The Pearl Savage

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Ada narrowed her eyes on him, glaring. He understood that she wished to find Clara but he could not instantly transport them to the proper location. He was as new to this terrain as she.

  “Let us make haste,” she said.

  Henry nodded. Finally she would be silent and let them begin the journey.

  He walked over to his guards and they all took turns looking at the map, discussing the different routes. They decided on bedding down adjacent to the water source, which looked to be some kind of stream or small river. Possibly feeding into the Ohio he decided.

  He jogged back to where the Queen was and conveyed the plan.

  “Fine,” she said tersely, taking another pull from her wine flask. “Fill this, Henry. I become thirsty and need additional quenching.”

  He turned, sighing quietly to himself… ghastly royal.

  Henry poured the wine from the larger flask into the smaller then added some spirits. He would get the Queen drunk enough so that she passed out. That would be merciful to the guard, he thought, adding a bit more.

  Turning, he handed over the flask and she tore it out of his grip without acknowledgment.

  She reclined in her odd contraption, equal parts leather and wood. The cage-like creation of hammered copper with brass fittings held her in a half egg metal cocoon piled with cushions in the interior. Steam hissed to provide light when it was needed, hanging off a brass hook which shimmered like gold in the sunlight.

  The steam canister would not last for more than a fore-night but Henry was grateful for the light it would provide for their first night Outside.

  The horses began to climb the hill toward the Great Forest, the Queen’s lantern catching the light and refracting it in a million diamonds across the unknown terrain of the Outside.

  ****

  Prince Frederic and his guard looked through convex lenses attached to a heavy contraption that fit snug on the head. A sight magnifier that swiveled between an upright position above the forehead and one which covered the eyes. In the locked position it allowed distance-viewing. In the upright position your vision was your own.

  The Prince had a perfect view of the Queen and her guard entering the woods.

  Exactly what he planned.

  He flipped up the lenses, pleased to see the momentary reflection of himself. He was quite handsome and knew it.

  He turned to Jabez, the First Royal Guard. “We advance one hour hence. I wish to ambush them after they have bedded down here.” he pointed to his own map and his lenses flipped down as his head bent forward. He slapped them impatiently back in place until he heard them click into the fixed position.

  Jabez looked down at where the Prince was pointing and noted it was adjacent to a creek or stream. He straightened, nodding. This whole quest made him uneasy. He was certain that King Otto was also nervous. If the Queen survived the royal spheres would be at war and that the Kingdom of Kentucky did not desire. Better to place blame on the savages then capture both kingdoms. He was not certain that this was the best way.

  Jabez glanced around him, he did not like the Outside with its strange smells and noises and it was disturbingly open as well. He also did not like the obsessive quality his prince had toward Princess Clara. It was not the first time that he had thought the prince mad and no small amount either. His sphere did not see a great deal of royal out breeding and most likely the prince had suffered genetically because of it. Yes, there was more to the alliance of Princess Clara and Prince Frederic. More than Queen Ada and Princess Clara ever realized.

  Like not having insane royals.

  He rolled up the map and retied it with its leather tether, watching his Prince as he strode about barking orders self-importantly. The horses that the guard sat upon shifted their hooves nervously in the soft dirt. They had never been outside the sphere either; their senses were overwhelmed by the newness of everything.

  Jabez had counted the Queen’s guard at ten. Why their monarch insisted upon going, he did not know. A Queen needed to stay in the sphere. With her daughter likely captured by the savages, she could not have been thinking clearly. Or her advisers were daft. She may have not listened to her advisers. She struck Jabez as stubborn and cruel.

  Jabez and the guard were mounted and ready, keeping a discreet distance behind the Queen’s guard.

  They were confident in their plan of attack and eventual acquisition of Princess Clara.

  CHAPTER 32

  Clara woke gradually to rhythmic movement, a swaying sensation. She opened her eyes and saw the underside of a very masculine jaw.

  Reality and memories rushed upon her in a confusing slush. It was Matthew who had taken her from the clan, from her new women friends. She was a ship without oars being steered by a male without regard for her welfare.

  Her future prospects were bleak.

  Matthew became aware of the female’s change in breathing and knew when she woke. He slowed his running to something that was not so jarring.

  He stopped underneath a deep canopy of trees, moss springy underneath his leathers. He looked around and noticed a dry area where the moss seemed less green and took Clara there, gently lying her down.

  Clara looked at him and moved backward on her hands and legs until she felt her back meet the bark of the nearest tree, eying him warily. She had never given him great regard, with the chaos of the past days, just getting proper food and rest being foremost on her mind. Now she belatedly realized he should have had her full attention. She looked him over closely. He was as tall as Bracus, but fiercer of expression. What she had thought of as anger, when he had gazed at her while she was safely encapsulated in the sphere, she now understood to be some kind of intense indifference.

  As if he willed himself not to care.

  He spoke to her, “Do not try to run.”

  She shrugged. “And where, dear sir, would I go? Where would I go and you not catch me and assault me further?”

  He took a step nearer to her and she instantly regretted her flippant comment. He was huge in the way of the other savages and could easily harm her. Slowly, if he so chose.

  He saw her eyes widen in fear and hesitated. Matthew was still unsure of what to do with her. His plan had been so full, so sure. And now? All he could see were those swimming aquamarine eyes and feel the heat of her when she touched his bare skin. He hated her power over him. Mayhap it was not a conscious thing on her part. After all, if she were select it would not be something she could help.

  She saw him hesitate and arched her brow.

  “I do not wish to harm you,” he said.

  Clara crossed her arms underneath her breasts and let her face fill with disbelief. Oh yes, he so did not wish to harm her after the whole slam-into-the-tree episode and her fainting, yet again. And the vomiting everywhere. Yes, that was it, her welfare was so important.

  She felt battered and not just her body.

  Matthew raked a hand through his hair, ripping a tether from his knapsack and tying it back.

  She would be difficult, he thought. Soon he would have the entire Band hunting them both and he would have to think of an explanation as to why he had taken her.

  More and more he could not think of one.

  Clara stood, stretching the tightness of her body, small popping sounds emitted from her back as the tension was released. She moved her neck in a small circle, the kinks slowly easing. She would kill for something to wash her mouth out with. Tentatively she reached for the flask in the knapsack that lay at her feet. Sniffing it and smelling nothing, she took a pull of water, discreetly spitting it out behind her. Then she took her fill of water, all the while feeling his eyes on her. She looked back at him as neutrally as possible. She wanted no more shows of force. Possibly, if she were cooperative, he would not be rough with her again.

  Matthew saw her body moving to relieve the pressure of travel and he wished to rub her neck and back. He wished to touch a female, this female. He clenched his fists. He would not touch her, it was too mu
ch of a betrayal of Margaret. No other female could be as pure and vital as she had been. Yet his eyes strayed back to Clara’s form again and again, watching her drink, watching her move.

  Clara watched him watching her, his range of emotions going from indifference to pensive to resolution. She wished very much to find out about this strange man. Why was he not following Bracus’ commands? Was he not second-in-command?

  “Why do you kidnap me? When your captain returns he will be unhappy,” she stumbled over that word, thinking that it may be quite a bit more than that. “Surely there will be conflict. It has been explained to me what my potential role is for our peoples. You put that at risk. Your actions put that at risk.”

  She gazed directly at him and that heat licked at him. She was beginning to undo him. He walked to her and her eyes widened but she did not back away. Clara was accustomed to intimidation, the Queen having been an adept teacher.

  When he was but a foot away from her he asked, “Who did this to your face?” He could not stop himself as he put a finger along the chartreuse bruise which bloomed like an ugly flower; beginning at her cheekbone and fanning out toward her temple.

  She felt the tender touch of his finger as it glided against her cheekbone, in sharp contrast to his rough treatment of her earlier. And it made Clara wonder, had he been scared of her before? Scared not of her but what she represented? What was he afraid of? The melding of their peoples, as preposterous as it sounded with the Queen’s involvement, would be a positive thing for their peoples. She was puzzled and felt her brows knit together.

  What was he doing? He saw her frown at his caress and took his hand away, a dull warmth throbbing where he had laid that small touch upon her face.

  Her face smoothed out and as his hand fell away she felt like she had lost a granule of comfort. It was almost, with this stranger, as it had been with Charles. But how could that be? She and Charles had many seasons built upon one another, many events which bred their easy familiarity. She had nothing with this guard, except his disregard of the rules, his rough treatment of her, and his simmering anger which ran underneath his skin. She could feel it boil and ripple like a fish seen through a dark glass of water.

  “I wish to know, why do you take me? Why not let our peoples mingle? You have a need for propagation and we need to be free of a life of only the sphere.” Clara thought briefly of the ocean her father had told her of and had a sharp ache of longing for that unknown sea far away.

  “I believe that the Captain cannot be objective where you are concerned,” he rubbed his hands together. “He has shown a degree of…” he paused, “subjectivity. He has lost his focus, our purpose.”

  Clara was not entirely sure but she threw out her thoughts, “Does he… is he…?

  Matthew nodded. “He wishes to have you. If your people were resistant to the idea…” he shrugged.

  “They will come for me, you know,” Clara stated.

  Matthew’s eyebrows came together. “It does not matter, the Band is not afraid of any that may come.”

  “What of the fragment?”

  “What of them?” Matthew snarled out.

  Ah… Clara thought, watching his fists clench, she had touched on something tender which bled. Of course, the girl, Evelyn, had been taken. She was obviously close to him, as Bracus had clearly been.

  “Is it Evelyn? The young girl that Bracus seeks?”

  He shook his head. His expression momentarily softening then hardening again. “It is not the girl.”

  Clara cocked and eyebrow.

  He sighed. “Not entirely the girl. I…” he shifted around, “the Band will retrieve her. But it is a personal matter between the fragment and I.”

  Clara waited.

  He looked at her and realized that somehow he had been cornered into saying more than he had intended. He did not wish to speak of his time with the fragment, of Margaret.

  They looked at each other, a tiny young woman with fierce eyes and a bruised face and the warrior with a troubled heart and an abusive past.

  Could he trust her? Would it matter? Why was it important at all that he tell her anything…?

  Clara saw the conflict rage within him without knowing what was the cause of it. Instinctively, against every internal warning she said, “Please, tell me that which causes you this suffering.”

  He watched her silently, searching her face for any deceit therein.

  She continued, answering his earlier question, “The Prince. He and my mother, the queen.”

  “What?” Matthew asked, confused.

  “Your question,” Clara answered. “That is who put this abuse upon my face.”

  Matthew stood stunned. He had known that the Prince was a viper, as the Band had come upon him in the act of assaulting the Princess. But her mother the Queen? It made no sense.

  Seeing his expression, Clara gave a harsh cough of a laugh that ended in a sob. She put her hands over her face so that she could not see him. Her shame shone as bright as the orb which burned Outside.

  Matthew was moved, his soul churning. This tiny female had suffered abuse but not by strangers as he had within the fragment but by flesh and blood. He could not reason it out. But his heart, which ached for no one, now ached for her. He thought that he might comfort her but did not know how, could not. So he stood awkwardly watching her misery, powerless to help her, hating his incompetence.

  Finally Clara removed her hands. She swiped at her useless tears. Embarrassed beyond words by her stupid weakness as this huge male stood staring at her, expressionless, probably bored to weeping by her tirade. She straightened, building herself back up.

  Matthew watched her gather herself together and grudging admiration began. Beaten, almost raped, and kidnapped twice. And yet here she was gaining her composure. His hands ached to hold her but he remained where he was. There was one gift he could give her and he did; his trust.

  It was a larger thing than his comfort.

  “I was twelve when the Band found me starving and delirious from thirst, hunger and neglect,” he began. His mind wandered a million miles from that spot remembering:

  Matthew lay down in the meadow, his head swimming with dizziness, flies buzzing above him, impatient for his death. He looked down at his body, the planes of it like weaponry: sharp hipbones, ribs like poles of a house, tethered together with skin. His eyes rolled, dry and swollen within their cavities to where he had heard a noise. He raised a hand at the alien noise, knowing it was not the fragment. Hoping, as only a young boy can, that someone would help him, that he could either end forever or begin with new hope.

  A shadow fell over his body and he had not the strength to shield his eyes from the sun. The shadow form seemed to realize this and fell over his line-of-sight. A great warrior stood over him, weaponry hanging off his body like the leaves of a mighty tree. Matthew was too weak to feel fear but his heart paused its rhythm, stuttering.

  The great male crouched down in front of him, grabbing him gingerly by the wrist, firm but gentle.

  He seemed to pause for a moment, head cocked. Then he spoke to someone just behind him, “He is Band.” As he turned his head, Matthew saw a bow shift with his body and the boy took in his weapons: daggers lay at the small of his back in a complicated contraption of leather, a bow rested upon the back of his right flank and a quiver down his spine. A small dagger lay at his right hip and another at his ankle.

  His eyes flitted to the great male above him and he smiled down at Matthew. “Where do ye hail from, lad?”

  Matthew opened his mouth to answer but was too parched to form words. The male saw his problem and said, “Bracus, fetch me the flask. His heart beats steady but not for long. If we had not arrived…”

  “Yes, father,” a young voice came from behind him.

  Suddenly, a second shadow crossed the first and Matthew was looking into the face of a male that he instinctively knew was the same as he.

  Finally, Matthew belonged.

  Beleague
red, starving, thirsty… near death…he had come home. These were his people. He gave a weak smile, drank the water, the large male’s hand cupped underneath his neck and then passed out.

  Clara listened to Matthew quietly tell of his recovery by the Band. Why, she asked, had he been with the fragment? Why had they beaten him, starved him, treated him so terribly?

  “Why does your mother beat you?” Matthew countered.

  “I do not know,” Clara said, her eyes filling with unshed tears. Realizing, perhaps for the first time, that she wished that her mother loved her.

  Matthew saw the loneliness and fear rise in her eyes like a poisonous tide and could have struck himself for being insensitive in his comment.

  He tried to salvage things, “I think it may be because I was different and they knew that. I was threatening to them, their way.” He thought carefully about his next statement. “You may also be a threat to your mother.”

  “The Queen,” Clara corrected automatically.

  Matthew inclined his head in acknowledgment, watching her distance herself from the familial tie.

  “I do not threaten her. She is in ultimate control of all,” Clara said, sweeping her hand around the forest, visualizing it as her kingdom.

  Matthew saw the marks on her throat from his fingers. They were reddening, just shy of bruising and he was ashamed.

  Clara saw him flick his eyes at her throat and back to her face, an uncomfortable expression laying there. She narrowed her eyes, what was he thinking?

  She asked the next question instead, the most obvious one, “What is this fragment?”

  His eyes became hooded and dark. “They are a people bent on taking. They take whatever they can, from whomever they can. Use it until it is no longer worthwhile then discard it. As the locust.”

  Clara stared at him, watching his fists clench. The cords on his neck stood out, his huge hands bunched into fists the size of the reticule she had used, now laying by the hot springs.

  “Bracus said that they kidnap women, for forced breeding.”