The vines held, and he scrambled around until he found a moderately comfortable position. He was extremely tired due to the lack of sleep the night before, and he worried that he'd probably fall off the branch.
After a little work, he improvised a safety line around his middle with some smaller vines. They would keep him from moving too far and their pull would wake him before he fell. That would have to do.
He looked hopefully at the ground for his friendly fox, but the animal hadn't returned from wherever it had gone.
In the morning, he took his time about getting ready. Gators feed in low light, both in evening and morning. He didn't think they'd be as motivated if he waited until mid-day. In addition, they'd be easier to spot.
He thoughtfully removed the stone spear point and fore-shaft from the sapling and tucked it into his pants. If he had to swim, he couldn't carry the spear, but the fore-shaft wouldn't be a burden. There was no way he would leave it behind.
He gathered a couple of leafy branches to use as paddles. The second was an extra, in case he lost one. Pushing the raft off was difficult. It was heavier than he had planned, but he finally got it moving.
The next problem was that the raft just wanted to spin around and around. He couldn't paddle very effectively with the branch. He finally settled on pushing the mat along with a sort of sculling motion. That worked well enough that he could see he was making progress, but it was terribly slow.
He had neared the opposite side when a massive gator decided that he was just too good an opportunity to let pass. It lunged up and started to climb over the edge of his raft, overturning the woven mat instantly. Logan leaped forward as far as he could as the raft flipped.
He hit the water with his arms churning, and swam the remaining thirty yards at Olympic speed. There was no sign of the gator as he clawed his way over the bank. He moved away a few yards and took a moment to recover, glancing at the water in case it was planning another attack. Then he set off with the idea of putting as much distance between himself and alligators as possible.
Now began an ordeal of wandering through a confusing area that was covered with interconnected lakes and ponds. Much of the land was covered with water and the grass was so tall and thick, that it was difficult to see if a strip of land was a peninsula that dead-ended into a pond or if it was an isthmus that provided a pathway between adjacent lakes.
The day passed slowly. Logan was getting tired of wandering through alternate patches of cypress trees, watching for alligators, and pushing through tall grass. His arms were bleeding from saw grass cuts and he was sick to death of the mosquitoes that hovered around. He had smeared mud all over his torso to keep them off, but his sweat washed it off in rivulets, providing targets for the aerial bloodsuckers.
By early afternoon, the swamp was being left behind. He had reached an area of low, sandy woods. Walking went faster here, and he made good progress. He kept up a steady pace, filling his stomach with more duck potatoes he'd gathered in the swamp as he walked.
By dusk he was beside the bank of a swiftly moving river that flowed across his path. He recognized it. He'd arrived near the head of Crystal River, where it turns northwards prior to turning towards the Gulf.
He wasn't sure how much farther he had to walk, but figured it was probably less than five miles. He'd do that in the morning. There was no sense blundering around in the dark and possibly alarming men who might think he was an enemy. Besides he had heard the scream of a panther or some kind of cat off in the distance. Night was not a good time for humans to be out in this land.
Chapter 19: CRYSTAL RIVER
Logan descended from his tree in the dawn light. He was getting so used to climbing that he was starting to question the theory that humans evolved on the ground. At the minimum, he was now a far better climber. He could see that his arms and chest had developed more muscle than he'd ever had before. It was a satisfying feeling to flex his arm and feel his biceps press on his tight pectoral muscles.
He stretched, got a drink in the nearby river, and then started northwestward along the bank. The trees and undergrowth forced him to diverge from the bank occasionally, but he always returned to the water's edge as soon as he could. He felt that following along the verge of the fast moving river would ensure that he didn't miss any camps or settlements. The convenience of the clear, running water would be hard for primitive people to resist. They'd probably camp within a few hundred yards of the banks.
Eventually the course turned more to the west and, as it did, Logan became more and more nervous. He knew that directional change meant that he was getting close to the Gulf of Mexico. The idea of meeting Serensaa's people impacted him strangely. He felt a kind of performance anxiety. What if they didn't like him?
He hoped that Serensaa would be there already and would help with his introduction to her people. He was so anxious to see her that he almost forgot that she might not be present.
That might be inconvenient. He'd envisioned her telling her tribe about him, but if she wasn't there, they would have no reason to welcome him or to treat him differently than they normally treated strangers.
His experience with the people in this primitive world had not been of a nature to encourage confidence. The only men he'd met so far had been hostile and mostly determined to kill him. He hoped that wouldn't be the case this time.
He sensed something indefinable in the air. In response, he stopped abruptly and looked cautiously around. There was nothing to suggest an ambush. The only thing he could hear was the river sounds. Even so, his anxiety took a leap upwards and he started to move back into the shadow of a tree. There was a sudden rush of feet paired with screams.
Logan backed against the tree. There were about twenty men surrounding him, all with their spears ready. There was no chance to fight. He wouldn't survive. He bent and laid his spear point on the ground, then straightened and held his palms out towards the men.
One of them said something brief in a commanding tone. At that, another man moved cautiously forward to retrieve Logan's weapon. He kept his eyes on Logan's face as he did.
Logan tried to smile, but it was difficult. He was about as tense as he could remember ever being.
The other men jumped forward, grabbed his arms, and forced him down onto his belly. They twisted his arms back and tied them behind him.
They grouped around him as they led him farther on down the river. The trees opened up and there was their camp.
It didn't seem very imposing to Logan. There were maybe twenty skin tents, some chikee structures, and a central fire. Children came running out as the group approached.
The children clustered around Logan, laughing and talking to each other. One of them tried to poke him with a short stick, but was discouraged by one of his guards. The guard knocked the stick down and said something harsh to the boy. After that Logan was treated well enough.
When they reached the center of the tents, there was a long discussion that apparently focused on what to do with him. The men seemed to be roughly equally divided. One group was more or less friendly, while the others wanted to string him up, or at least that was Logan's interpretation.
The argument ceased as a medium height man with black hair stepped out of one of the tents. He strode over to the group, his forehead wrinkling in an aggressive scowl. He looked Logan over, up and down, with a hostile expression. Seeming to find nothing that met his approval, he barked a question at the others.
One of Logan's guards answered. That man had been relatively considerate and had even helped Logan a couple of times on the walk.
The newcomer shook his head, then stepped forward, looked into Logan's eyes and then swung his right arm in a powerful blow. It was aimed at Logan's face. Logan was startled, but he managed to slip most of the force. It was still strong enough to rattle his teeth.
He staggered, then straightened and glared at his assailant. He shook his head a little, and said, “What kind of man strikes a helpless prisoner?
” As he did, he turned slightly, displaying his tied wrists.
His words were doubtless unintelligible to the group, but his meaning was clear enough. Black-hair's face reddened at the implied criticism. He raised his arm and swung again. This time Logan was ready. He stepped back slightly so that the strike missed completely.
A couple of men laughed, but quickly stifled themselves when Black-hair glared at them.
Black-hair turned back to Logan and spat, hitting him on the chest. Logan smiled calmly. He was raging inside, but showing emotion wouldn't do in this circumstance.
Black-hair made a brief speech, waving his arms, while he gave directions. Two of the men turned away muttering. It was obvious that they didn't agree with the orders. Some of the others grabbed Logan and hustled him over to a post that was set in the ground near the fire.
Logan began to be really concerned. This didn't look good. Especially since there were stains on the post that could only be blood.
The men tied a thong to his wrists and tied the other end to the post. It was long enough so that he could sit, but his tied wrists precluded his escape. The thong was tied higher than he could reach on the post. He hoped that he might be able to work it loose with his teeth, but there was no opportunity for that as long as he was in plain view.
One of the men plopped down nearby. Logan inspected him, hopefully. The man had the attitude of someone who had been assigned a boring task. He looked like he had been told to act as a guard, but didn't relish the job.
Some of the children came up and made noises and faces at Logan, but he ignored them. They became more intrusive, finally throwing small stones and litter. The guard yelled at them, mostly because he was trying to sleep and their noise was disturbing his nap. The man didn't really care if the kids tormented Logan.
Logan was resting with his back against the pole, in a sitting position. His mind was working overtime, trying to figure out a strategy that would allow him to escape.
The black-haired guy passed by several times and each time he glared at Logan. Maybe he should have let the guy knock him down. Making fun of a powerful enemy when you were a captive wasn't a very good idea. He wished his pride hadn't taken over at that point.
He looked up. There was some kind of commotion on the west side of the camp. Suddenly a group of women came walking through the tents, led by Serensaa. He jumped to his feet, anxious to greet her.
He was disappointed when she turned from her course towards him to go and meet Black-hair. The man put his hands on her shoulders in a possessive fashion that made Logan see red.
Their relationship wasn't entirely smooth, however. Serensaa shrugged his arm off her shoulders and, while pointing at Logan, gave a long, and passionate speech. Logan watched quietly.
She was arguing some point, but he couldn't figure out what it was. If she told the truth about their adventure together, the tribe should view him favorably. He'd helped her avoid capture and travel across the peninsula. That was positive.
On the other hand, if she told them about their commitment to each other, the men might not take it very well. For all he knew, women in this tribe might be promised from birth to some man. Maybe he had trespassed on someone else's presumptive property. Perhaps Black-hair. He acted like he had some kind of claim on her.
Black-hair argued, but Serensaa was eloquent and long spoken. Finally, the man threw up his arms in frustration. Then he turned to some of the bystanders and gave an order. Shortly after, Logan was cut free.
He stood by the fire, rubbing his wrists. His circulation hadn't been totally cut-off, but it had been impaired. His wrists were numb and he couldn't' move his hands well. He was still worried. So far Serensaa had ignored him.
She'd gone in a tent for a while, then come out to help the other women prepare some food. They'd come to the camp from down by the seashore. From the preparations, it looked like they'd been gathering some kind of shellfish, perhaps scallops or clams. They were busy and Logan didn't want to presume on his conditional acceptance by the tribe. He had been imprisoned and set free. He didn't want to convert to a prisoner again, simply because he offended someone. He kept glancing at Serensaa surreptitiously, hoping that she would look at him, but she kept her attention on her work, ignoring his presence. From that, he judged that he wasn't entirely safe.
It grew dark and people wandered up to eat. The clams, for so they proved to be, had been cooked with hot stones that were deposited in the water held in leather containers.
Logan sat and watched, without trying to get anything to eat, even though his stomach was rumbling.
Eventually a young woman, little more than a girl really, brought him some clams on a piece of wood. He blew on them until they were cool enough to eat, than chewed up the rubbery meat systematically. They were good, but could have used some salt and pepper.
The camp settled down after that. People mostly ignored him and proceeded with their nightly rituals. There were fewer people moving around. Most of them had retired to tents or the chikee huts. Logan was wondering if he could sleep by the fire, but most importantly, he was wondering if Serensaa would acknowledge him. So far, she'd studiously avoided looking his way.
He finally lay back and tried to get comfortable. It wasn't like he was unused to sleeping on the ground. It was better than a crotch in a tree. He watched the stars overhead.
The sky was clear. It had been cloudy earlier in the day, but the puffy clouds had all retired somewhere and now the stars shown brightly. It was quiet, except for the distant call of a chuck-will and the crackle of the fire. Once a man came and threw more wood on the blaze, but it had now burned down to a bed of glowing coals. The camp was dim and quiet.
There was a slight noise and Logan turned his head to see its source. Serensaa was peeking around a tent. He rose and sauntered over, acting unconcerned, in case someone was watching. He didn't know what was going on and he didn't want to give anyone grounds for complaint.
Her nearness was an irresistible temptation. He took her in his arms and kissed her. For a moment she kissed him back, pressing against his body. Then she pushed him back and shook her head “No.”
Logan again regretted their communication issues. He pointed at her and said, “Serensaa,” then pointed at himself and said, “Logan,” in the same way he had before. She smiled at that. Then he linked his fingers and repeated, “Serensaa, Logan.” Her face sobered in response.
She linked her fingers and repeated, “Logan, Serensaa.” Then she pressed her hand over her heart and said distinctly, “Here.”
Logan understood. She'd learned more of his language than he'd realized. He had used the word 'here' with her several times and it seemed that she'd been paying attention. Her next action was even more startling.
She pulled her fingers apart and said, “No Logan, Serensaa here,” and waved her hand inclusively indicating the camp.
Her meaning was clear. She held him close in her heart, but their relationship wasn't something of which the tribe would approve. To confirm, he linked his fingers and said, “Logan, Serensaa here?” Then waved at the camp.
She shook her head sorrowfully, then said, “No.”
After a moment, she tried to communicate another idea. Linking her fingers loosely, she said, “Serensaa, Ulfa here.”
Logan's heart sank. She obviously meant she belonged to another in this place. He didn't know if she was simply promised or was already married, in either case though, there was no place for him.
His face fell and he turned towards the fire and slowly walked back. His mind was spinning as he tried to grasp the situation. He hadn't quite reached the fire when her hand grasped his arm.
He turned to look at her. Serensaa was close to him, her expression agonized. Tears were trickling down her face. She pulled him back behind the tent. It was darker there and they couldn't be observed. She came into his arms again and he kissed her lips, her cheek, her forehead, followed by the side of her neck.
She shudder
ed, and sobbed softly. Finally she looked up and said, “Logan go.”
It was like a slap in the face. She was telling him to leave. It seemed like she didn't want him to, but she had told him to go anyway.
He pulled her closer and said, “No. Serensaa, Logan go.”
She looked up again, a little hope in her eyes. She appeared to be thinking it over.
Logan realized that he had little to offer her. Here, with her tribe, she had a measure of security and a better place to live. With him, she'd only had trees and danger. He sighed. It would be better for her to stay here. He'd only lead her into danger. He sighed again, then said, “Serensaa stay, Logan go.”
She understood his meaning. Her eyes opened wider and tears again streamed down her face. Logan's cheeks were suddenly wet. He hadn't realized that he was tearful, but now that he had, he felt even worse.
Paradox: On the Sharp Edge of the Blade Page 21