Paradox: On the Sharp Edge of the Blade

by E. S. Martell

  Despite the wind, flies buzzed around his head, attracted by the meat smell, landing on his face and arms, forcing him to wave them off. They kept landing on the scratch on the back of his arm left by the panther. Maybe it smelled similar to the slightly decomposing panther meat. Logan tried not to think about it.

  He choked down several mouthfuls then stopped as a wave of nausea threatened to overcome him. It passed, and he decided it was more mental than physical. Eating raw meat was something he could do, but now he knew that he wanted it to be as fresh as possible.

  Logan looked dubiously at the remains of the panther leg. There was enough meat left for supper, if he could stomach it. Should he discard it or continue carrying it?

  Better to have it, he guessed. Sighing, he looped the hide over his shoulder and set out looking for water.

  It was odd. The rain had soaked him completely, and the underbrush was wet, making it miserable to push through, but there was no standing water. It had seemingly vanished into the sandy ground. At least that was something in his favor.

  After a mile or so, he came up to a small lake. Shaking his head in confusion, he wondered where this had been when he came by this way before. He believed he knew where he was, but the lake was something he hadn't seen, unless he just didn't recognize it. He was so lost, that was a definite possibility.

  He moved through the thinner brush, looking for an open area. At last he pushed his way through some brush, taking care to keep away from a huge patch of thorny bushes. He came out on a small bank that sloped steeply down to the water.

  There was a fallen tree that had toppled long ago from its spot on the bank. The roots were still partially entangled in the soil, but the trunk extended out into the water, gradually submerging. This seemed to offer a perfect place for him to slide out and get a drink from the clearer water away from the shore.

  He worked out onto the trunk, carefully watching his steps so that he wouldn't trip, then lowered himself to his hands and knees. Then he moved forward until he could reach the water with his cupped hands. It was good and he concentrated on quenching his thirst.

  Logan reached for another palm of water, and recoiled as an alligator lunged forward. The ambush predator had come along the edge of the log where he hadn't noticed it. Its snapping jaws clomped shut just shy of his hand.

  He was about to become lunch himself. The alligator could easily lunge high enough to snatch him off the log. He leaped upright, slipped, almost toppled in, and started to step back.

  The gator, not to be denied, lunged again, thrusting its heavy body partway out of the water, coming up and over the submerged branches, its jaws gaping open.

  A head-sized piece of rock flew past Logan's side, landing directly in the open jaws. The alligator reflexively snapped down on the rough coral stone, then began to thrash around in pain, trying to rid itself of the rock which had gone deep into the back of its mouth.

  Logan turned and sprinted up the log to come face to face with the girl he'd been trying to find. She jumped back with an exclamation before they collided. He tried to pull himself up from the rush, but tripped on a vine and landed on his hands and knees, looking up at her.

  She looked at him for a moment, her mouth partway open in shock, then a mischievous grin gradually swept over her face, making her look like a delighted pixie. She laughed quietly, then pointed at him, and motioned for him to follow her.

  Sheepishly, he climbed to his feet and started to resettle the panther leg. She caught at it, pulled it close, examined it, then looked appraisingly at him in a way that seemed to imply she was re-evaluating him. She felt the claws, then looked at his arms.

  He held out his left arm to display the scratch the cat had left. It was a little red. She grabbed his hand, lowered her head to the scratch and sniffed. Then she looked directly into his eyes, said something in a musical voice, and waited for his response expectantly.

  Logan was entranced. She looked younger than he, but not by much. Dressed in animal hide clothing, and with her light brown hair hanging loosely, she seemed a forest spirit rather than a girl. They were standing so close that he could see beads of sweat on her face and in the fine, blond hairs on her upper lip. He was momentarily speechless.

  He drew a deep breath. She was sweating and he could smell her odor. It seemed to mesh perfectly with his olfactory receptors. He felt his blood quicken in response.

  “Thanks for saving me,” he said.

  She jumped at his words, responding with another indecipherable burst of words in her musical tone.

  Logan shook his head and said, “I don't speak your language. Sorry. You saved my life back there.” He pointed back at the lake, and made his hands open and close like an alligator's jaws.

  Her eyes sparkled. She laughed and mimicked his motion, then pointed at the water and said something that sounded vaguely disparaging. He got the idea that she was telling the gator it was no good.

  She stopped talking, abruptly turned and started off, walking steadily towards what Logan believed was the northwest. Startled, he called, “Wait, where are you going?”

  She glanced back, and motioned for him to follow.

  Logan looked to the east, thinking of the shore, but then started after her. There was really no choice. She knew how to survive and he didn't. She probably knew where she was going. Hopefully, it was someplace safe. The fear that she might lead him into an ambush crossed his mind, but he couldn't entertain such perfidy in her. She was just too attractive, and she seemed friendly. He couldn't see her saving him only to lead him to his death later. Besides, at that moment, she stopped and looked back, smiling at him over her shoulder.

  He followed her deeper into the swampy area. By late afternoon, they were far out into the St. Johns river basin. It was swampy with saw grass, cattails, and reeds. There were cypress-covered hammocks scattered across the landscape.

  These higher spots of land varied in size from small ones with only a few trees to ones larger than two or three football fields, covered with a thick growth of cypress, sometimes interspersed with long-leaf pines. The sun bore down, masked at times by puffy cumulus clouds that marched westward in the onshore breeze from the Atlantic.

  Their journey was made without speech. Every time he tried to communicate with her, she smiled, and placed two fingers lightly on his lips indicating that he should be silent. For her part, she never made an effort to speak.

  Logan saw an Osprey hovering over an open body of water deciding if it had a chance to stoop at a fish. A Florida Kite was flying near the closest hammock, its deeply forked tail enabling it to maneuver back and forth, wobbling along the edge of the trees in search of food. The Kite moved with an economy that left Logan feeling out of breath and stodgy. It rarely flapped its wings, instead catching the breeze and updrafts in a way that was almost effortless.

  Herons and egrets clustered at waters edge, and bitterns boomed from the tall reeds. Frogs croaked incessantly. Here and there a red wing black-bird perched on a reed calling a series of liquid notes. Gators grunted in the distance.

  The time seemed to pass quickly. He followed her, his eyes on the soft sway of her skin-clad hips. She carried nothing, no weapons, no food, but somehow he had the feeling that she was as at home as he might be on an afternoon excursion to the grocery store.

  Eventually, they approached a smaller hammock and it became apparent that was where she was headed. They waded for nearly a mile through shallow water. The bottom was covered with decayed vegetation and their steps stirred up swirls of darker water. Fortunately, there seemed to be firm sand under the muck, so they didn't sink in.

  They finally reached a long sandy spit that was bordered by tall reeds on either side. The reeds formed a narrow pathway that wound back and forth preventing them from seeing any great distance ahead.

  Logan was looking up as he walked, and was startled when he bumped into the girl. She'd halted, staring at a man with a heavily scarred face who'd just walked into sight no
more than twenty feet ahead of them. The man was frozen in mid-stride, one foot partly lifted as he took in the two.

  He had a small deer carcass slung over his right shoulder and his left hand carried some slim sticks. He dropped the deer with a thud, reached for a pouch at his waist, and came up with some kind of stone knife.

  With a quick spin, the girl moved behind Logan, leaving him facing Scarface. The man said something that sounded hostile, but which made no sense to Logan.

  Understanding that the girl expected him to protect her, he replied, “Yeah. I'm not glad to see you either, Mister Scarred Guy.”

  The hunter yelled at this, then charged directly at Logan, knife upraised.

  Without thinking, Logan stepped into a right-leg sidekick, catching the man in the solar plexus. The knife came down, slicing through Logan's pants. A brief pain shot through his calf, but the strike mostly missed.

  Logan recovered, then delivered a front kick, trying to catch the man's lowered chin. The hunter started to dodge and the kick grazed his cheek, making him stagger to the left. Finding himself almost face-to-face with the man, Logan blocked the knife arm with his wrists crossed, then caught the wrist with one hand, pulling the man's fingers open with the other. The hapkido move worked perfectly, leaving Logan holding the knife.

  He was unprepared for the counter-strike. The hunter slammed his other hand into Logan's temple. Scarface was unexpectedly strong. Stars flashed in Logan's vision and the knife flew out of his hand. The next minute, the man had his arms around Logan and the two fell to the ground, hunter on top.

  Scarface struck at Logan's head again, but Logan partly blocked, holding his arms over his face. The man raised his right fist for another strike, but then suddenly arched his back throwing his arms out to the sides, simultaneously making a cry of agony.

  The girl was standing behind the man, stone knife in her hand, dripping blood. As Logan tried to understand what had happened, the hunter's mouth opened and a gush of bright red blood vomited out, splattering Logan's face. He rolled, trying to avoid the blood, and the man fell to his side on the sand.

  Logan jumped to his feet, and fell into a guard position. As he did, the girl moved beside the man, grasped his long hair, and plunged the knife into his neck. More blood spurted.

  Logan felt dizzy. He wasn't sure if it was the result of being punched or seeing her kill the man so adroitly. The girl spat some words at the dying hunter in a vituperative tone, then bent and removed the pouch from his possession.

  She looked inside and nodded. Then she strung the strap over her shoulder, and turned to Logan with a bright smile.

  Her face, already pretty, transformed totally when she smiled. Logan found that he couldn't form a coherent thought. She said something quietly, and placed her fingers on his lips when he tried to respond. Indicating that he should pick up the deer, she caught up the sticks the man had been carrying, and disappeared into the reeds.

  He shouldered the carcass. It was small, probably less than eighty pounds, so it wasn't too big a problem for his shingle-bundle hauling muscles. Momentarily at a loss, he looked both directions. She stuck her head back through the reeds and motioned him forward.

  They went deep into the reed bed, and abruptly came out into an open area covered with shallow water. She paused often to listen, but apparently heard nothing.

  Logan was dismayed to see that she'd turned away from the small hammock and was now heading towards one that was much farther away.

  He tried to get comfortable carrying the dead animal. She didn't have to tell him that the meat was valuable. He was so hungry that his stomach was thinking of climbing out his throat and starting on the deer while he walked.

  He thought of roast venison, but then the vision of the bearded guy vomiting blood struck him and he staggered with a wave of nausea. He decided that he must be in shock or something. He struggled with the idea of killing a man, but then something in his mind pulled him into a new state. The man would have cheerfully killed him. It was kill or be killed. Now all he had to concentrate on was getting the deer somewhere where they could eat in peace. Without consciously realizing it, he moved another step away from his previously civilized attitudes.

  While he struggled with the killing, another part of his mind subconsciously monitored his progress, leading him to try and be as quiet as possible. The hunter might have friends nearby who would resent his death. He understood why the girl was leading him towards the distant hammock. It was only that he was getting very tired.

  He staggered on behind her as the evening passed. Now, even the delightful sight of her swaying hips failed to hold his interest. He was miserable, and, with the onset of darkness, the mosquitoes were coming in. Holding the deer, he couldn't even swat at them.

  He was surprised when they passed through some reeds, then tall maiden-cane, and climbed out of the water. They'd finally arrived.

  She came back to him, and indicated that he should put the deer down on a bare spot of sand and wait. Then she disappeared. He understood that she was scouting the new hammock. He figured that she was far more adept than he at sneaking through the underbrush. If there was anyone on the higher ground, she'd find them, and they could leave.

  The thought of another long walk dismayed him. It was now nearly dark, even darker between the thick trees. He couldn't see how he could walk even another foot. Besides his leg was hurting.

  Logan rolled up his pants leg to expose a shallow knife slash. The knife had passed close to his calf, leaving a three-inch long cut. It wasn't bleeding, but the constant soaking had made it look bad. The edges were pale and jagged.

  He then looked at the scratch on his arm that the panther had made. It was red and slightly swollen. He gingerly felt it. It was a little hot. It hurt when he pressed it.

  He was sure it was infected. He started to worry about antibiotics. How could he clean the wound without anything to disinfect it? What if he got blood poisoning?

  About that time, the girl came back. She saw that he was inspecting the scratch as she came up. She grabbed his arm, looked at the wound, and said something quietly.

  He didn't understand the words. She turned to the water's edge, grabbed some wet sand and scrubbed the scratch with it. It hurt, but Logan kept quiet, his pride refusing to allow him to complain.

  He let her work until she was satisfied. She had scrubbed the scab off the wound and it was now bleeding freely. She inspected it, looking pleased.

  Logan wasn't sure if she knew what she was doing at first, but then the idea crossed his mind that the wound was probably better off clean. The blood washed the sand away and probably most of the bacteria also.

  She looked through the cattails for a moment, returning with one of last year's dried tails. She twisted it, gathering loose down in her hand, then pressed it onto the shallow wound. The fibers stopped the bleeding.

  She said something in a satisfied tone, then hoisted the deer over her shoulder, motioned for him to follow, and started off.

  Logan felt like it wasn't a very good job of doctoring, but since she seemed satisfied, he figured that was the best she could do. Maybe it would work.

  He thought it was his job to carry the carcass, but he was so tired, he could barely get to his feet. He gathered himself, then followed, limping slightly from the cut in his leg.

  They wound their way through the dark trees, finally coming out in an open area. There was a small pool of water surrounded by grass. He guessed this would be their camp for the night. The surrounding trees were so thick that they couldn't be seen from any direction.

  As long as there weren't any predators around, he felt that this spot promised the most safety he'd seen since he arrived in this place. With a grateful sigh, Logan sat down, and watched the girl drag some dead branches into the open area. It was obvious that she was going to make a fire. He hoped she knew that he didn't have any matches or a lighter.

  Chapter 11: SERENSAA

  To Logan's surprise, the
girl took next to no time in getting a fire going. She collected some paper-like strips of inner bark from one of the pines, along with a pile of small sticks, in addition to the larger pieces she dragged in. Once she had what she apparently felt was enough fuel, she took a sharpened stick and two pieces of wood from Scarface's pouch, then rummaged around in it a little more, finally coming out with a twisted strip of leather.

  She placed one of the pieces of wood on the ground, fitted the stick into a hole in it, stuck the other piece on the top of the stick and held it in place by biting it. Then she wrapped the leather around the stick and, pulling alternately on either end, spun the stick back and forth until the friction created a thin plume of smoke. Then she placed the pine bark on the smoking wood, blew a little and almost instantly had a small flame. The whole operation couldn't have taken her more than three minutes. Logan was impressed.