “Any group who wants to force another, simply because of their gender, is not a contingent I wish to be a part of,” Elise manages in passing Iroquois.

  Neither mention the Fragment.

  Adahy turns her to face him, tipping her chin up, and studying eyes so sad and ancient they no longer hold color, but instead are colored full of wisdom gained from the violence of experience.

  “I wish we be with tribe.”

  Elise listens to the dry click of her throat and nods quickly, understanding his stilted English perfectly. Living with the Iroquois would be wonderful after the nomadic and abusive existence within the Fragment.

  “Calia's clan will try to pursue her,” Elise states softly, startled as a huge pile of snow dumps to the ground from a pine tree. She shivers and Adahy tightens the ties of her hood beneath her chin.

  Then his eyes shift from hers. “What?” she asks, gripping his upper arms.

  “I buried the tomahawk in Vaughn,” he admits quietly.

  Elise groans, covering her mouth in horror.

  “Adahy have no choice.”

  “I—” Elise's hand slowly lowers. “He was Band. Mayhap they would have left us alone had there not been a death from within that inner circle,” she says without even a hint of accusation. If Adahy killed Vaughn he had a good reason. “But with Calia's disappearance, and without atonement for Edwin's death by the taking of Jim's life—and in the face of Vaughn's death? They will never cease their pursuit.”

  “Yes,” he replies, also without self-recrimination. “He drew first blood.”

  What was wrong with this clan that they could not let them be? Now what is done is done.

  Adahy stiffens and Elise whirls, expecting the worst. And of a sort—it is.

  Ulric draws nearer. He is bare-chested even in the icy weather, with every muscle in stark relief as he draws nearer in an oddly smooth, loping gait. Elise stares. She cannot help it. Ulric's face possesses a sort of horrible beauty. Raw, and perfectly natural in the wilderness.

  He and Brom slow, Jim following behind. Ulric holds up a palm. “I would ask for a truce.”

  She would think a truce was implied as they had all left the clan together.

  Elise glances behind her at Philip and the still-ill Calia.

  Adahy and Philip look at each other.

  “No—do not,” Elise commands of Adahy, anticipating an attack against Ulric.

  Ulric must assume the same for he says, “We do not need more bloodshed. I am certain the males,” he gives a nod first at a wary Philip, then includes Adahy in the look, “have already thought through the next move of the seaward clan.”

  “They will come for us,” Philip says with certainty, dagger in hand, his posture tense, for Ulric is an enemy. Just not of the same ilk as the clan they have just escaped.

  Ulric's eyes flick to the metal that flashes darkly in the gloom.

  Philip says, “I would not kill you—but we cannot afford your hospitality again unless you agree to free the female from your courtship.” Philip's eyes tighten. “I would not rob Calia of her choices.”

  “And I would not be robbed,” Calia says weakly, but the spirit within her shines. Elise gives her a tentative smile and Calia returns it.

  “Hospitality my ass,” Jim mutters. Elise represses a grin at Jim's comment, for circumstances are currently too dire for humor.

  “How are you different than the Fragment—from my home clan that would manipulate me?” Calia asks Ulric, throat slits flaring with her emotions.

  Philip helps her walk to Ulric and the strange, half-animal lines of his face softens, though Elise is amazed she can read any emotion on a countenance that retains only the shadow of his humanity.

  Yet, his expressions are as clear as if he spoke them out loud.

  “We offer sanctuary, that is all. Everything else might come in time.”

  Calia scoffs, “Thank you for your kind offer, and saving of me.” She crosses her arms and glares up at the huge male of the tree. “But I chose Philip. I was only humoring my newfound mother because I pitied her the loss of Edwin, and I supposed the Rite would still prove Philip as the one who was my true mate.”

  “We believe,” Ulric slants a look Jim's way to include him, “that his participation might have been deliberately omitted. Jim tells us that the Rite is nothing more than a configuration of natural elements, engineered by the Travelers to see a mating through that has genetic superiority.”

  Jim grunts. “Nice re-cap, Ulric.”

  Ulric gives his attention to
Jim. “You're still on my kill list, Traveler.”

  Jim's eyebrows pop. “Anyone ever mention you hold a helluva grudge?”

  Ulric's smile is his only answer.

  “They will pursue us,” Ulric states.

  Adahy and Philip's silence is confirmation.

  “Take refuge with the Clan of the Tree, and we will offer you respite, if only for a time. You may leave whenever you wish.”

  “That is quite a change of heart from when we parted ways,” Elise spreads her arms away from her body and can feel the disbelief covering her face.

  “I do not trust males.”

  She grips Adahy's hand in her own to give a physical cue of exclusion from the comment. “I have been with the Fragment for many years, and do not know my true clan. I would rather die than be under the Fragment's yoke again.”

  A low growl parts Adahy's lips for the second time and Elise squeezes his hand harder, telling him with that one gesture that life has been so much more than existing with him a part of it.

  Ulric is silent, studying them, finally, he gives a curt nod. “Fine. We do not force females, but I will not perpetuate falsehoods. We do not have sufficient females of breeding age. The entire circumstance would be less critical if that were not so. However, the Men of the Tree do not abuse females. You will see our culture in an,” he looks at Jim with a hint of a smile, “up close and personal view shortly.”

  Elise's brows come together. She works through his last comment. Ah. She will have a better understanding once she sees their day-to-day lifestyle.

  For all their sakes, Elise hopes it is to their liking.

  *

  Jim

  “This is just bad fucking juju. Again,” Jim laments, hiking along behind the forward pair of Brom and Ulric.

  Philip claps Jim on the back and he lurches forward. “Lighten up big guy, damn,” Jim good-naturedly glares at Phil, but manages to hang a smile on his gloomy face.

  “It is not ideal, but I must think of Calia first,” Philip admits in a low voice, conveying his discontent with the decision with every fiber of his being.

  Jim gives a covert glance at the girls, traveling between himself, Phil, and Adahy—who brings up the rear. The big Iroquois never seems to want to give up the caboose position.

  Calia gives them a tired smile. Elise looks a little perkier, but Jim has to admit, both the girls are run down. Smallpox would kick anyone's ass. Hell, back home they'd probably still be in the hospital.

  “She cannot survive the type of trek needed to return to Clara's sphere,” he admits.

  “Who's Clara?” Jim asks, remembering a vague mention of her in the time that they've known each other.

  “Ah, that is possibly a long and convoluted story for another time, Jim.”

  “Try me, big guy.”

  Philip sighs and slowly begins, “In the most condensed version I can possibly give you,” Jim smirks, because Phil is such a conversationalist, “she is royal within her sphere and is now mated to one of the Band—hailing from a different clan other than my own, but Band nonetheless. It has been a good alliance.”

  Jim racks his brains. Oh yeah, bio-domes. He remembers now. That'd been a classified tidbit he'd stumbled across when he was fooling around in the Helix Complex lab. Never knowing the info would be of any consequence.

  Duh. So was.

  Now he's in the dimension of spheres. And genetically engineered ape-guys with fangs. Jim bets the Zondorae scientists didn't know what they'd dipped their wick into, and then—boom—their asses got handed to them. That's what happens to fools who play god with genetics. Jim, as a geneticist, has a healthy respect for the genome. But the Zondoraes wanted to twist the fundamentals of science. No. Can. Do, chumps.

  It almost always ends up fucking with natural selection.

  Speaking of which. Jim eyeballs Phil's breathing slits at his throat, then his gaze moves to Ulric's half-ape form as he lopes ahead of them, and shakes his head. This world is filled with monsters. But technically, the biggest monsters are the Fragment, mainly derived from the criminal element of Jim's earth—and entirely human.

  Yeah, Jim feels real good about where he's from.

  Now Jim doesn't know what to do. How about your job, moron?

  The weight of Jim's backpack sways between his shoulder blades and for the first time in so many days he has the tiniest ray of hope.

  He finally got food, thanks to Ulric. Jim tries not to think about the hunt he witnessed, but when you've gone three days without a crumb, you find you're not so picky after all.

  After ingesting an entire unlucky deer, everyone's appetites sated, they had hiked out of the area, traversing narrow corridors of forest until they came to an open glade where there were no connecting patches of woodland.

  A kilometer in, Ulric came flying in from his rapid forward surveillance and halted the group.

  Watching that smooth and somehow deadly approach just about made pee run down Jim's leg.

  Ulric cascades through the trees like living water with a dusting of light brown fur, high above their heads as he rapidly navigates branches like a slow fright show. He expertly tests their strength, breaking some that are too small while seamlessly grabbing onto the next, which proves stronger. It's eerily beautiful, and simultaneously stirs horror inside Jim.

  Ulric is a predator. Every move he makes, the mechanisms of his body—his unique design—it all screams—I'll eat you.

  And Jim's colleagues are responsible for making the seeds of Ulric when they “rescued” this earth one hundred and forty years prior. Setting something irreversibly in motion they had no right to. Jim knew for a fact there were thirteen dimensions. And this one had been fated to end. A cataclysmic meteor shower was exposed as the inevitable natural catastrophe. Zondorae cohorts had seen it coming, traveled back in time using the Pathway, and promptly fucked things six ways to Sunday.

  The Band had adapted differently than the tree guys. One had suffered through breathing air with no buffer and breathing slits had eventually evolved, aka Waterworld. The tree guys had risen inside the forest, the oxygen produced by surviving trees enough to allow them their breath.

  But the forest had stolen their original humanity. They had only the animals that roamed and the surviving humans to feed on. Using nighttime as cover became an evolutionary paradox in which nighttime and blood became inexplicably intertwined. Leaving the ape guys to use the trees as homes, and also as transport.

  The night aiding their stealth, the fangs as their best weapon of defense, and feeding.

  Jim would have to take his chances with the tree guys because he figured the corrupt Band wanted his skin.

  Jim wants to take his samples, because you can never remove the scientist out of the man.

  He wants a sample of everyone here. Then he will return to his earth.

  Jim's only question: what did Ulric want with him? Jim should be dead about now. He evaded Ulric in the Pathway, then he clobbered him when he was trying to heal Calia.

  He's got a stay of execution, but Jim doesn't like not knowing why. Jim thinks that is really important. The hiatus of a death sentence might mean something really fucking horrible for Jim in the interim.

  It's juju all right.

  “I don't think this is going to get you back to the bio-dome faster, Phil,” Jim finally says after his long, contemplative silence.

  Philip shakes his head. “Perhaps. Yet—it gives Calia time to recuperate, she is clearly not in danger from Ulric—and that must be my primary concern. And I will not let her go without a fight. I do not care what Ulric superficially offers. She is too free of spirit to be convinced by his tactics of courtship.”

  “You guys are single-minded about the chicks.”

  Men are the same whatever the dimension.

  Another cruel of orchestrated fate by Zondorae. Kill the women off with Yellow Death—our version of smallpox. Yeah, terrific.

  “Phil.”

  Philip of the Band glan
ces at Jim, waiting.

  “Let's have each other's backs from here on out, okay?”

  Jim can see Phil's cogs turning together then a smile hovers over his lips, never settling. “I always have, Jim.”

  He moves ahead of Jim.

  Jim stares after the huge guy, more confused than ever. Jim figures his confusion is because integrity is as rare as these Band guys.

  It's in short supply on his earth.

  Jim has to wonder why he'd even go back.

  Chapter 12

  Ulric

  A cloud of uncertain doom has been hanging over Ulric's head since his discussion with Philip and Adahy.

  They do not trust him.

  Nor should they.

  Earlier, he spoke the truths that he could. Many of which slid easily from his tongue.

  No Male of the Tree would hurt the females, any female. The object will be to force the males to abandon the precious females in such a way as to convince the females their choices logically lie with the Tree Clan, and nowhere else.

  Have the women latched onto the males because they were the first of his gender to endeavor to protect them?

  Calia has lived many years in harshness and isolation Outside. Elise has been held prisoner by the derelict and abusive Fragment. Neither had ever witnessed a male acting with the basest instincts of his gender.

  Males are fashioned to protect and nurture females, not abuse their body and soul.

  Jim's world must be filled with the foulness of males ignoring their biological design while partaking in every rancid act against nature.

  Ulric joyously kills wandering Fragment.

  He glances at Jim, who tucks his head against his chest, angling his face down against the icy wind that blows toward them.

  Ulric is impervious to the temperature in this form and Brom has shifted as well. The two march toward a patch of woods that holds their homes. It is a forest so deep and wide the eye cannot see its end. The sight of it causes Ulric's heart to swell, the vision of the woods affects him that deeply.