“There is that abominable word again.” Calia narrowed her eyes at him.
“Oh, yeah? You peg my guys with stones and worry about my language?” He barked out a laugh. “That's choice, bitch.”
Adahy longed for Daniel. He would have been able to glean much of this vagrant's conversation. Although there were other ways to extract information.
“I make Fragment talk.”
All eyes turned to Adahy.
Philip studied him for a long moment. “I ken you speak of torture?”
Adahy translated Philip's words slowly. Understanding bloomed inside his mind like a black flower of degradation and design—unique and perfect.
He nodded once.
“I need…” Adahy glanced at Elise.
She gave a tentative nod of acquiescence.
“Women need food and water,” Adahy said, knowing their illness still lingered.
Elise shook her head. “Water now. Food later.”
Her eyes found Hank. “An empty stomach is better.”
Hank's eyebrows shot up. “No! There's no torture. It's not allowed.”
Calia walked toward him, and Philip stayed her with a hand. “Yet your murder of the Red Men is justified.” A playful smile curved her full lips. “I think not. All methods are within the bounds we find acceptable.” Her eyes went to each face.
When none objected, her gaze fell on Hank once again. “You will speak.”
“Beg,” Elise added with finality.
Adahy reassessed the women. He found them to be as much blood of his blood as the Iroquois, their delicate packaging belying the hardness within.
CHAPTER SIX
Elise
Elise's stomach gave a great heaving roll and she was quite glad she had elected to eat nothing before the torture of the Traveler named Hank began in earnest.
She rose on shaky feet, Adahy's hand at her elbow.
Hank lay in a heap on the ground. Entrails glistened wetly like a batch of heaped worms as they steamed upon the sparkling snow, now littered with blood and globs of strewn flesh.
Elise turned away from the sight. Try as she might, the memory of Adahy's proficiency in his work on Hank made her shiver. How could a man who had shown her such great tenderness, do what he had?
How could I have helped?
It was simple, really. Hank had meant their death. The task retrieving bits of their flesh for monetary reward, and taking them to a planet she and Adahy could only imagine, had been a great motivator.
Hank and his men had been but one of six groups of scouting Travelers. With a singular task, much had been left unsaid.
They had been let loose on a world they deemed primitive, Elise intuited. Instead of getting what they needed in the least obtrusive fashion, they had ransacked, pillaged, murdered and raped their way from tribe to tribe, the groups retrieving samples from the living and taking the women. Precious children had been lost—and worse.
Their children were enslaved for what Hank had whistled out through broken teeth: genetics.
By the not entirely lucid recounting of Hank, children had been murdered along with the men—however, some had been taken, stolen by a world that wished to poke and prod them. It was medical slavery.
Hank had not wished to expound on “genetics” or “medical.” After he had explained sufficiently, Elise had translated its convoluted meaning to Adahy.
Adahy had ended Hank.
“I wash,” Adahy stated. His grating use of English punched through her thoughts, and she nodded, following behind him to the creek where the men had retrieved their water.
The water she had consumed sloshed inside her stomach in a hot wave that threatened to surface. She gulped the bitterness down and bit her lip, shivering despite her heavy cloak.
Elise leaned against a tree as Adahy rinsed the blood and flesh remnants off to his elbows—and the rest of his body. He splashed icy water through a broken hole in the ice to grab at the bits that clung to his face.
The ice turned muddy with the evidence of death by Adahy's hands. The pristine white faded into a rust-colored paste of slush that met the waterway.
Elise could hold back no more.
She turned away from the sight, fingertips gripping the furrowed bark, and retched into a bush, hugging the tree she had leaned against.
Suddenly, Adahy was there, lifting her from the ground. Elise was mercifully thankful it was his bare flesh meeting her cheek as he curled her protectively against his chest. He had the wherewithal to strip his gore-soaked tunic off before touching her. Vomit edged her lips and she shook within his embrace.
Adahy softly brushed the stray hairs away from her face. “No hurt.”
Elise gave the barest of nods, so spent by the violence of her life she had no words in which to respond. Robbed of speech, she cuddled against the huge warrior and dozed as he carried her back to the Red Men's encampment.
*
It was hours later when Elise roused herself. Her stomach had woken her. A glorious smell filled the air, and she sat up, rubbing at her eyes, her mouth in a vile state. It felt as though she had slept for days, but it had only been hours.
The sun that had been at its zenith during the torture of the Traveler now sunk low in the sky, a ball of blood spilling across the midnight horizon.
Elise wrapped her arms around her body and valiantly shook off the misgivings creeping at the edges of her mind. Stepping all the way outside the teepee, she caught sight of the low flame of a fire, a rotisserie of sorts cooked a string of pheasants. Calia turned it slowly from her hard seat of stone.
A pail of water had been left outside the tent. Elise stooped to cup her hand, scooping water to rinse the inside of her mouth. It was deliciously cool and rid her of the foulness.
Calia seemed to have eyes at the back of her head, and when she turned, her gaze unerringly found Elise in the shadowed gloom of twilight. Elise raised her hand in greeting. Neither woman spoke of their ambush of the Travelers. Calia had simply said that if there was a new threat, Philip and Adahy were not aware.
Elise had known the new wounds were those of bullets, though she had never treated them before—she'd only seen the weapon responsible. The one she had seen had not the projectiles necessary to fire. Elise had kept her suspicions of what had caused the deaths of the Red Men to herself, only to have them confirmed when she came across men who had both bullet and weapon.
Adahy had been fascinated and, after much study, had finally ascertained how to extract the bullets without killing any of them, though it had been a tense few minutes. It appeared he had taken apart the entire weapon. It lay in pieces on a small cloth between him and Philip.
Calia motioned her over silently, and Adahy also rose, moving with swift strides to Elise.
She contained her fear with great effort, reminding herself that Adahy had never done her harm.
Elise had managed quite bravely through her time with the sphere-dwellers, learning the way of a new people.
She had even agreed to travel to the sea with this despite whatever uncertainty lay there. But it was Adahy—or rather, her relationship with him—she wished to explore.
And he could not abide the sphere.
Elise could not let her fears of the past dissuade her from returning Outside.
So there they were—having tortured together.
She had observed his face while he did the act. Rapturous joy had filled it.
It had been so disturbing, Elise had thought to flee. Yet she had not. And she did not now.
But Adahy studied her expression and slowed. “What?” he asked then switched to the strange mix of English and Iroquois they both seemed to understand so well.
“I am—I remember the life we took today, Adahy.”
“I do as well.” His beautiful language rolled off his tongue as smooth as freshly churned butter, full and succulent.
If only she could have tasted that without the bitterness of his savagery.
Ada
hy moved closer. “He must die.” His eyes, dark as her own, latched onto hers.
“I know,” Elise said, her voice trembling.
“They hurt you,” he hastened to add, and the blend of Iroquois and English balanced perfectly for her understanding.
Elise took a deep, sucking breath. “I heal.” The gift of healing was what she was meant to do. It had felt terrible to help him—healing Hank partway to extract more information, only to have Adahy inch him closer to his inevitable death.
Elise had never had a choice to do so before. She had always been under coercion to use her ability for wrongdoing. She had presumed that was over.
He gave a single solemn head dip of acknowledgment at those two words.
“I cannot do that again, Adahy—not for anyone, even you.”
“Adahy knows.” His grave agreement held understanding and an emotion that made her look away from.
Starting to turn, she met him halfway. His arms came around her, and Elise cried into his chest, wracking sobs threatening to break what little heart she had left.
The others did not breach their union.
Even after minutes grew into an hour of holding each other.
When a growl from Elise's stomach rose like a roaring lion, Adahy stepped back with a grin that was a touch solemn. He laid his huge hand over her concave belly and said, “Elise hungry.”
She was. Taking his hand, they walked to the fire together. Talk of torture, war, and safety was put aside.
But unrest had found fertile soil in her mind, and it worried at her subconscious like a dog with a bone.
Would more Travelers try to steal them and kill them?
What of Chasing Hawk and the other warriors? Had they found safety and recovered any who were lost?
Or was this the beginning of a new siege?
The questions were a coming plague in her mind, and as with the illness that still leaked from her pores, she was not sure there was a cure for what ailed her.
It was not of the body, but of the mind.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Adahy
Adahy studied the small package, turning it over in every conceivable position. He had never held anything with the texture of what he held now. It was unnaturally smooth and made an odd crinkling sound with the slightest of movement.
“Trail mix,” Elise told him in her perfect English.
He shook his head, mystified. “It evil.” He gave a single-minded nod. Had not Chasing Hawk, their wise leader of forty and five years, cautioned the tribesmen time and again that foodstuffs that one had not killed with one's own hands were suspect?
Adahy sniffed deeply at the item, moving to toss the strangely wrapped foodstuffs onto the pile of goods to be burned—along with the fallen.
It was Calia who caught the package, plucking it from the air with ease. “I hunger, and though strange to the greatest degree, it appeals.”
Brightly colored circular bead-shapes could be seen through the clear packaging, along with what were obviously nuts of some kind—and even an assortment of what appeared to be dried fruit.
“Calia!” Philip called but too late.
With her teeth, Calia tore off the strange, clear wrapping. It made a crackling sound unlike anything Adahy had ever heard. He scowled at her.
But Adahy remained silent. She was not his woman, and he had a fair idea she would listen not.
Calia popped one of the brightly colored circular foods into her mouth.
“Oh!” she said upon biting into it. “Elise, come hither and taste this ambrosia.”
Elise gave Adahy a look and began to walk toward Calia.
“Wait—hurt?” Adahy said.
Elise shook her head. “I long to have food. Though I be grateful for the pheasant, this has piqued my curiosity.” She spoke to Adahy in their particular language mix.
Calia's eyebrow popped in question. “What language is that? I say English, and I do not ken it.”
Elise smiled. “It is the only way I can convey my full expressions to Adahy.”
Calia motioned her head in Adahy's direction. “It seems he conveys much without words.”
Elise glanced back at Adahy, who did not hide his scowl.
She smiled shyly. “He worries overly.”
Calia dismissed everyone but Elise. “Do have one, and tell me it is not the finest food you have ever tasted.”
“What if it is foul?”
Calia shook her head. “The wrapping is of an unnatural substance, but look.” Calia picked up a new, unopened package. “It is though air cannot penetrate to spoil what is inside, yet we can see it perfectly well.”
Elise gnawed at her lip.
Calia sighed, shoving the morsel between Elise's lips.
Elise gasped then sucked the piece between her tongue and the roof of her mouth.
Flavors exploded within.
Her eyes popped open, and she made a sound much like a lascivious groan.
It was simply delectable. Nothing else came close.
The men had gathered close, looking uncomfortable. Both women began to have an uncontrollable fit of giggling.
“What say you? Calia!” Edwin said, and she shoved a piece in his mouth.
Edwin spit it out. “Are you mad?”
Adahy could not help but notice Calia seemed to take great pleasure in inciting her kin.
“Calia,” Philip began, giving the male Band Edwin a look of disdain.
Calia moved into the front of Philip's body tightly and laid a hand on the nape of the great male. Adahy noted the deep red flush that overtook his face and neck with her sudden proximity.
“Taste from my hand, Philip.”
He grunted and made a face that bordered on rage. Then Calia stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth. It startled Philip so badly he snapped his arms around her reactively.
She smiled against his mouth and crammed a small bright-orange sphere inside.
“Kiss me back.”
Philip seemed to give up and bent his head to Calia's.
If the kiss were any indicator, the two were close to being joined. But one glance at Edwin told Adahy it was that male, her brother, who kept the two from the consummation they so badly wanted.
Philip pulled away from her, his embarrassment painfully etched on his face. But another expression was there as well: surprise.
“This is quite good.” His mouth was in a little crooked grin as he reached for another—yellow this time.
“What taste like?” Adahy asked, finally giving in to his own curiosity. He would have done much to have Elise let him sample a piece of the foreign snack in the way Calia had. However, he knew that his torture of the murderous Traveler had set them back from the direction of intimacy they had been on.
“Go on—try it, Adahy,” Philip said.
Adahy's eyes searched the package. He plucked a nut, a dried berry —cranberry, his mind supplied—and one of the small, colorful discs. He popped the three things in his mouth and sat there with them on his tongue for seconds before he began to chew.
“He is so serious,” Calia said, having plowed through half of one bag. Her brother had stalked off in disgust.
It was wonderful. The nut was fresh as though newly harvested, and the berry burst with spongy, moist, rich flavor.
The colorful disc had a hard outer shell of some unknown ingredient but the sweet and slightly bitter taste inside was worth much on his palate. He salivated for more.
Reaching out his hand, Adahy said. “More.”
Calia raised an eyebrow. “What do we say?”
Elise gave him a simple translation and he felt his face become tight with embarrassment over his lack of manners.
“Please,” he said in Iroquois. And though Adahy was sure Calia could not understand it, the meaning was clear.
She gave him the rest of her bag, and his eyes swept her skinny body. He slowly shook his head. “I no take from you.”
Calia opened her rucksack, where
ten more of the packages were neatly stuffed. Her eyebrows rose.
He laughed as they grinned at each other like fools. Levity eased their group.
When Philip, Elise, and he had taken every last package, dividing them amongst themselves, they threw dirt on the fire and, after consulting with one another, began to make their way out of the encampment.
Adahy turned around once, the site of their temporary village giving him a sharp pang of sadness.
Chasing Hawk and the other warriors of his tribe had left to search nearby villages for survivors or to warn those who might not have encountered the Travelers.
Adahy hoped it was not too late.
As his gaze touched on the narrow shoulders of Elise, he knew where his loyalty lay—even if she did not.
*
Travelers
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jim muttered, smacking the binoculars against his thigh.
Simon grabbed them from his limp fingers and pressed his forehead to the hard ridge. “Wow, he's—even for me, it's pretty savage, boss.”
“Yes, moron, that's what these guys are—Savages. We're here in the sphere world, and that's what we get.”
“They didn't pay me enough to sign up for this.”
Jim made a disgusted noise. “Yeah, they did. If Hank hadn't acted the part of murderer and rapist, we could have been in and out like shit through a goose. Now, we've got to manage this little debacle.”
“We don't have enough ammo for this bull hockey.”
Jim nodded his head. Simon was right. Only nonmetal items could travel the Pathway. Newly revitalized, after the forced shortage because of that miserable Mark “Jonesy” Jones. He'd fried shit six ways to Sunday, so here they were, away from their world on a borrowed pass, to suck up some more samples.
The problem with the entire enterprise was the motley crew of “specialists.” Jim gave an involuntary snort at that.
What he'd asked for and what he'd been given were two vastly different things.
He was a lab geek with a For Your Eyes Only clearance—secretly compartmentalized. That and his PhD in genetics had landed his ass here.
The others were varying degrees of ex-CIA, down to the lowliest scum-sucking bug of a con.
savage 06 - the savage dream Page 4