savage 07 - the dark savage

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  He nods, answering immediately, “Yes. It's where I'm from.”

  “Was it good, Jim?” Adahy speaks for the first time, and Jim gives him a sharp look.

  Adahy feels this is the most important question. Simplifying everything brings the best answer, in his estimation.

  “Was what good?” Jim asks, his eyes hooded speculatively.

  Adahy rephrases in Iroquois, looking to Ulric. “Is your world worth returning to?”

  Ulric translates.

  Jim says nothing.

  “Then why return?” Adahy asks into the silence.

  Ulric repeats Adahy's question.

  Finally Jim says, “I don't have a good answer for that.”

  “Then maybe it is time you consider what is best for you, instead of just blindly going to what's familiar.”

  Jim's eyes narrow on Ulric. “You just want me for the intel. And I'll tell you what, Ulric. Not all the Fragment that is out there are people from my world. Some are descendants of them.” He puts his thumb to his chest then jerks it out into the forest. “Them and me? We aren't going to always speak the same language, if you catch my drift.”

  Ulric steps into Jim's chest space and Adahy pulls Elise behind him, giving the males room if their emotions rule their fists.

  “It is not about words, Jim. It is about justice.”

  “Your justice,” Jim clarifies as Elise whispers the translation beside Adahy's ear.

  “There isn't another kind, Jim. It is the way of the tree, or no way at all.”

  Jim nods in understanding. “Yup. That's what all people think—their way is the best way, the only way.”

  Ulric whirls. He clutches the rail and looks out over the scorched devastation at his feet. “What justice was there in the Band coming to take Calia? Or the Fragment imprisoning Elise? Making her womb barren like the prairies without rain?” Ulric slams his fist on the rail, a fissure like a fine spider-web appearing from the blunt impact.

  He spins to face Jim again. “You can help put a stop to their claims on our land, our people,” his voice goes low, “our females.”

  Jim spreads his long-fingered hands away from his body and Adahy is struck with how different he looks in this form than Ulric. It is as though whatever Ulric did, altered Jim superficially, but the core—his essence—remains.

  It is unsettling to Adahy. He is not by nature, desirous of change.

  “You can't guilt me into staying here, Ulric. It's not possible. I'm not that kind of dude. If I'm not feeling it,” Jim thumps his chest again and Ulric retreats a step, “I'm not on board.”

  Ulric smiles. “There is more here for you Jim than a role as a strategist.”

  Jim frowns and in that moment, Adahy understands Jim's intelligence is cloaked in his indifferent banter. He is not a man to wear his intellect as a badge. He hides his brilliance like a gem covered in dirt.

  It is Ulric who surprises Adahy with a shrewd intellect that rivals Jim's own.

  He whistles shrilly and Adahy interprets the call as a subtle nuance of hundreds Ulric must have for his people. Better than calling out someone's name. The musical note rides the air like an individual melody.

  Branches creak and flutter in the distance. Like green water rushing toward them, they part, allowing for the passage of someone.

  Coniferous boughs bend and their rider allows slim arms to cascade down each one until she drops to the platform.

  Adahy is stunned, yet Jim is more so.

  A female stands before them. Fragment, Adahy would guess.

  Ulric's gaze glitters with the intensity of anticipation.

  She flicks her dark hair behind her shoulder and peers up at Jim.

  “I'm Adira.”

  A-deer-a, Adahy silently repeats.

  Jim opens his mouth. Says nothing. Closes it then opens it again. “I'm Jim—are you,” Adahy watches his throat convulse. “Are you Fragment?”

  She laughs and the sound is like tinkling music. “No, I'm American.”

  Jim looks her over from the top of her ebony hair to her tiny bare feet.

  “You're Asian,” he says, aghast.

  “From the Orient,” Elise says under her breath for Adahy's benefit.

  Adahy does not know where that region is but he assumes it is the same as where Jim came from in his world. They have the same dusky skin—the same tilted eyes. Adira's are beautiful. So dark a brown they look like captured amber darkened to a fine antique leather.

  She places her small hand on a hip. “Now that's just prejudice, Jim.”

  Jim shakes his head, then narrows his eyes in anger at Ulric. “You're not going to use a girl to make me stay.”

  “Don't want to hear my plight?” Adira asks softly.

  Jim grimaces. “That's not what I meant.”

  Adahy's face breaks into a grin and he gives Ulric a sharp look but he is watching the scene before him too intently to notice Adahy's surreptitious glance.

  “Leave us, Jim—or stay and explore what awaits you here,” Ulric says casually as he leans against the wood railing and crosses his feet at the ankle.

  Jim glowers at Ulric. “You drive a hard bargain.”

  Ulric's chin hikes. “Always,” he admits smoothly.

  Jim does not appear to hear Ulric's reply. His eyes are all for Adira.

  And hers for him.

  Chapter 16

  Jim

  That prick, Ulric. He's smarter than he looks, the big ape.

  Jim strains like he's taking the biggest growler of his life. He's not—he's uselessly attempting to change back for the gazillionth time. Can't he just—think himself back to human?

  Nothing. God blessed all.

  Of course, he's not going to change back because he's destined to be a half-monkey for the rest of his stinking life.

  Speaking of which. Jim takes a not-too-subtle whiff of his armpit.

  So far, so good.

  Thing is, Jim's not seeing the local grocery store stocking up on Ax deodorant for Men here in the sphere world. Yeah.

  “I'm sure you smell just fine,” Adira says from behind a tree.

  “Shit!” Jim yells, slapping a hand over his nuts. “Can you give a guy some warning?” he asks.

  “Ah—no.”

  She grins.

  Jim scowls.

  He hopes he looks scary as hell. Adira is a pain in the neck.

  A cute one. Which somehow makes his ire burn more brightly. Like a firecracker up his ass.

  Jim starts to walk away, realizes he doesn't have pants on and whirls to face her again.

  Dammit.

  Adira's grin widens as her eyes move up from where she'd been looking. Nice. “Here's the thing, Jim. I see plenty of naked guys around here. The tree men aren't exactly bashful. They're shapeshifters.”

  Jim rolls his eyes. “I disagree. They're more vamp-y.” Jim does a parody of fangs with both index fingers inside his mouth and Adira's gaze nails his crotch.

  “God!” Jim rants, grabbing the towel at his feet and wrapping it around his waist. “Can a guy just bathe without you coming around?”

  Adira smirks.

  “Sure. But it's a community water hole, Jim, so I have as much right to be here as you.”

  Her shirt goes first. Ripe and perky small breasts peek out of their version of a bra here.

  Jim's mouth waters. What happened to my manners?

  Probably disappeared along with his old body.

  Her breasts are wrapped in a simple criss cross of ecru-colored fabric. It looks like hemp.

  Adira slides off her loose breech type pants, the laces flutter as they migrate down her smooth thighs. A simple thong type thing covers the bits he'd like to get an eyeful of most.

  Jim sprouts a hard-on, and wants to instantly die.

  She kicks her chin up and glides past him without a word. Jim turns to mark her progress all the way to the banks of a hot spring buried within the woods.

  It's also untouched by the fires of days befor
e.

  “I saw that wood, Jim,” Adira remarks and Jim's face flames.

  Bitch.

  Jim stomps off in the other direction.

  It's been five days since he met Adira and at first, it was really great to finally just talk in regular American English. To another person who actually had the whole point-of-reference thing down.

  Then he got to really know Adira.

  Ulric thought (mistakenly) that Jim could tame Adira because they look alike. Little does Ulric know that even though Jim's half-Asian himself, he's never dated anyone within his own ethnicity.

  That doesn't mean he wouldn't. Hell, a good looking girl is a good looking girl. It's just not a consideration back home. No one gives a rat's ass what race you are.

  It matters here for reasons unknown.

  Select goes with pure Band.

  Tree dudes stick with tree girls.

  Fragment get their grimy hands on any woman (consistent A-holes). Clan stays with clan, and tribe with tribe.

  So Ulric thinks he's doing Jim a favor by providing female companionship in the form of some china doll.

  Adira's not breakable and fragile. Sure, she might look like she's soft, doll-like.

  She's tough as nails, and her story is a compelling one. A Dimensional from Jim's world. She jumped here and got stuck—never made it home. Able to parallel world-hop only works if you can get back to your point of origin.

  Adira is damned lucky she landed in a spot inside the trees.

  The tree guys found her. It could have just as easily been the Frag-tag team.

  Jim shudders, thinking about the criminal element of this world and what they'd have done to a tiny girl like Adira. Or any woman. The Frag were equal-opportunity misogynists.

  Of course, the ape dudes might have thought Adira wasn't worth it once she talked them to death.

  Jim keeps walking. The only one he feels like talking to is the big guy. Philip will give him something to reason with.

  First, Jim needs to get some clothes.

  Mindful of Adira bathing and nowhere to be seen, Jim knots the towel (really just a swath of roughly fabricated cotton-like material) and grabs the hanging ropes that are everywhere in the forest.

  The dangling vine-type ropes are really not so easily sighted at first glance. They're nearly invisible to travelers-through. Jim considers himself to be pretty observant. Being a scientist and all. But these twines of nature blend.

  However, they don't to his new eyes.

  Nothing does.

  And therein lies the one thing Jim has been just beginning to grudgingly admit.

  It's not so bad being an ape.

  He swings into the vines with both arms, grasping one each. His reach and arms are powerful now, easily climbing and swinging through the trees until he reaches his borrowed tree house.

  Jim kind of likes his new digs.

  The damn towel keeps trying to come off. He tears it off his hips, letting his junk fly free, and arcs over the top rail, sailing over easily. He lands hard and rolls, the towel tangling up in the fall. He laughs, bruising and scraping his dumb ass on the way in. He doesn't have the hang of it all yet. His body is outdistancing his experience.

  But the learning is a thrill.

  He stands. His body burns with internal fire from healing the minor injuries, knitting them to perfection.

  Gives Jim an appetite. And he already had a healthy one to begin with.

  He surveys the meager surroundings. All the guest houses are at the same level as the others. The higher the rank of tree man, the higher they live.

  Ulric's dwelling sits in the furthermost reaches of the canopies, spreading between six old-growth trees.

  However, after hiking around the misery of Outside, Jim's decided that his borrowed perch in the trees is just fine.

  A soft bed of tree needles and feathers supports three blankets of various materials. In this form, Jim doesn't get cold like he knows he would as a normal guy. Even though spring has just recently sprung, and the temperatures are more or less remaining above freezing now, it's still a far cry from where they'd been just a week ago.

  He folds the leather blanket into a neat square and sets it beside the railing, determining he'll give it to Calia and Philip.

  Jim gives a little smile at the thought of the girls. They both look kilometers better than last week. Calia is actually showing signs of happiness again. Not that she's a jovial chick. She's actually kind of morose. Jim snickers at Phil's lot with that headstrong woman.

  Possibly, Calia no longer having her natural mother gunning for a forced marriage with an insane Band helps that whole feel-good along.

  Jim swipes the towel off the floor and drapes it over the railing.

  The cloth won't be dry for a full day in this transitionally damp chilly weather. He slides on pants that tie. His new form is huge and some of his clumsiness is just sheer not being used to being seven inches taller that he was his entire adult life.

  Jim's fingers work better.

  His muscles.

  In this form he could have killed Vaughn twice. Kind of a great fantasy he's spent a little time each day entertaining. Of course, Jim can't fulfill that one. Unless Vaughn goes all zombie on him.

  No zombies on this world. Yet. Jim shivers.

  He digs how insanely strong and limber he is now. It's sick as shit.

  Jim contemplates the unfairness of the Band kicking his ass. It's amazing he actually could keep on his feet as long as he had.

  Jim remembers Ulric's words from yesterday.

  “You're in a position to protect and do something better—more. Stay, Jim. Commit to this world, make a difference where it will matter most.”

  Jim tried to explain to Ulric he was a scientist, that he was one of the youngest people responsible for advancements in his world.

  “The advancements that ruined this world?” Ulric had asked quietly.

  Jim hadn't replied. Anything he could have said would never have been enough with the truth glaring him in the face.

  Now Ulric wants Jim to join the Men of the Tree.

  If Ulric had not blood-shared with Jim, he'd be dead—of that he had no doubt.

  Jim takes in his reflection from a jagged piece of mirror that the tree guys collected from a Frag party that got too close to the forest. He stares at his new self.

  Soft rain patters on the roof of the little tree house, wetting the rails around the two sides that are open.

  He doesn't notice the weather. Jim only has eyes for his “new” face.

  His eyes aren't the semi-slanted ones of his Asian heritage. But round and deeply set above high broad cheekbones. His skin doesn't retain its smooth texture, and the coffee with cream coloring. But now has a sort of supple, hand-brushed leather look. His teeth are square and white inside a mouth that protrudes slightly.

  And he's got a tight neanderthal brow ridge.

  Jim looks bad-ass.

  He mimes a fierce look, and about scares the shit out of himself.

  Jim's simply not owning his face yet. He gives a shaky laugh, then peeks inside his pants.

  That's looking a ton more effective too.

  He grins.

  I guess being a tree guy isn't all bad. Those penis implant guys can suck it.

  “Are you quite done admiring yourself?” Phil asks in an amused tone from behind him.

  Jim whirls, slapping a hand to his chest, quickly tightening the laces at the front of the pants. “Hell Phil! You scared the piss out of me!”

  Philip grins. “I think if that were the case we would have a larger mess than the one already presents itself.”

  Jim looks around his little tree pad. Looks like it got tossed by a posse of slob criminals.

  Jim rubs his nearly bald head. “Yeah, I guess I suck at housekeeping.”

  “But where you lack in that—you are gifted in other pursuits.”

  Jim chuckles, meeting Phil's eyes. “I gotta talk to you, big guy.”
/>   Phil walks into the center of the tree house and claps Jim on the back in a way that would have upended him over the railing before his apeness.

  Now he hardly moves.

  They grin at each other. Easily done, now that they're the same height.

  “I've got chick problems.”

  Phil frowns, then he solemnly nods his head once he translates Jim's words.

  “A problem for all men.”

  Chapter 17

  Ulric

  “Alpha,” a feminine voice calls shyly from the rail.

  “Enter,” Ulric says without looking up.

  Her scent precedes her.

  Natasha uses powerful arms to hoist herself smoothly over the wooden rail, worn clean of bark or sharpness over its century of life. Ulric is pleased to note he has only refurbished his tree dwelling once.

  It was his sire's before him.

  When he came of age, his father bequeathed it to him. Along with his inherited linguistic skills. Each dialect of any that were ever known was painstakingly taught to him.

  That is why Jim, Adahy, and any other foreigner, is no challenge to understand.

  That singular skill makes those who are First Species less savage than all other groups. Knowledge breeds intellect, not violence. However, that lesson is slow to be learned by outsiders. And sometimes they meet a bloody end. Providing meals instead of alliance.

  It is the way of it.

  Natasha is one of the spoils of such an encounter.

  The internal identifier is distasteful to Ulric, but accurate. She is a comely female. Beautiful simply by default of being female.

  But horribly scarred.

  Every Fragment who had been present had perished. Their blood filled the bellies of the Men of the Tree.

  When Natasha had been rescued from their cruelty the clansmen had all tried in vain to elicit words from her.

  Nothing worked.

  Natasha did not speak, therefore they all assumed she was mute. The females of their clan took care of her.

  After a year, she made a noise in Ulric's presence and when he approached, she subjugated herself before him, her forehead touching the moss of the forest floor.

  “Rise,” he had said, pained that she should feel moved to physically grovel for audience.

  When she took to her feet and spoke, the entire clan was silenced.