She sat up then and looked him in the eye. She sniffed back the tears. “I’m being silly, I know.”
“You are a bit of a silly thing,” he admitted, though something warm and fierce and proud burned in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be.”
He brushed the greatly matted braids off her face. “I should hate it if you weren’t.” He had turned his body so he shielded her in a very chivalrous manner from the view of the others, she and her tears and her diaphanous chemise, which was torn almost to shreds now. He said low, almost a growl in her ear, “That was a very stupid rescue, you realize. You could have been killed. I shouldn’t want to see you do that again.” He gave her a stern look.
“I’m sorry,” she said, though actually she was not. She had come so close to losing Quinn forever. The realization made her want to cry all over again. “I was so afraid, but I knew I had to do something.”
Quinn brought her hand to his lips. “Funny, the whole time I was with the Moja, I wasn’t frightened at all.”
Her eyes widened. “You weren’t?”
He smirked, a little. “I was too miserable to be afraid. I kept thinking about not seeing you again. That seemed a more terrible fate than dying, somehow.” He paused, as if the words embarrassed him terribly. He looked away, but not before she recognized the fierceness of love in his eyes.
“Quinn…” she began, but he interrupted.
“I really do mean to make you my wife, and I’m sorry to say you’ll have to obey my every word. No derring-do’s, no big escapes, no rescues.” He smiled then, a teasing, genuine smile, and tapped her nose for emphasis. “I shall have to be very firm with you, I think. It will be a difficult task, but I’m sure I can make a proper wife of you.”
She tried to imagine Quinn “taming” her; the thought just made her smile through her tears.
He stared down at her in that all-consuming way that he had, like she was the only thing in his world. “My brave Sasha,” he said. He leaned down, took her face in his big hands, and kissed her, a kiss that seemed to reach deep inside of her and make her heart flutter and her insides feel honey warm She marveled at the roughness of his hands and voice and the tender carefulness of his kisses. She was still cold and shaking and miserable, but it felt so good to have Quinn near, pressed against her, kissing her, keeping her safe. She would have given almost anything just to go to Africa with Quinn, to see gentle elephants and talk to bushmen with him at her side.
She had almost lost herself in the fantasy of it all when she saw Naja hurrying toward them through the heavy soft sand, her javelin at her side and her bow jouncing over one shoulder. She looked pale and worried, her dark blue eyes wide in her face. She stopped, breathlessly, and said, “We must leave now. The Moja are returning.”
CHAPTER 24
There were only four of them, and over three hundred Moja. Somehow, the odds just didn’t seem stacked in their favor today.
“Can you run?” Quinn asked her, gently and seriously.
“Yes,” she answered, though she wasn’t at all sure. She ached everywhere, as if someone had dragged her behind a horse. She pushed upward and Quinn helped her to her feet. She weaved dangerous and he kept his arm about her waist.
“Sasha…”
“I’m fine,” she told him, trying to convince herself.
Toby had rejoined them by this time. He and Naja gave each other meaningful looks, nodded in unison, and moved to stand as a barrier between the oncoming Moja and Sasha and Quinn. A line of Moja braves crested the beachhead and started down the sandy slope toward them, armed with spears and javelins. Toby took Naja’s hand and stood tall as Quinn looked on in confusion at this act of bravery on Toby’s part. “This is all my fault,” he said by way of an explanation. “Sasha will explain everything.” He swallowed hard, armoring himself in courage. “Naja and I will try and negotiate for your release, Quinn.”
Quinn climbed shakily to his feet, clutching Sasha close “We’ll stand together. I’ll just need a weapon.”
“No, you’ll stay.” Toby looked to Sasha for her support.
Sasha nodded and took Quinn’s hand. Neither of them were strong enough to fight at the moment. It would be a miracle if they could even run. And she well knew it.
Quinn said, cautiously, “Thank you, Toby.”
Toby hefted his bow. “My pleasure.” Without waiting for further protests, he turned and started down the beach toward the Moja. Naja followed a few steps behind, sometimes glancing back at them to make certain they weren’t following.
Quinn fell back to the sand with Sasha in his lap. It was then that Sasha realized he was bleeding from multiple wounds. His wrists were scraped raw by the manacles, and one even still dangled from his left hand. There were bright red wounds bleeding through the holes in his trousers and scrapes decorating his face and arms. She found her handkerchief and busied herself with attending to the worst of the scrapes while Quinn kept his eyes steady on the horizon. “That boy is going to get himself killed.” He looked at her. “What did he mean, this was all his fault?”
She told him. She kept her words clipped, letting no emotion leak into her voice. She was no longer angry with Toby or Naja. She was just tired and finished and afraid. She wanted to be away from this place as soon as possible. She waited for an explosion of anger from Quinn, but he just sat in the sand and watched the negotiations over her shoulder. “You loved Toby, yes?” he said at last. “When you were still children?”
“Yes,” she answered. There was no reason to lie about it.
“Do you love him still?”
She wiped dried blood from the corner of Quinn’s mouth. She thought about that. “Yes. I expect I’ll always love him. In some ways, he was my first. And he’s my friend.” She saw a shadow creep behind Quinn’s eyes and added, “But I chose you as my lover, Quinn. I chose you as my mate.”
“‘I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,’” he quoted.
She stopped and let out her breath. “Yes.”
“I chose you too,” Quinn said suddenly.
His words were so sincere her throat closed up and new tears blurred her eyes. No one had ever said that to her before, not even Toby.
Quinn looked worried. “What are you thinking?”
Sasha forced a smile. “I was thinking the first time we were alone together, I hit you with a log.”
Quinn mirrored her smile, though much more sheepishly. “You didn’t care much for me back then.”
“I hated you, actually.”
Quinn blanched. She could tell he hadn’t expected this much honesty from her. “That log hurt. Did you enjoy hitting me with it?”
She smiled. “Very much so.”
“You are a very strange girl, Sasha.”
“So they tell me.”
Toby and Naja had returned from their negotiations. Toby stopped and reassured his hold on his javelin. He looked…not well, pale beneath his summery tan.
Sasha stood up. “What did the Moja say?”
Toby shook his head. “I talked to Tojo, their chief. They’re trying to decide whether to throw us all into the sea.” Sasha started to say something but Toby held up a hand for silence. “Naja and I tried to negotiate by showing Tojo the bow and arrows and promising to show his people better ways to hunt.”
“And they don’t want to hear it,” Quinn guessed.
“They said their god hasn’t been appeased, and until he is, they won’t let us go.” He looked to Naja, who nodded him on. “We think that’s just a way for Tojo to recover his pride. He’s lost face among his people since Quinn escaped Bolaja.”
Sasha let out her breath and shuddered. She glanced up at the long line of powerfully built warriors watching them so intently. It was conceivable that they might be able to outrun the Moja, though she didn’t know if they would ever truly be free. The Moja might send scouts to retrieve them. The Moja might follow them. Naja had said they were nomadic.
Toby, as if
sensing her unease, added, “So I challenged Tojo for his place as tribal leader.”
Sasha started. “Are you mad?” The man was a giant.
Toby’s face was grim and stony, nothing like the carefree boy she had once known. But then, they’d all changed so much since this little adventure had begun. “Possibly. But if I kill Tojo, all of you will be free to go. Including Naja.” He took Naja’s hand and squeezed it. He turned to look at them all. “It was the least I could do to make up for my mistake.”
“Toby…” She started to reach for him, but Quinn pulled her back, allowing Toby to walk hand-in-hand with Naja back to the waiting Moja tribe.
“Let him have his pride, Sasha,” he said.
“And if he doesn’t kill Tojo, Quinn?”
Quinn smiled, bitterly. “Well, then, we all die together as one big happy family.”
CHAPTER 25
Everyone gathered down on the beach and the Moja set a ring of small bonfires around Tojo and Toby.
Tojo was as tall as Quinn but twice as wide as Toby. He came from the same mixed genetic stock as Naja—dark-skinned, dark hair and dark blue eyes. He was built like an Irish boxer. A hard, nomadic lifestyle had chiseled Tojo into a mountain of hard muscles and harder, unsmiling expressions. His face, and body, crawled with arcane tattoos and body piercings full of jangling bones and fearsome bits of metal. According to Naja, Tojo was not tribal leader because he had been born into it, or because he had been elected, but because he brought the most meat to the tribe. He was the Great Hunter, a title of enormous respect among the Moja, who valued hunting above all other skills. As Great Hunter, Tojo had his pick of meat and woman, and all in the tribe deferred to him. One of his duties was to appease the gods and to ensure they all saw good hunting on the plains in the coming season, hence the reason for all the sacrifices to Bolaja of late. Quinn’s timely escape had rattled the people’s faith, and Tojo had lost face. Thus, Tojo was a very angry young man.
Sasha sighed at all that wounded male ego eyeing them so savagely.
Tojo wore only a loincloth and had a wicked-looking dagger made of some large carnivore’s tooth. Toby was bare-chested and bore Quinn’s knife, which Quinn had, by some miracle—or only by pure stubbornness (Sasha was betting on stubbornness)—managed to hang onto, even during their swim. Sasha, Quinn and Naja stood clustered together at the edge of the circle with powerful Moja tribesmen keeping a close eye on them. If Toby failed, they were all going back into the sea, including Naja, now considered by her people to be Toby’s woman.
Toby looked sure of himself, but Tojo struck first, lunging at Toby and bringing his knife around in a whirling arc. Toby caught Tojo’s wrist, halting the flashing knife inches before it would have reached his face. The Moja braves screamed jubilantly as the two men scuffled in the sand, egging them on.
Sasha’s first instinct was to help Toby. She took a step toward him, but Quinn grabbed her around the middle, holding her firmly in place. Let the boy have his pride, he’d said. She tried not to worry. Toby was a scrapper. He’d grown up in the East End. He knew how to fight. And today he surprised her. He slid in under Tojo’s arm, grabbed Tojo’s wrist, and jerked his arm back, throwing Tojo down in the sand. He tried to stomp Tojo’s face, but Tojo grabbed his foot and flung him over onto his back. Then Tojo was on his feet again and bearing down with his knife.
Toby rolled out of the way and sprang to his feet. He’d lost Quinn’s knife, but he had other weapons. He clenched his fists and made a shield for his face. Letting out his breath, Toby jabbed at Tojo’s jaw, driving the bigger man back down to earth. Sand hissed as it was scattered wide and the Moja, both men and women alike, screamed as one and began to chant, obviously impressed with Toby’s bare-knuckled boxing method. Tojo shook his head and bounced nimbly back to his feet. His face was like stone. Stone that bled. He screamed, a primal note of male hostility, and Toby jerked at the sound, caught off balance by it. Tojo’s arm came around, and in it was the knife.
Sasha screamed a warning, but too late. Tojo’s knife ripped across Toby’s exposed chest, drawing a long garnet line across his tanned skin. Toby lurched backward, almost stumbling into one of the bonfires at his back. But Tojo was showing no mercy. He flung himself at Toby, his knife fully extended. Toby moved, but not soon enough. Tojo clipped Toby’s shoulder with the blade and there was a spurt of fresh blood. The two men went down hard in a tangle of limbs, bloodying the sand beneath them. Toby reached up and ripped the doorknocker from Tojo’s nose. Tojo screamed and lost his knife. At her back, Sasha could hear Quinn quietly and ardently cheering Toby on.
Suddenly there was a scramble for the knife just out of arm’s reach of both men. Tojo’s arms were longer; he was going to get there sooner, so Toby reached back, took a handful of burning ash from the bonfire, and flung it at Tojo’s face. Tojo roared and flung himself away.
Toby, his teeth gritted against the burning pain of his hand and blood running from his multiple wounds, flung himself atop Tojo, but the blinded Tojo reached up and clutched Toby’s throat in a hand nearly twice the size of Toby’s. Toby choked, his eyes flaring with pain and surprise, and started scrabbling in the sand for the fallen knife, but it had slipped too far away. Sasha felt Quinn shift behind her and subtlety kick the knife so it spun toward Toby’s open, grasping hand. His fingers closed over the ivory hilt and he brought it up and down in an arc, embedding it in Tojo’s shoulder. Tojo grunted as more of his blood began to flow, and suddenly he let Toby go. Toby rolled away and climbed unsteadily to his feet, staring in horror at what he had done and choking and rubbing at his bruised throat.
“Stupid boy,” Quinn whispered behind Sasha as he watched Toby stagger around in a circle as the Moja cheered him on. “You’re supposed to kill him…”
Sasha was about to protest that when Tojo reached up and pulled Quinn’s knife from his own flesh with no trouble at all, despite the copious amount of blood he was losing. Screaming savagely, his teeth full of blood, he threw himself at Toby. Toby turned at the last moment, a look of surprise on his face, and caught Tojo’s wrist, holding it apart. It was déjà vu, almost like the beginning of the fight, except that this time, Toby’s eyes went wild and unfocused. He screamed and brought his free hand around, ripping a gouge in Tojo’s face with his fingernails.
Now Tojo screamed, a wild, ululating sound like one of the animals on the plains being slaughtered. Toby twisted the man’s wrist so hard there was a muted snap and Tojo dropped Quinn’s knife. He brought his other hand around, and in it was a second knife no one knew he’d had. Toby only saw it out of the corner of his eye as Tojo aimed it toward Toby’s midsection, but he had lost his momentum. He was in too much pain and had lost too much blood. Toby caught the man’s hand, reversed the knife’s trajectory, and drove the blade into Tojo’s belly.
There was a terrible moment when everything stopped and Sasha could tell the Moja were holding their collective breaths, waiting to see if they would have a new leader this day. Then Tojo staggered back, looked at all the blood on his hands from the knife wound in his gut, and dropped to the sand.
Toby fell too so he was sitting in the sand, panting and wild-eyed, covered in a combination of his and Tojo’s blood. For a moment he almost didn’t seem aware of it. He didn’t seem aware of anything. Then he looked at his hands, his voice hitched once, and he started to cry like a child.
CHAPTER 26
Sasha and Quinn stayed with the Moja for three days.
During that time, the Moja declared Toby the new Great Hunter, the leader of their nomadic little tribe. At first, Toby was horribly maudlin about the whole affair, but after spending a few hours talking with Naja, he was resolved. He said this was where he belonged, helping the Moja learn to survive without the sacrifices. One of Toby’s first declarations was that the allies of the Great Hunter—to wit, Sasha and Quinn—should be regarded as great hunters themselves. He promised the Moja that he would protect them from their angry gods, and that the new season wou
ld be the greatest the Moja had ever know, primarily because of the new hunting methods he would teach them. The Moja accepted this with barefaced logic. In the end, they were all about the hunt.
On the third day, Sasha ducked out of the wigwam she shared with Quinn and walked to the top of the cliff heads overlooking the beach to watch the morning tide roll it. The scouring sea wind blew her long braids back and scuffed across her perpetually windburned face, yet she hardly felt it. She pulled the handmade afghan the women had given her close about her shoulders more for comfort than anything else. Beneath it she wore the tunic of the Moja tribe, and durable Moja-made boots that reached to her knees. Quinn said she looked very beautiful in the primitive clothing.
She watched Quinn and the other young braves down on the beach, fishing in the shallows. Some used javelins and others bows and quarrels. Despite the loss of Dotty and the great upheaval of the Moja tribe, it had been a good three days. Peaceful. She was almost sorry to move on, though she knew Quinn was feeling restless, eager to find John and the Valley of Song. The Moja considered him a great hunter like Toby and called him Amo-Bolaja, which meant “god-killer” in the Moja language. They believed that Quinn had not only escaped Bolaja, but had somehow scared him off. And though Quinn was very flattered about the whole thing, she could see the homesickness in his eyes when she looked into them at night. Homesickness not for London, but for his beloved Africa.
Planet of Dinosaurs, The Complete Collection (Includes Planet of Dinosaurs, Sea of Serpents, & Valley of Dragons) Page 18