savage 06 - the savage dream

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  Elise knew that the healing would not help him stay warm. His body continued to mend the damage. It could not provide warmth as well as continue healing. Jim was vulnerable.

  “Do you have a winter covering?” Elise asked from beside Adahy, who was currently rummaging through the rucksack for food, she presumed.

  “I did—that stupe I was with took it with him—all my provisions, gone. God damn.”

  Elise did not know stupe, but she guessed it was similar to imbecile.

  Adahy rose from his crouch, and there the trail mix was.

  “Oh man, great!” Jim said, rushing over to take one of the small food packets.

  “Nary so fast,” Calia said.

  Jim turned on her. “You know, I'm really sick of you. If you really want me dead, stop waving that short sword around and just do me. In the meantime, I'm so hungry I could eat the ass out of a pig.” Jim's eyebrows shot up.

  Edwin laughed. “Yes, I do say he reminds me more and more of Daniel.”

  Adahy gave one packet of the trail mix to Jim, who tore the top off with a practiced swipe of the teeth. He tipped his head back, pouring half the contents into his mouth. “Awesome,” he said, chewing and talking at the same time.

  Calia scowled at him.

  Through a mouthful of the strange snack, Jim mumbled, “You're unhappy about me being here—I get it. But I'm not really the enemy.”

  A lone nut fell from his mouth, and he picked it up from the floor of the cave and tossed it between his lips.

  “Yet, you travel with our enemy,” Edwin said with indisputable logic.

  “Different roles,” Jim said. He began licking each finger.

  “Those whom war brings together are allies,” Philip said, giving Jim the weight of his eyes.

  “True!” Jim flipped the short fringe of black bangs from his forehead. It tumbled down the next moment. “However, you can see where my different agenda got me shot. No, they've deviated from the plan. I'm their witness—and now I'm gone. They're free to rape, pillage, and plunder, and there's no one to know the difference. They'll return with the samples, and the only tale they'll tell is that I succumbed to—I don't know, whatever they choose to make up.”

  Elise was reeling from all the words, the accent so heavy and different. She stood stupidly, translating in her head.

  “He speaks gibberish,” Calia stated. She sheathed her dagger, looking at Elise. “What says he?”

  Elise shook her head. “I cannot be certain, for many of his words are shortened and he speaks so…quickly.”

  Elise caught Jim rolling his eyes.

  “But?” Calia asked.

  “The new Fragment, or Travelers,” Elise began, “they are using means which are against the rules of Jim's world.”

  Jim nodded, throwing up a palm as though to say, Yes, go on.

  “Without him to see their acts of mistreatment,”—Elise swallowed over that last word—“there is no one to bring them to justice.”

  Edwin frowned. “That is a horrendous plight.”

  All eyes went to Jim. Edwin spoke again, and by his expression, Elise was certain he wanted to damage something.

  “Yet, our journey and motivations remain unchanged. My sister—”

  Calia rolled her eyes and partially showed him her back.

  Edwin ignored her and continued, “—is partway to her home clan and will partake in a Rite of the Select and reunite with our family.”

  Calia pivoted and strode the short gap between them. “And I long to meet our parents, Edwin. But you have made this journey in the worst season, under the greatest duress. Why?” Calia paced away then turned back and faced Edwin. “Why?”

  Her tone had a mournful quality to it, and Elise began to see that Calia was more than what she presented on the surface.

  Calia had shown she was a skilled warrior in every way and without an abundance of warmth toward other women. Calia kept herself apart for a purpose.

  “Because, had we tarried inside the sphere, you would have mated with Philip… and he is not the one for you.”

  “Wait a moment,” Calia said, prowling toward her brother.

  “Oh boy, this can't be good,” Jim muttered underneath his breath.

  “Cease and desist, Traveler,” Philip said, watching Edwin and Calia closely.

  Calia's eyeballs were at Edwin's chin, but her lack of height did not diminish her.

  “You have someone you wish me to mate with.”

  A dull brick-red flush climbed up Edwin's neck, landing on his cheekbones in an unflattering spattering of rust-colored dots.

  Philip marched over to Edwin. “Speak.”

  “I am not a dog,” Edwin said.

  Philip barked out a laugh. “The only reason I have not beat you until I am tired is because you are the kin of Calia. If it were not for that, my knuckles would have found purchase on your flesh long ago.”

  Edwin's lips thinned. “Fine. I also do not wish to fight amongst ourselves when the enemy is everywhere around us.”

  Philip nodded. “Go on.”

  “The Clan of Massachusetts is large. Our Band is average, mayhap twelve strong.”

  Calia shrugged.

  Elise knew a dozen of the Band was typical for a clan of perhaps one hundred. However, she listened avidly as she was not familiar with the seafaring clans.

  Her eyes found the throat slits of the three, and she wondered if the myths were true. Could they swim in water so deep there was no bottom?

  Elise's thoughts scattered with Edwin's next words, “I have a Bandmate who is a good male.”

  “And this is my concern?” Calia asked, clearly frustrated.

  “He was to be your mate. It was decided at your infancy.”

  “No,” Calia interjected loudly, throwing her hands up toward the roof of the cave. “Then why trouble me with the Rite of the Select? You make no sense. You say I must reunite with our family, partake of the Rite, yet—you then say I am promised to a male I have never met. I do not need to listen to one more of your convoluted words.”

  “You will go through the Rite, but our Prophet has never been wrong. Not once. He pairs infants, female Band to male. The Rite occurs and the same pairings unite, time and again.”

  Elise shivered. A foreteller. A myth come to reality.

  “There are not enough females for this,” Philip said through clenched teeth. Calia reached out and laid her fingers upon his arm. Her touch appeared to relax the mighty warrior.

  Jim began to move away from the arguing siblings, coming to stand beside Adahy and Elise.

  Edwin shook his head, and even from where Elise stood, looking through the gloom, she could see his sadness as he spoke.

  “That is why it is most important to unite those lost. If even one female of the Band were to mate with her chosen, it would greatly benefit the perpetuation of our clan. Do you not see, Calia?”

  Calia gave a sharp nod of her head. “Yes, I do. I see that you will stop at nothing until you have seen this agenda of yours through. You lied by omission, brother. Telling me half-truths. Now, Philip—who I wish to be with”—Philip took that as invitation and gathered her against him, his eyes challenging Edwin to say anything contrary—“travels beside me, knowing I have been given to another. I will not allow it. I understand I must partake of the Rite. But my heart is my own.” Calia turned into Philip's ready embrace as he locked gazes with Edwin in challenge.

  For all the Fragment's violence and crime against females or those they would exploit, there was also much rage inside the clans—and much control.

  Elise did not think she wished to reunite with her clan if what awaited her was a prison without bars.

  No, she would take her chances Outside with Adahy and be free in body and spirit.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jim

  Jim was practically salivating. The scientist in him could not believe the genetic bounty that was all around him.

  Clan.

  Band.
<
br />   Iroquois.

  Some were mixed. Some were not. If the Helix Complex could have just been a little more aboveboard, it would have felt like a cultural milestone. Jim could have brought back samples from willing indigenous peoples. They could have been examined—as they should have been. Jim had watched the healing abilities of the men that called themselves Band. That alone would have been worth all the tea in China.

  He chuckled. There was nothing like making fun of your own race. Of course, Jim didn't have a Chinese last name. That was because his mother had been Chinese, but his dad was completely European. He couldn't have had a more Anglo name if he'd tried.

  Jim Chan Toronto. Jim didn't have a middle name. His mom's surname had been used instead. It was stupid as hell, but Mom still called him Chan-Chan. He was a big shot geneticist, spoke five languages, but people from the old country called him Chan-Chan. Perfect.

  But here in the sphere world, he was Jim. And the genetic clusters of this region could take him a lifetime to study and identify.

  For instance, he understood Adahy, and the Iroquois he spoke was not too hard to make sense of. But it was very different from the language of the tribes that remained in Jim's current year 2027. Here, it was as though the language of the tribes had remained unchanged with time. Contractions weren't used, and the speech was more formal, with many additions that would have been dropped in modern-day speech.

  The language of the clans was even more difficult, some antiquated mix of old English, dark-age euphemisms, and vernacular that didn't sound remotely American. It was a fact that America, his world, had had an influx of immigrants from foreign countries at the time this place was destroyed by meteors. If this world's time line was indefinitely paused sometime in the last decade of the nineteenth century, it would explain why everyone spoke so strangely.

  Language had simply never evolved since then. However, some other shit had, and that was why Jim was hired as a freelance observer, collector and, in the end, coconspirator. The HC had seemed so legit. He'd signed fifty pulse-signatures for nondisclosure. He'd taken a full slate of exams for placement of expertise. He'd manifested no paranormal talent.

  When he was catalogued, weighed, and measured, the last pulse form had been doled out.

  Jim's mouth twisted into a smile of contempt and shame. He'd never forget that last line:

  “Jim Chan Toronto holds the Helix Complex Corporation not liable for damage, injury, or death during the term of employment with the aforementioned.”

  Yeah, maybe I should've paid more attention to the fine print.

  The death bit should have given him pause. But he'd been so excited to do the adventure, to travel the Pathway to origins unknown—essentially, he'd be time traveling.

  Inter-dimensional travel was no small feat. He'd experience a technology not yet made public in a voyage to a parallel world where time stood still in the 1890s.

  Then he'd collect samples, speak the languages, blend in, and get the genetic material necessary to eradicate diseases such as cancer.

  But that's not what happened. Jim was put with a group of mercenaries. And when he began to question their methods, they felt his science was second to their plan—which had been to harm first and collect later.

  “What say you?” Elise asked from beside him.

  He turned to her with a smile. She was the one thing—besides getting his skin saved—that made this bearable. Jim tried not to think about the unlikelihood of getting out of there.

  He just might be stuck here.

  Damn.

  “Just thinking about things,” Jim replied as quietly as possible. It was important, because the Band would give him the stink eye if he made too much noise.

  The big lug, Philip, had said so when they were about a mile behind their present position. “Any louder, and I believe you were part of a herd of horses.”

  Edwin had agreed, “Or the entire herd.”

  They'd laughed together at his expense. Jim wasn't a fan. If he'd been born in another era, raised without the ethos of being politically correct, he might have entertained kicking their huge asses.

  His eyes measured their bodies.

  Nah. He couldn't have done it. But there was always that seed of a thought inside every guy's mind: Could I take them?

  Edwin's eyes had narrowed when they'd caught sight of Jim's expression. “What say you?” he'd asked.

  It had sounded a hell of a lot like, Wanna go? to Jim.

  “Nothing,” Jim had bit out. But he'd made the one word sound like something else entirely. Philip had graced him with a speculative look.

  The Iroquois warrior sure as shit wasn't congenial by any stretch. But he was civil and quietly gracious—and just as mean as the Band. The four of them had teeth, the woman Band just as hard as the men.

  Jim didn't miss Elise's wounded eyes, the compassion she was quick to disguise.

  “Your thoughts are not good ones, I say.” Elise studied him.

  I have to get better at blank face. He sucked at it. “You'd be right.”

  “Voices too loud,” Adahy said in a clipped whisper.

  Jim looked around. His buddies from his world were nowhere to be seen. Probably decimating another tribe.

  Jim plucked a compass out of his pocket, a relic from a great uncle's garage stash.

  Adahy tried unsuccessfully to quarantine his surprise and couldn't manage it.

  Jim chuckled.

  “What is that?” Adahy asked in his elegant Iroquois.

  Jim was getting the hang of translation and found it was somewhat easier than navigating the minefield of modern-day slang from his world.

  “A compass.”

  Adahy smirked. “I do not know that word.”

  Jim explained and Adahy backed away.

  “That is an evil device.”

  “No.” Jim moved forward. “It will help us find our way.”

  Adahy's brows dropped above eyes suddenly smoldering with anger. “Adahy know way,” he replied in mixed English.

  Fabulous. Piss the big guy off. Jim whipped his head to the rest of the Band.

  Great. They were making their way to him through the deep snow. Snowshoes were tied to everyone's feet, and the Band picked their feet up toe first, looking almost comical.

  Jim knew if he laughed, none of them would find him funny. Just a feeling.

  “The implements of the Travelers are not coveted but looked upon with suspicion.”

  “You think?” Jim asked Elise sarcastically.

  Her eyebrows came together in confusion. “I do think it.”

  Jim felt like an ass and raked his hair back nervously, his eyes sliding to the approaching Band. They'd back tracked when their second little group had stopped to examine the compass.

  “Sorry—what I meant is you guys really like the trail mix.”

  Elise nodded slowly.

  “And, just because the other Fragment—Travelers are murdering psychos, doesn't mean some of our gear isn't cool.”

  Elise blinked.

  Damn, damn, damn. This language thing was frustrating the shit out of Jim. And the thought of not getting home was freaking him the hell out.

  Eating and surviving this cold and these hard Roman soldier types was the cherry on top of the other world cake.

  “We tarry—why?” Philip said.

  These guys. So cheery.

  Calia wiped her nose and Jim noticed a small group of dots on her face.

  He stared openly at her until a horrible possibility occurred to him.

  Jim grabbed Elise's arm and pushed up the sleeve on her woolen shawl.

  A forearm came around his neck like a vice.

  Airway. Not. Working.

  “Ah!” he gurgle-shouted.

  “Adahy!” The sound of Elise's fear slapped back at them from the cavernous open. “Let him down,” she said in a blend of Iroquois and English.

  “Jim hurt!”

  “No!” she said, “Jim looks!”

&n
bsp; Jim wasn't hurting or looking at anything. Stars burst in the black tunnel of his vision.

  Calia sneezed then strode toward them.

  Funtastic—that's what this was.

  Jim was suddenly dumped, and landed on his back like a fish chucked from the safety of water.

  His mouth opened and closed.

  Elise leaned over him. “What is it, Jim?”

  He tried to say it.

  Then he watched her dig up the cuff of her winter cape. Red dots like mosquito bites covered the pale flesh.

  Her eyes met Jim's.

  He needed oxygen badly, but even more, Jim needed to warn them.

  “Pox,” he croaked from his abused throat.

  “Which?” Calia said, absently itching her face.

  Jim violently shook his head. “Chicken pox.”

  Calia's hand dropped. She and the other Band looked at one another in confusion.

  Elise's eyes went wide, and she shivered, dropping her sleeve.

  They wouldn't be confused much longer.

  They'd be dead.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Elise

  “Chicken pox?” Elise asked. She looked down at her arm, where tiny purplish-pink bumps littered the once-smooth skin.

  There had been rumors of such a disease. However, Elise had dismissed them as the casual ramblings of the Fragment. Unless it pertained to avoidance of them, or survival, her interest was nil.

  “Please, help him stand, Adahy,” Elise said.

  Adahy gave a long look at Jim, who was clutching his chest, and hauled him to his feet.

  “Talk,” Adahy said.

  Jim's eyes went first to Elise, who tried to look encouraging, then to Calia.

  Elise saw dots that matched her own on Calia's face. She remembered how sick they had been only a day ago and how they had shrugged it off. After all, they were fine.

  But now… they might not be.

  Jim inhaled deeply. “I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier.”

  The Band crept nearer. Jim's throat convulsed in a hard punch of flesh, and he went on quickly. “Do you guys know what chicken pox is?”

  Elise had not heard of it called after any sort of fowl. Yet the last word somehow evoked the elusive memory again.