Primitive Nights

by Candi Wall

  “Do not worry. All will be well.”

  His words told her she hadn’t hidden her fear as well as she’d hoped. She gave him a huge smile she wasn’t close to feeling. This was important to him and she wouldn’t let her misgivings dampen his joy. She hugged him quickly and stood back. “I’m ready.”

  His hand closed over hers, and she looked down. Their fingers intertwined, her own so pale against the darker coloring of his. Like their worlds. So different. He raised her hands to his lips. “Come.”

  His pace was steady as they moved through the jungle. From time to time, he whistled, an odd birdlike sound that returned from other areas around them. Myla shrieked when a warrior stepped from the bushes to fall into place next to Damon. There hadn’t been any indication that the warrior was there, at least not that she’d seen. But Damon had known.

  She glanced around, certain there were others hiding in the foliage. It amazed her, really. The scope of their ability seemed unending. Damon’s people were strong, capable. Able to live off the harsh land and survive the dangers inherent in such an existence.

  Her own people would never understand how amazing these tribes were. Until she’d spent this time in their presence, she hadn’t known either. It was a knowledge she would have to share. When she left, her efforts in making the government, the world, understand these people’s plight would become her biggest priority.

  The moment they broke through into the clearing a loud shout went up. It was followed by more until the entire encampment came alive with joyous cries. Myla’s heart thudded against her chest as his people closed in around them.

  Damon was immediately dragged away, but he smiled back over his shoulder. Under his people’s happy voices and shouts he turned to speak with each person in turn, his smile wide. The men and women showed him astonishing deference. Most men would kill for such respect. Damon came by it naturally, and he carried himself with the pride of a leader.

  There wasn’t a person who could help the way he drew them in. She couldn’t blame them either. She’d succumbed to it as well. And willingly.

  She leaned back against a tree and crossed her arms over her chest. This was where he belonged. His tribe depended on him, needed him to lead them through uncertain times. Their bright eyes and smiles showed the hope they found in his return.

  “You came back?”

  Myla didn’t turn at Michelle’s voice. “Yes. It seems your son believes I can help.”

  “My son has always seen what he wishes to see. Nothing more.”

  Anger burned in Myla’s chest. “You don’t give Damon the credit he deserves.”

  The woman walked around to stand in front of her and the resentment Myla expected to witness in her expression was absent. Instead, her eyes were wide, her hands clenched together before her. Fear. Michelle glanced at Damon. “Do you think—is he still angry with me?”

  Myla shrugged. How odd it was to see this woman with concern in her eyes. She loved her son, of that there was no doubt, but Myla could see it now. She also feared him. Or feared losing his protection. “I don’t know. You will have to speak with him about that.”

  Michelle spread her hands out before her. “Do not expect me to apologize for doing what I thought was best for my son and his people.”

  Myla stiffened. “I expect nothing from you.”

  The woman glanced at Damon again. “But I am sorry that it may have caused you harm. I meant only to do whatever it took to keep my son safe. He is—all I have.”

  Any mother would. Myla couldn’t fault the woman for that. “Your son is a strong, capable man. You would do well to trust him, believe in him. He is a leader, not by birth, but by fate. Whatever God you believe in made him a leader. He will know what is right or wrong and will give his life if needed to protect his people.”

  The older woman stared at her, the strands of her gray hair drifting across her face. “You love him?”

  Myla watched Damon, misery and happiness creating an insistent ache in her stomach. There was little else it could be. Attraction, respect, desire… “Yes. I do.”

  “And you will leave him?”

  “Not until I’m certain he’ll be safe. I will help in any way that I can.” Myla pushed away from the tree.

  She didn’t care to speak with the woman any longer and walked toward Damon. Michelle came up next to him as well, and before Myla could say anything, the older woman pushed forward, wrapping her arms around him. “Thank God you’re safe.”

  Damon set his mother back, an odd mixture of emotion erupting in his chest. “I am fine, Mother.” His eyes met and held Myla’s. Sadness laced the blue depths. “You can thank Myla for this. She saved me.”

  Something shifted in her expression, and Damon longed to hold her. What had his mother said in the few moments since they had returned? Surely his mother’s caustic tendencies had not caused Myla to regret her decision to return.

  “Then I owe her not only the apology I gave but my thanks as well.”

  His mother’s churlish tone triggered his protective instincts. “Any apology or statement made should be meant with feeling or not said at all, for as it is said, it rings hollow.”

  For a moment, she looked ready to speak. Instead, his mother nodded and turned away. She walked from the circle of people with her back straight and her head high. The woman’s disrespect knew no bounds. He would have to deal with her later, but for now, the elders waited.

  Disengaging himself from the tribe members, he closed the distance to reach Myla’s side. He brushed a curl back from her eye and tucked it behind her ear. The soft skin of her neck was exposed by the movement and begged for his kiss. He leaned in slightly before catching himself.

  She would have to stand on her own before the elders. He wanted them to understand her, to believe in her as he did, without influence for the reverence of a bajluk’s mate. They would have to respect her as he did—by her actions and knowledge.

  “I know you are tired, but the elders wait.”

  She closed her eyes for a brief moment and nodded. “Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  Pride welled deep within him. His woman. The woman who held the key to his people’s survival, and she met the challenges placed before her with hope. “I will stand with you, Myla. Always.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Damon stared at Goloruk, trying to control his frustration. He knelt before the elders, willing them to believe in her as he did. “You must listen to her.”

  The oldest member of the council of elders inhaled from his pipe before blowing the thick smoke through wrinkled lips. “Bajluk Maglayo, you will restrain yourself. There is no reason for this council to listen to the ranting of a woman bred from our enemies.” The others nodded their agreement.

  “She tells the truth, Goloruk.” Damon held the old man’s gaze.

  Oruminoch, seated to the right, leaned forward and braced his hands on his knees. “You dishonor yourself.” He pointed to Myla and laughed. “Does this white woman sit so well upon your thighs that you endanger us with her presence? She controls your mind through your staff, so you do not recognize her deception.”

  Damon stood, unable to tolerate such disrespect for Myla. For years he had feared these men and their power, the intelligence he believed they held. He saw them now as they were. Old men, scared of the changes that would come, holding fast to the old ways, not for the protection of his people, but because they feared the unknown.

  “You do not know what you say.”

  The men ignored him. Damon walked to Myla and pulled her forward gently. He knew she was afraid, but unless he convinced them to listen, everything they had gone through, all hope for a future of peace, would dissolve beneath their ignorance.

  “Listen to what she has to say, that is all that I ask.” The men stared, and Myla tried to move back under their intense gazes. Damon tried again. “Oruminoch, you and I have spoken before. The jungle has changed. Our people will starve if the plants and anima
ls continue to weaken in number. We are invaded, time and again by men who are evil. With our options limited and dwindling, what harm will it do to listen to what she has to say?”

  Nothing showed in the eyes of the elders. It was a trait that made them such powerful men. For several moments the men talked quietly among themselves. Then, Oruminoch spoke. “We will listen, but only in respect for the leader you have been.” He paused, his eyes centering on Damon’s. “Know this. There is little she can say that will change what we believe. What ideas she has planted in your mind will decide for us if you have weakened as bajluk.”

  Damon understood. His leadership was at stake. The elders questioned his ability now that he was swayed by a woman. A white woman.

  He knew Myla. He trusted her.

  Turning to place a hand on her shoulder, he willed her to understand his pride, his love. “Do not be scared. These men may look formidable, but they mean well. You are their enemy. It will be difficult to convince them of anything other than that.” He glanced at the men seated in silence behind him. He would not wish this task on anyone. If there was another way…

  “Damon?”

  The shaky whisper of her voice drew him back. “What is it?”

  “What if I can’t do it?” She took a heavy breath. “What if they don’t believe me? What happens then?”

  This was his struggle. That she would be willing to try was more than he could have asked. Her bravery in coming back with him sat heavy in his mind. Whether they listened to her or not, the outcome for her would remain the same.

  He smiled and ran his hand down her arm to squeeze her cold fingers. “No matter what happens, I will take you home.”

  She nodded and returned the pressure before letting go and stepping forward to face the men. Pride rippled through his body and seared his heart. This woman, his woman, would change the world with her smile and her kindness. The council would crumble beneath her.

  Silence filled the large hut, and Myla let her gaze wander over the intricate carvings and paintings that decorated the walls. The old men before her seemed of one age. Each with numerous beads and feathers adorning their weathered bodies, they sat in stoic, ugly silence.

  Their obsidian eyes pierced the mental armor she’d erected around herself for this meeting, and for a moment, the urge to run from the hut almost won out. But Damon needed her. She had to be strong. She had to make them understand.

  Clasping her hands together to hide their shakiness, she closed her eyes. You can do this. She squared her shoulders and met the cold stare of the council men.

  “I am not your enemy, though I understand your reluctance to believe as much.”

  Damon’s deep voice translated her words and his presence gave her strength. It poured through her, filling her with calm.

  “I cannot blame you for wishing to keep your lives and that of your people as they are now. In my world, the world outside of this one, my people die the same as yours. Children get sick, the old wither to dust. There are murders and atrocities that are unspeakable.

  “Battles very much like this one have been fought across every nation, with strong people fighting to keep what was theirs in the face of an enemy’s destruction. We are not perfect, nor do I believe we are any better than you. My people are far from godly. We have taken land, killed those who opposed and waged wars for money and greed.”

  Myla sensed the men’s anger, and she expected no less. As yet she’d given them nothing but the worst of her world. She took a steadying breath and realized her heart rate was slowing, her mind settling into a peaceful hope.

  “There is a good and bad in every country. Every government, tribe and race has its strength and weakness. You have yours, we have ours. The legacy we leave is the life we have led and what we did with it before our deaths. For your people as well as mine. We are no different.

  “But there are those of us who learn from history’s mistakes. There are people, many actually, who have come to understand that we are all a part of humanity, and the right to live as we please, in peace, is not to be taken merely because it can be.”

  Damon moved to stand next to her, his hand slipping into hers as she spoke. Without his presence, she wouldn’t have been able to stand here, to say the things she needed to say to these men.

  “You have invaded the lands of neighboring tribes. For what? Was it for food, to protect yourselves? Have you never fought because you wanted the land that would sustain your people?”

  She waited for Damon to relay her question and a ray of hope burgeoned when one of the elders nodded.

  “Then you must understand. These men who wish to take your land do it for the same reason. They want the riches beneath the soil, which might mean nothing to you, but hold immeasurable worth to them. It would give them the means to provide for their families for years to come.”

  The man who sat in the middle held his hand up. His voice was strong, a sharp contrast to his bent, wrinkled body. Damon turned to her. “He says you have said nothing they do not already know. But with every war waged against another tribe, our ancestors fought back bravely, with honor.”

  Myla nodded and turned to the man who spoke. “Do you believe they would have, knowing there was no way for them to win? That every man, woman and child would perish? That the tide of the enemy would never end?”

  The old man did not look at Damon but held her gaze with steady, intelligent eyes. He nodded, though somewhat uncertainly.

  She moved forward. “And if they had another option? A choice that they could hold on to their way of life, if they only accepted the help of people who wanted to offer that?”

  He nodded again and spoke to Damon. Myla waited, the inflection in his words once again fanning the soft whispers of hope she harbored. Damon‘s voice joined his then. “He says a good leader would weigh all options. He would not dismiss that which was good for his people. But a good leader would also refuse to let his people be led by deceit and lies. That is all the white man has brought us. Lies, death, illness.”

  Myla took a deep breath. “I know. But it took a long time before what was happening to your tribe was brought to the attention of people who wished to help. People like me, who want to stop these men. They create a legacy for my people that shames me.”

  Here was the turning point. These were the facts she had to make them understand. “You banish a person when they shame you, but this does not happen in my world. Bad men and women are sent to jail, prison where they must serve a punishment for the crimes and shame they cause. It takes time for the good people to find the bad ones.”

  She held her hands out. “It has taken the good people too long to discover the bad, and your tribes have suffered for it. But we are helping now. We have protected your land and your people without your knowledge. And there is land. Free, unchanged, protected, where you can live without fear of the men who have harmed you and invaded your lands.

  “But I can only help you if you choose to trust me.”

  Damon ran his thumb over her fingers and she looked up at him. He finished translating her words and they waited together in silence.

  One of the old men spoke again and Myla’s heart pounded against her chest. All the calm she’d managed to create evaporated with his few short words. The sudden deafening rush in her ears muffled Damon’s voice and she had to strain to hear him.

  “He wants to know what you are asking from us.”

  Myla smiled. “Damon must come with me to speak to the government officials.” She stopped and tried to think of a way to explain, but Damon spoke instead.

  He slid her a quick smile. “I told them you have a larger council of wise men and they call themselves a government.”

  Silence weighed heavy in the hut. Her senses were on highest alert, and the scents of the jungle she’d come to know filled her. Dust particles floated through the sunshine that showed through the windows of the hut, and the happy laughter of children drifted in from outside.

  “He mu
st come with me and give witness to what these white men have done. Then the government will understand and let you move to this land of protection.”

  Damon repeated her words and when the man who sat in the center of the line of elders stood, Damon pulled her forward. “Myla, this is Goloruk. He is my great uncle, and the wisest of the council.”

  Myla bowed her head in respect. A respect she felt to her core for a man who’d survived for untold years in a harsh world filled with evil. “Goloruk, it is an honor.”

  The old man squinted up into her eyes. “You wish—” he glanced at Damon, “—mejgu?”

  Damon nodded. “Help.”

  Goloruk turned back to her. “You wish help my people.” The deeply ridged lids of his eyes hung low over his pupils. “Why?”

  “Because you are a brother, father, great uncle to me as well.”

  Damon repeated her statement and Goloruk stared a moment longer before moving away. As one, the rest of the elders also turned away.

  Myla didn’t know what to expect, but when Damon bowed, muttered a few words and pulled her from the hut, she followed eagerly. Taking a deep breath of the fresh air as they emerged, she turned to him. “What now?”

  He smiled, his eyes shifting to the jungle around them. “We must wait.”

  Myla crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?” His slight smirk told her he had more to say. “Tell me. Do you think they will agree?”

  He nodded, and without warning picked her up and swung her in a circle before pressing his lips to hers. Her laughter echoed around them, and when Damon finally released her, several children had come close to watch their leader and his antics.

  Damon spoke to them and one of the little girls walked over to Myla. She pointed at the beads around her neck. Damon pulled her to his side. “She recognizes your beads.”