The Pearl Savage

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Matthew was keenly aware of Clara behind him as the first male of the fragment lunged at him and he swung his head to the side as the male’s blade pushed air against his face and the second male advanced. He did not turn. Hearing the movement of the second male’s arm, he reflexively lashed out behind him, punching his dagger in the direction his senses were tuned to, at the same time thrusting the dagger in his right hand up and into the underside of the jaw of the first.

  Clara watched blood pour out of one of the males of the fragment who were on Matthew’s right side. The male who had been circling to attack from behind was nursing a slashing wound that had opened an eight inch gash from collarbone to shoulder, narrowly missing the tender flesh of the neck.

  His eyes caught Clara’s at the same time that two more of the fragment advanced on Matthew. The male with the wounded shoulder seemed to shake off the pain, blood running freely from the sucking hole. He came at Clara, who looked around frantically for the closest Band. She saw Philip was down and Bracus was actively working his way to the girl, two fragment were on the ground and the other Band were sorely outnumbered and fighting what remained.

  No one noticed that Clara was in desperate trouble.

  She whipped her head around for a weapon. The male, seeing her looking for something, smiled with grim joy and came nearer.

  Clara lost her nerve and fled.

  She heard the male come crashing after her but felt confident that she would be able to escape; his wound should slow him down.

  It did not:

  She felt strong arms wrap around her waist and her feet popped off the ground. She fought for her life, swinging and flailing about, trying to gain time. Time for the Band to find her.

  Finally, she kicked behind and her foot found his shin. With a grunt her captor’s hold loosened and she was free. Just as she started to run she was shoved from behind and only her arms braced her fall . Clara started to scramble away and was kicked in her side, the air leaving her body, her lungs began to burn and her eyes watered.

  She could see him above her, blood soaking most of whatever tunic had covered him, no longer pale, but a bright tomato red. He wasted no time, grabbing the top of her bodice, he tore it open, the seams giving way with a powerful rip. Clara’s breath came back in a rush. Finding her voice she screamed, “Matthew!”

  The male jerked her upright by her hair and she yelped. Dragging her close to him, his sour breath pouring over her face. “Shut up or I’ll beat you senseless.” His strange accent drug like grated glass across her eardrums.

  It felt like he was tearing her hair out of her scalp but she laid still as he let her head fall back and started to undo his breeches.

  Clara could only think of Prince Frederic.

  She was tired to the bone from the beatings and the attempted rapes. She would die before allowing herself to be abused ever again.

  She scrambled quickly to her feet with the male’s blood covering her. The top of her blouse was hanging open where he had torn it, flapping loosely with her movement. She saw a bleeding and battered Matthew appear with Bracus, behind the male of the fragment who had not heard their approach.

  The male of the fragment would have this female while the others battled, none the wiser. There were not enough of them in the fragment and he liked his females with a bit of fire. This one had spirit, he thought as he took out his dirk, hidden in a small sheath inside the waistband of his breeches. Maybe she needs a little encouragement. Yes, that was the answer, what female could say no to the blade?

  Clara was relieved for exactly one moment before catching sight of a small sword-like dagger that the male removed with a practiced hand from the waist of his breeches. She flicked her eyes to first Matthew’s then Bracus’ in warning as the male lunged for her and she threw herself just out of reach, stumbling then falling backward down a small slope. As she tumbled, Clara kept herself as loose as she could, hoping to avoid injury.

  Finally, she came to a stop and laid there on her back, her eyes staring at the dappled light spearing through the forest. She cautiously wiggled her toes and fingers, taking stock of her limbs. It felt like everything was still working. She sat up and saw Bracus and Matthew navigating the small slope to get to her. Matthew heaved the broken body of the fragment down the ravine like so much garbage.

  Bracus looked grim and Matthew relieved.

  Matthew reached her first and a moment later, two different hands were extended to help her up. They glared at each other but Clara took both hands that were offered. Bracus’ cool and dry, Matthew’s a thing of liquid heat, making her gasp slightly. She knew that he felt it by the subtle widening of his eyes.

  Bracus’ eyes narrowed on them.

  “Let us get back to the others,” Bracus said.

  “Yes, Captain,” Matthew said staring intently at Clara as he added, “Why did you leave my side? I said, ‘no matter what occurred’, to remain.”

  They walked up the hill together. When it became apparent that Clara was weaker than she wanted to admit. Matthew scooped her up and packed her the rest of the distance, walking as if she were weightless. Bracus glaring at Matthew the entire time.

  Cresting the hill, they headed quickly through the small patch of woods she had fled through, stepping out of the forest into what was now a small battlefield. Clara stared at the Band: Jack stood straight and unharmed (Clara thought briefly of Lillian and relief flowed over her), Jacob and James both had wounds of little consequence and Philip was sitting up with a dagger sticking out of his side like an obscene flag. His skin had a grayish pallor and his breathing was shallow.

  Bracus rushed over to his side. “My brother, let me take the blade.”

  Philip nodded and Bracus turned to James. “Get the healing sack.”

  James was already rummaging through the odd knapsack of the Band when he pulled out some gauzy material made of fine-colored beige linen and a small apothecary bottle which held amber-colored liquid. A large needle and thread were gathered and brought to Bracus.

  Jacob stepped forward. “I will do it. I have the steadiest hand, Captain.”

  Bracus nodded, taking up position behind Philip’s head, cradling it while Jacob put a leather belt by his mouth. “Open up brother, this will give you something to bite down on.”

  Phillip did.

  Matthew put his arm around Clara’s shoulders and she leaned into his body, Bracus’ eyes taking them in, a cold shadow residing where none had been before. Clara shivered and Matthew drew her in tighter.

  In one smooth movement, Jacob pulled out the knife and with a shrieking shout, muffled by the belt, Philip began to sweat in earnest, rivulets running down his face. Jack and James were on either side of him, their hands gripping his that were white-knuckled. Clara saw with real alarm that it was four inch long blade. They stared, the gaping hole looking like an open mouth. As they stood staring, the whiteness of the hole started to fill with bright blood and Jacob poured some of the liquid from the vial into the gash, the needle and thread moving in and out of the deepest part of the wound that he could reach. Dabbing at the slash, pouring the fluid inside, stitching then repeating the process, all the while precious blood pouring out.

  It was a miracle that Philip remained awake.

  Jacob worked feverishly, closing the lethal escape hatch that was Philip’s side, his mouth set in a grim line as Clara looked around her.

  There she was, Evelyn, looking pale and ill. Her small body lay wrapped in a blanket not five feet from where they repaired Philip. Clara nudged Matthew and he looked down at her, his expression a mixture of stress, relief and something she could not name. “May I check on Evelyn?”

  Matthew nodded, reluctantly releasing her, his hand lingering on her waist before she slipped out of his grasp. She had felt so right against his side. He watched her as she made her way through the bodies of the fragment, their limbs entangled with one another like puppets cut from their strings, throats slit, some with cuts under their knees
to slow their escape. Matthew thought of all this dispassionately, he was only sorry that he could not kill the men named Ralph and Claude himself, for they were part of Margaret’s degradation, the finality of her life.

  But there were others.

  Eventually, they would all die under his blade for what they had done.

  Bracus watched the two of them from his vantage point on the ground, becoming more disturbed as time went. How was a male as Matthew was, quiet to the point of being taciturn, suddenly so intimate with Clara? Who had treated even he, Bracus, her rescuer, with extreme caution? It galled him and he intended to find out. He looked down at his brother, who would heal this wound. It took much to kill one of the Band. As Bracus watched the wound had stopped bleeding, some color returning to Philip’s cheekbones, the sickened color leeching away.

  Jacob finished his ministrations and nodding, mostly to himself. “That will do, I think his major organs were missed.”

  “Fool, it does not feel as though anything was missed, feels like the sod got a bit of everything,” Philip said sourly.

  The tension broke as the Band laughed.

  Philip would live to fight another day, Bracus thought.

  James fetched an additional blanket and rolled up another for under his head. Jack got the water flask for Bracus to give Philip a pull of water.

  The Band looked at Matthew and he fought not to reveal his discomfort. Then they looked at where Clara was, talking softly to Evelyn.

  “What say you?” Bracus asked fiercely, as a flush of red colored Matthew’s cheeks, making the Band narrow their focus even more.

  He could not stop his body’s betrayal. He was awkward with these new emotions coursing through him. Matthew understood what he had done was wrong. It was a matter of time before Stephen and Joseph would find them and speak of his betrayal.

  But they were not here now. He would stall. Gain some time to organize his thoughts. Which at present, were a riot inside his head.

  Matthew opened his mouth to formulate a semblance of an explanation when two men appeared out of the woods.

  Matthew recognized one immediately.

  Sphere-dweller.

  Instantly, the Band stood and faced the two men as Clara slowly rose from her crouched position next to Evelyn.

  When Charles and Clarence appeared out of the forest Clara felt as a woman that sees a mirage in a desert and with it, a relief so profound she sunk back to the ground covering her face as she wept in blatant relief; Charles was here.

  That is not how the Band assimilated Charles and Clarence’s appearance. Daggers unsheathed, they surrounded the pair.

  Charles spotted Clara right away, on the ground, crying like her heart was broken. What in Guardian’s name was amiss? Taking a step toward her he felt a strong hand encircle his forearm.

  He turned and looked at Clarence. “Let me go, I must go to her.”

  “Caution, my friend, look yonder,” Clarence said quietly, inclining his head in the direction of the Band.

  Charles could see what he meant. The Band surrounded them at all points except behind. Every one of them had a similar stance, all but two were present. Charles’ eyes flicked to a huge male laying on the ground, apparently injured with another savage beside him. A weapon naked in his hand.

  They were ready to kill him, Charles thought. He looked at Clara who had stopped sobbing and was moving toward him, picking up her skirts she ran.

  Clara had finally gotten a hold of her emotion. It would not do to have the Band kill Charles and Clarence for mistaking them for the fragment or some such. She hiked up her skirt and ran faster.

  As she neared them she sailed past Bracus who grabbed her and pulled her against his body and with a gasp she was held in a grip that was almost painful. She was so close to Charles, only two horse lengths, yet she was held by the Band. Did they not remember him as her companion? He meant no harm to her!

  Matthew turned to Bracus and growled, lowering his stance as if to attack and Bracus looked back at Matthew flabbergasted. What was this? And then Clara’s bare flesh touched his wrist and he felt it, the heat climbing his body and knew what it was that he held:

  A select.

  “Unhand her!” Charles roared, taking a menacing step toward the savage which held Clara against her will. A movement to his right caused him to duck just as a fist grazed his head, the glancing blow making his ears ring.

  “No!” Clara screamed, tearing herself out of the dazed grasp of Bracus, who stumbled back as if pegged between the eyes with a hammer of brass.

  She stepped in the middle of the fray. Matthew was grabbing Charles by the blouse and hauling him off the ground by its neck, Matthew, at least six inches taller, and Charles was no small man. Dismissing the danger, she threw herself between them, pushing a hand against the middle of Matthew’s chest, the heat of her palm warming him, leeching the aggression out of him. He had the male within his grasp, his face a foot from his own. But as he looked down, it was Clara’s face that filled his vision, captured his mind, made him realize he was going to kill this male simply because he was near her.

  Matthew lowered the sphere-dweller to the pasture grass, his face beet red and gasping for breath. Charles put a hand to his own throat as he backed away, Clarence behind him. He looked at the other faces of the savages, who watched him warily but not aggressively. After all, apparently one of them was all that would have been needed to dispatch the both of them. Good Guardian, they were strong, like the oxen of old.

  Clara looked up into Matthew’s face, his fierce eyes wild and she kept staring, seeing a softening around the edges. Finally his shoulders relaxed, he lowered the dagger to his side and she let her fingers trail down his chest then away.

  “He is my dearest friend… I must… I wish to go to him.”

  Matthew’s heart raced and he clenched the dagger until the hilt creaked in his hand.

  Clara saw that wildness start to creep back into his gaze and quickly said, “Just for a time.”

  Matthew looked at Charles and nodded reluctantly, his eyes never leaving hers.

  Clara began walking backward keeping her eyes locked on Matthew… all the Band. Bracus was looking at her most strangely. It was up to her to defuse things, she had ample practice.

  Turning, she threw her arms around Charles. Her relief and love for him a cloak of intense comfort that she shrugged on, wrapping herself in its embrace.

  Charles had never felt a moment of more intense joy than when he held Clara in his arms once more. Unshed tears of relief burned his eyes and he held them in check by the barest thread. He breathed deeply of her, smelling the strange freshness that was Outside. Sweat, fresh earth and beneath it all, his Clara. He stroked her hair and murmured those things when you wish someone you hold dear to feel safe.

  Clara had no such compunction. Fat tears chased each other down her face. She cried and laughed, hugging him with such abandon and delight that the Band sheathed their swords. Bracus and Matthew both stared at them with a mixture of irritation and unhappiness.

  He cupped her face. “You look well, my Clara.” his gaze roved over the healing marks upon her face.

  She nodded. “Aye, as well as I can be,” she said through laughter and tears, thinking of what she had been put through and narrowly escaped.

  Charles saw that her lovely eyes were healed, the swelling completely gone. Only the horrible bruise in a kaleidoscope of faded green and yellow remained. He couldn’t help his frown, laying a tender finger, the touch of which reminded Clara of when Matthew touched her the same way. But it had been different, very different indeed.

  She backed away, suddenly uncomfortable… aware.

  “It heals,” Clara said dismissively.

  Charles nodded, not wanting her out of his embrace but allowing her distance. Claiming this self-restraint was not a pretty thing he realized, forcing an expression of neutrality.

  Clara noticed Clarence for the first time and felt acutely embarrassed.
She nodded to him. “Clarence, it is good of you to accompany Charles.”

  He shrugged glancing at the savages, eyes guarded. “Greetings, Princess,” he said, bowing.

  She curtseyed in her ruined clothing, feeling ridiculous but absolutely compelled in her royal bearing to reciprocate.

  Matthew watched in fascination as Clara seemed to be another person entirely. She seemed confident, regal. Perhaps when she was not being kidnapped and assaulted she was able to just be who she was.

  Clara became aware of an awkwardness, everyone in the meadow battle-weary and beleaguered. She must introduce them. She was the only one here that knew both peoples. She must form an alliance in this unlikely place. Their president had said she would serve as a liaison of sorts. Clara frowned, thinking of what awaited her in the sphere. She was not sure that she was the best representative. She shoved those thoughts aside. She looked from Charles and Clarence to the Band. Then her eyes took on the battlefield with bodies of the fragment laying about, lethargic flies buzzing above them for an easy meal.

  Charles followed her gaze and saw the corpses in various stages of decomposition. The lingering violence clung to the meadow, the metallic smell of blood everywhere he breathed.

  “What happened here?” Charles asked and Clarence grunted behind him.

  Charles turned to Clarence who spread his hands wide. “It is not obvious?” Charles rolled his eyes, Clarence was always rash with his words.

  “Yes, I see the dead. I wish to know why, dolt.”

  Clara covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. It was too somber by far to engage in a giggling fit when they were knee deep in the presence of the dead.

  She looked at the Band and Bracus nodded once, as if giving permission.

  She began recounting the whole of it, leaving out why she had come to be in this place.

  “So, let me rephrase this Princess,” Clarence paused, pacing a short distance back and forth, tramping down the longish grass in the field. “You found yourself here with these savages, then this fragment appeared and they sought to kill you. Why?”