savage 06 - the savage dream

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  Philip's gaze went upward, and Adahy's followed.

  There was no one overhead—

  for now.

  The men moved forward, jogging toward the hot springs. Neither spoke of what they might find.

  *

  Jim

  Jim landed flat on his back, the air knocked out of him.

  It was an amateur mistake.

  And this is planet of the fucking apes.

  Jim blinked, his mouth opening for oxygen that wouldn't come.

  The words that came out of the creature's mouth were guttural but understood.

  “You die.”

  Nope. Jim wasn't ready to call it quits just yet.

  He sprung to his feet, still without air, and the ape-like leader came for him.

  Easily six and a half feet tall, its long arms swung with a lithe grace. Their reach was easily one-and-a-half times his own.

  Jim swallowed against the burn of his lungs.

  Air came like a punch, and the creature took advantage of Jim while he stood there sputtering like a drowning man.

  That paw-like hand whipped out in a graceful arc of swiping accuracy—at Jim's throat.

  He blocked the strike as automatically as the breath he couldn't take, and the creature's eyes grew round then narrowed in a human face.

  The other arm swung, and Jim latched his hands opposite each other, and using the momentum, he twisted and pulled.

  The big creature tried for balance, but his land legs were not as good as Jim's, and he went careening forward.

  Two more came, and Jim knew he'd die in that cave. But he'd make it good if he was going to go.

  He crouched, letting out his breath, centering his qì. The creatures hesitated, backing away, and Jim straightened, arms loose, body straight, mind blank as he'd been taught.

  There was no rancor in Jim. His life was held in the center of his body, his mind controlling his every action, his every breath.

  Jim was ready.

  The ape guys sniffed the air.

  Then, like candles, their apeness melted away, and they looked as though their animal nature had been shed like snakeskins.

  They were normal men, yet—not.

  Jim immediately saw the resemblance to the Band—and what he thought might be a streak of gorilla.

  The combination was so ridiculous he stifled a hysterical bubble of laughter.

  “Jim!” Elise said from behind him.

  He sank instinctively as wind passed over his head. He grabbed whatever was above him and tossed hard.

  The ape leader whirled and stumbled backward. Instantly regaining his balance, he faced Jim.

  The odds weren't good. There were five of them and one of him.

  The girls were too far gone with the pox to offer Jim any assistance except something to worry about. If Calia had been well, they might have stood a chance—but only if the big-foot guys stayed in their present form. Right now, they looked like Cro-Magnon Band with their beef sticks hanging in the wind.

  Or in the cave.

  When the leader spoke, Jim listened, getting the biggest surprise of his life.

  “Who are you?”

  Jim made a noise of disbelief. “Listen, you came in here…”

  “You attacked us.”

  Jim hesitated. The leader had a point.

  “You don't want to kill us?”

  “No. But we will defend ourselves. And, we could smell the illness from a mile away.”

  They spoke in a modern way. This was too weird.

  “You can't talk when you're…” Jim didn't know how to say it without getting his ass handed to him.

  “When we are in our mixed form—no. Our mouths are not highly enough evolved for the complex speech functions.”

  Oh brother. Jim held up a hand. “Listen. You're right, we have sick women here.”

  “One of the Pure Ones. She is dying.”

  Pure ones. So that's what these guys call the Band.

  Jim couldn't refute Calia's grim state. “Yeah, she's not doing so good.”

  “We can heal her.”

  “There's no cure for small pox,” Jim said in a bald voice.

  He stared at Jim, his eyes flicking once to Calia. “Please, let me help the Pure One.”

  Though the man spoke well, they were primitive to the max. One of the guys behind Jim handed the head guy a sort of loincloth.

  Jim couldn't believe it was happening.

  With a strike of flint to stone, the torch was lit.

  Maybe they weren't so primitive.

  “I'm Jim.”

  The leader grunted, already moving forward, and Jim grabbed his muscular arm. “I don't care if I die trying to protect her. Don't hurt her.”

  The man looked down at Jim, his eyes narrowing. “That is not what the Tree Men do—Jim.”

  There was something dignified about his words and his manner that made Jim feel small for assuming he'd hurt Calia. But he didn't know him. Now Jim was going to let this strange ape guy—a Tree Man—play doctor with a woman he was supposed to be protecting.

  Better yet, he was going to cure Calia of smallpox.

  Yeah right. And pigs were going to fly out of his ass.

  Jim followed him to the darkest recesses of the cave. There, Elise held Calia, the whites of her eyes yellowed.

  Kidney failure.

  She needed water, food, and a hell of a lot more care than Jim could have provided.

  Philip would come back to find a group of half-naked ape guys huddled around Calia. Elise gave a yelp when she saw them and scooted backward, pressing as close to the back of the cave as she could.

  Nice, Jim. Solid work.

  But what Jim saw next utterly changed his mind.

  The nameless Tree Man carefully gathered Calia against him, and when Jim thought the situation couldn't get any weirder, the guy bit his own wrist with a practiced slash of sharp, nonhuman teeth.

  He bled.

  Then he closed a strong hand around Calia's jaw. The deliberately applied pressure forced her mouth open. He gently tipped her head back and let his blood drop inside her puckered lips.

  Fuck this weirdness. Jim moved forward and his eyes met the Tree Man's.

  “Hold him.”

  Two strong Tree Men came forward.

  Jim screamed when they pretzeled his arms. The creatures looked human, but their arms had morphed into the long ape arms.

  There was no moving. The vise hold remained as Calia began to swallow the blood—or drown.

  Her eyes opened and landed on Jim. They moved to the Tree Man.

  Jim thought she'd fight. He would have. And he remembered her from before the pox had gotten its hold on her.

  Calia was a warrior of the Band and the toughest woman he'd ever met.

  But instead of fighting, she mewled like a kitten before a bowl of cream and snuggled closer to the huge Tree Man. He cinched her tighter against him.

  Jim hung his head.

  He'd failed.

  When Philip and Adahy burst inside, Jim knew that all hell would break loose.

  And it did, but not in a way he could have anticipated.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Adahy

  Adahy recognized the legendary Stone Giants when he saw them.

  He also felt a low-lying kinship recognition that told him he was indeed connected to them on a basic level.

  When Philip lost control, Adahy understood why.

  Blood covered the lips of his intended, and in the low light, it looked very bad—as though violence had been inflicted on her.

  With a roar, Philip shoved two of the Giants aside, and they hit the wall with a resounding crack.

  Jim gave him wide eyes and bellowed in Iroquois, “Wait!”

  His shout cautioned Adahy but did not slow the progress of Philip as he made the two-horse-length distance to Calia.

  “Philip!” Adahy yelled, seeing the scene as something utterly different than what Philip presumed.

&
nbsp; Philip did not turn, his hand reaching for the one who held Calia. He jerked the Giant to his feet, and Elise crawled to catch Calia as she crumpled into her lap.

  The Giant instantly morphed, features melting together and reconstructing before Adahy's eyes.

  His brow ridge became more prominent, eyes sinking deeply below cheekbones that now shadowed his jawline.

  Most alarming was his match for size to Philip's own.

  Philip clutched and shook the Giant, who responded by wrapping impossibly long arms around Philip and squeezing.

  Philip was the biggest warrior Adahy had encountered on this bizarre journey—fierce and hard, war torn and buffeted.

  Yet Philip's expression slimmed down to planes of disbelief and astonishment.

  He was losing a battle for the first time. It was not hand-to-hand-combat with one of his own, but a fight with a creature who was blood of their blood yet somehow more.

  He was as large as Philip, but with greater extension of limbs and more flexibility, and pound for pound—it looked to Adahy—stronger.

  “Not enemy,” the creature said in a tone like raw stone being crushed. Adahy could see the struggle the words cost him. Yet, he did not offer assistance. It was a delicate outcome, and he would not tip the scales in either direction.

  Philip jerked his elbows up abruptly like flapping wings, causing the hold of the creature to loosen, but not release.

  Philip shoved with all his might and they broke apart.

  Then Calia was between them, threads of red between her teeth like peppermint candy.

  Blood.

  She staggered against the creature—or better, fell against him—and he caught her as she clung.

  “He—has helped me. Do not,” she gasped, trying to speak. “Do not engage him, Philip.”

  “He has hurt you,” Philip rumbled, and Adahy scanned the cave for Elise.

  Finding her quickly, he strode to her position and helped her up. Adahy put his back to the wall where he could see all therein. He would not be taken unawares.

  Calia steadied herself, standing away from the Giant. “These are the Tree Men. They have not hurt me, but healed me from the illness.”

  Jim spoke out of the corner where two creatures held him. “You can let me go. Obviously, the threat's over.”

  The Tree Men released Jim, and he stepped away from them, shaking his arms and shooting them a glare.

  Adahy watched as they became more man-like, more human. Skin slid and bones shifted into subtle lines of humanity. Gone was the animalistic countenance. In their human form, they appeared most like Band.

  Philip opened his arms and Calia walked into his embrace. His eyes never left the Giant as he folded her against his body.

  The male who had almost ended Philip melted down to his human form, leaving the ape-like, half-human side behind.

  He shuddered, the pre-change image superimposed over the new one for a half a minute. “I am Ulric.”

  Philip stroked Calia's hair, seeming to deliberate.

  “I am Philip of the Band.”

  “You are a Pure One?” Ulric lifted his chin, eyebrows rising in question.

  Philip inclined his head. “I am Band.”

  Ulric nodded then turned to the other Giants and gave a series of commands in a tongue that was unintelligible to Adahy.

  Philip cupped Calia's face and asked, “Are you well—truly?”

  Calia shook her head. “Not yet, but I know that if I have food and water—and rest—I will be.” She looked over at Ulric, adding, “Thanks be to this male's blood, I am recovering.”

  Jim scanned the dim interior of the cave. “Listen. I want out. Right now. I think it was a five-butt cave, and we're all a little too tight right now. Too many asses, too little space.” Jim spread his hands away from his body.

  Adahy frowned. All he understood from all Jim's strange jargon was he wanted to be out of the cave.

  It sounded like a very good idea to Adahy, who did not like being in close quarters with strangers, whatever the reason. He also wanted to get a good look at Elise and provide food and water.

  He studied the Giants.

  They did not seem violent. In all, they had not attacked him or Philip. Even Ulric had only endeavored to subdue Philip rather than bring him harm.

  Jim's comment about space had everyone filing out on the narrow ledge of rock.

  The men took turns, all wary of one another.

  Adahy cared not. It was Elise whom he protected. He would see her safely to the shore across the spring, and then they would eat and drink.

  Could the legends of the Forest Devils and the Stone Giants be exaggerated? Perhaps they were actually a peaceable people, distant relatives who had adapted to living only in the forests. Adahy did not know. But his tribe, the Iroquois, found it prudent to know everything they could about everyone in their environment. Ignorance was a recipe for foolhardiness and death.

  Incompetence was not the way of the Iroquois.

  *

  Elise

  The Tree Men assisted Philip and Adahy in plucking the feathers from the birds and gutting and cleaning them.

  A spit was erected, and the Tree Men had a fire going with flint and twigs before Elise could say two words. Their skill and proficiency in the face of the most primitive needs was vast. They appeared to be at the same level as Philip and Adahy.

  Now that they were in their human form, the men seemed to be no different than the Band—on the surface and without the throat slits of their kind.

  Elise's eyes strayed to Ulric, and she noticed he did not have a scar from his healing of Calia. No proof of where he had scored it marred his wrist.

  Elise gave a hard gulp.

  I shall be next.

  Though no one had thought to mention it, for she had not been as far along in her sickness, Elise would be next in her consumption of blood.

  It was unnatural. But it might be necessary. She gave a resigned sigh.

  “It is not as bad as you suppose,” Calia said from beside her, intuiting her thoughts.

  Elise turned to look at her, taking in the gills that were now restored to a healthy bright pink. They flared slightly with her deep, even breathing.

  “Aye, you are becoming well and whole before my eyes.” Elise's eyes narrowed, her fingers trembling at the base of her throat. “But at what cost, Calia?”

  “What cost?” Calia made a derisive noise in her throat. “My life! Methinks living another day above ground is not too high a price.” Her eyes strayed to Philip as she said that last.

  Thoughtful in her silence, Elise folded her arms.

  The bumps that had covered Calia hours ago were beginning to scab over.

  “What say you?” Calia asked more softly than her harsh words of moments ago.

  Elise did not know the reason for her unease.

  Mayhap it was that this was yet another group of unknown agenda. Elise could not help but notice the obvious: there were no women.

  She and Calia were the sole members of the fairer gender present. Adahy was principled and cared deeply for her—he might even truly love her. Though trust did not come easy for Elise, his background and the murder of his wife made trusting him a unique case. But these new tree dwellers were of such a different ilk that she could only guess whether she should trust them.

  Elise's thoughts were selfish ones.

  She wanted to be back in the sphere with Adahy, where Fragment, clan, and Tree Men were not present. She wanted a life of rules, propriety, and safety—perceived or real, it was all the same to her psyche.

  Elise was worn thin from peril. She was sickened with the pox, and she did not know if the future held the most important part for her—Adahy.

  Calia interrupted her thoughts. “Listen.”

  Elise did. With each word that was spoken by Ulric, she grew more troubled. When Ulric's words ended, Elise understood more—and less.

  They were all related in some way.

  Ou
t of the natural disaster that had transpired a century and a half before the present, many subcultures of peoples had risen from the wasteland of this world.

  Some had flourished, while others had perished.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jim

  For the love of… “So—what you're saying here is, you guys were ʻpure onesʼ but now you're what—Big Foot?”

  Ulric's brow furrowed, and Jim realized he might have sounded a little—or very—insulting.

  He raked his hair back again. This was getting convoluted.

  Let's try for simplicity. “Okay. You're related to them”—Jim pointed to Calia and Philip—“and kind of to Adahy.” He then flipped a palm toward the big Native American, or Red Man, as they referred to him here.

  “Yes, but they are ancient ties.”

  Jim leaned forward. “How ancient?” He was thinking of the scant history he'd been fed from the HC, and wondered if it would jive with actual events. Somehow, with each day, as he learned more from being here and existing with these people, the less “honest” the Helix Complex appeared.

  “Over one hundred years,” Ulric replied.

  One of the other ape dudes said something that was absolutely Greek to Jim.

  “What'd he say?”

  The slightest of smiles ghosted Ulric's mouth. “Brom has corrected me. It is more than one hundred and forty years since the time of rocks.”

  So their history did correspond with what he'd been told. Asteroids had shaped this world. Genetic mutations of humans from before that event survived. From what Ulric had said, Jim guessed that his people had found refuge in the graveyard of destroyed forests and caves, waiting out the worst of it.

  They ate animals that survived “the shroud over the sun”—the ash. If Jim's hypothesis were correct, there would have to have been a fast evolutionary shift—similar to the unusual gills on the throats of Philip and Calia, a holdover from a time when there wasn't enough oxygen to survive without them.

  Further, Jim surmised the Tree Men had been stuck in the forest for so long their biology would have evolved to adapt to life in the woods. Initially annihilated, as the forest grew back to heights of livability, cover, and shelter, so too would its inhabitants have changed.