Lightning flashed, and thunder rolled. He watched the ground for flooding, but the water dispersed into the soil and his fears of the cub drowning eased. The wind whipped the uppermost leaves, but lower to the ground the growth was undisturbed, shielded by the dense canopy.
The rise and fall of Fergie’s chest was deep and even. Her body lay pliant, her limbs dangling over his forearms.
He studied her strange human face and concluded she would grow to be a fine female. He hoped she would like him and consider him family. A cherished uncle, perhaps. It would be nice to watch her grow and flourish on Vayhalun. There was endless opportunity for the friendly, curious child. She was smart enough to take advantage of them, he could tell.
Thoughts of his mother intruded.
Stiffening, taking a deep, calming breath, he shoved her exquisite face into the pitch black of his memories. Fergie stirred. His arms were rigid, squeezing to the point of discomfort.
He forcibly relaxed his muscles.
Éorik had never thought of breeding young. His past made him leery. Even if there had been a female he valued enough, something he couldn’t imagine, there was never enough time in his day to spare for anyone but Beowyn. He frowned. It was unfair to think such things. He had chosen his path. His King would never bid him sacrifice dreams of a mate and family to continue as his Defender. It was Éorik’s own wants and desires that held him fast at the Great One’s side. One thing he knew for certain was that caring for a cub was exhausting, took constant vigilance and patience. Had he never been forced into this situation, he admitted it was likely he would have ignored the tender feelings he found himself having towards the babe. He laughed. He doubted Beowyn had yet felt this paternal urge to protect. Once he did the male would be insufferable.
His laughter died, and his drifted eyes shut. His throat bobbed. ‘I had better find you alive, Owyn, Sìne. Gods help me if I do not.’
With the setting sun of the next rotation, having near exhausted the cub with his constant movement–desperately seeking higher ground–Éorik realised they were hunted. Dei San or L’Odo.
He vacillated between the two then decided it didn’t matter.
Whichever species lay hands on the cub would have no care for her innocence. The terror she would experience made his hands shake let alone thoughts of the pain such foul-in-spirit creatures would visit upon her growing body. Torture was a horror he was willing to face to protect those he cared for. He had trained for solars to gain the mental tools to withstand it.
If they captured him would they be satisfied? His end would be ignoble, but he would rather suffer and die than let them gain a cub for a plaything. He smoothed a hand over her head. He wished he could explain himself.
She would think he abandoned her.
Setting her soft, warm body into the carved out hollow, he tucked her hands behind her head to offer some comfort. He used his tattered cape to cover her and pressed a light kiss to her downy curls. She sighed in her sleep, and his hands trembled as he used the larger leaves to obscure her hiding place.
Taking care to leave no trail, Éorik hiked through the damp undergrowth, returning to where he’d last scented the fetid pong. He slowed. His stride criss-crossed as he crept along the broken stalks and disturbed bush. His body grew taut as a bowstring, prepared for the trackers to catch his scent on the breeze and…he stopped.
Something was not right.
It niggled at him until he inhaled to calm his feral instincts then grew hunter-quiet. He again sucked in air and curled his tongue, taking the scent-tainted breath deep into his lungs, tasting the motes. Decomposing leaves. Stone. Hot animal and rank, humid air. That was all. No pungent rot or eye-watering waft of odour. Only the scent of alien forest. His raptor-keen gaze scoured the dirt but could find no spoor nor evidence of flaky skin shedding. Dei San had never come this way. The pungent stench they emitted was absent. L’Odo were craftier, but the putrescence they frothed through their jagged teeth while salivating was nowhere to be found.
Retracing his steps, Éorik found stinking rags hung over a branch. Splashes of black ichor dripped from the trees. His chest heaved. Tricked. Some creature learned he feared discovery by the raiders and baited him with a false trail. The ruse was well done, but for what purpose? Why would a sentient wish to deceive another lost, stranded being…. Moisture in his mouth dried, and for a blurred moment, he thought he might actually swoon. He raced back to where he’d hidden the cub and shoved aside the leaves. Gone. His breath fled in a burst of panic.
Wild eyes scorched the ground but found no disturbance in the mud other than his gridiron boot prints.
Éorik spun yowling her name then froze.
Ovals of icy light watched from the umbral jungle. A shape took form, its blue-grey magnitude vast, its barefooted tread soft as fallen ash.
Red-faced, the cub dangled from its indolent grip on her waste pouch.
Bowls turning to water, Éorik knew fear. His hand jerked for the knife on his belt. Cramped fingers snapped over the hilt. ‘Take your hands off my young.’
Matte grey eyes narrowed. The vacant orbs lowered to the squirming bundle. ‘What is it?’ Its voice was crushed rock and screaming death. ‘We know you are Verak. We even know your face. This one.’ He jostled the cub. ‘This creature is not known to us.’
The cub wailed becoming more distressed the longer Éorik remained out of reach. ‘Ori? Please? Home and Mammy now.’ She whimpered. ‘Ori.’
Éorik calmed his mind and scanned the rustling foliage. Were there others? Stillness hugged his body and made it easier for his senses to depict the scents and sounds of the jungle. His gaze returned to the threat. ‘I care not the Horde are an ally to the Verak. I care less you hail from the most feared species in the known universe.’ He swallowed a whine, the thicker fur under his arms damp.’ I know you are able to rip my spine through my flesh. To leave me as a pile of offal to feed the savage beasts of this world.’ Vibrating, Éorik forced himself to remain frozen. ‘But I made the decision to claim the cub as my own, as blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, and nothing, no one, all powerful or not, may threaten what I claim. You will kill me, but know I take you with me.’ A breeze stirred his hair and cloak. ‘Set her free and be gone.’
The male stared, unblinking and uncaring. ‘We asked a question.’
‘Fergie is human and mine.’
Blue shaded features sharp and angular faced the sky. ‘Do you and your spawn await rescue?’
‘I managed to send a distress call on the emergency frequencies. If we survive, we will be found.’ He unsheathed his dagger and held it flush against his thigh. ‘Put her down. I will not ask again.’
‘We trade this,’ the alien lifted Fergie higher, ‘for passage.’
Éorik pressed the dagger harder into his leg. ‘Done.’
‘We are known to Destruction as Hel Bihter.’
‘I do not care.’ Sheathing his blade, Éorik extended his arms. ‘Give me my cub.’ Palms full of warm, mylk-scented weight, finally, he squeezed Fergie to his chest. He purred when she squirmed and rubbed her face into his. Hot tears drenched his beard. ‘Lah, I have you.’
‘We must find shelter.’
Éorik walked backwards. ‘Good Parting, then.’
‘Our bargain?’
‘You have the word of the Verak High Commander, my word, we will not leave the planet without you. We need not keep company until retrieval.’
Hel Bihter cocked his head. ‘We are unmatched. Dei San and L’Odo do not trouble us.’ His eyes lowered to Fergie. ‘You have spawn. She is prey and it draws them.’ He jerked his chin towards the direction he emerged from. ‘The other Verak will honour our trade if you and the spawn perish?’
Boot heel lifted off the springy ground, Éorik ceased to move. ‘You know where Beowyn is?’
‘We watched the Verak King then left when we sensed Dei San discovered your trail. Other males were taken this last quarter-rotation. They did not interest us so we
left them.’
It sounded as if most if not all their party had survived the crash landing. News of the human males’ capture was troubling, however, and though Éorik rejoiced inside, his outward expression remained grim. ‘He is alone?’
‘There is a breeder he guards. It smells like the spawn.’
‘Sìne.’ Éorik briefly closed his eyes. He rubbed Fergie’s trembling back. ‘Did you hear, little one? They are alive. Your Mammy is safe.’
Fergie opened drowsy eyes. She sniffed. ‘Mammy?’
‘Will you take us to them?’ Éorik all but held his breath. ‘Our rescue–.’ He jerked and lurched to the side as a quartet of spiked throwing blades sliced past his cheek and neck.
Hel Bihter spun to glare into the low canopy. ‘After. We kill things now.’
‘No.’ Calm in the midst of impending battle, Éorik pushed Fergie into his leathers. He closed the fastenings. ‘I cannot risk the cub.’
‘Flee. We will follow.’
Éorik took off into the gloomy press of yellow and orange vegetation.
Tangled thicket glanced off his horns and tore at his face. He ripped aside woody vines and leapt over hip-high aerial roots, the plant organs thrusting from the dense undergrowth in an orgy of entwined, knurled limbs.
Loam and rotting mulch transitioned to mossy stone as the under-storey vanished into a gorge.
He skidded to a stop in a spray of grit. The pebbles disappeared into the mist blanketing the depression.
Tapering into the distance and wider than his field of vision, the sunken landform spread in the middle, a cratered valley with ravines worn into its sheer cliffside by tributaries and streams. It explained why he’d been unable to locate the high ground. He was on it. ‘Dah.’ He pivoted to run adjacent to the lethal plunge. His stride lengthened, abdominals flexing as he hopped and bounded along the rocks littering the ledge, body and breath jarring.
Nesting birds took to the skies in a squawking fury as the grunting, screeching Dei San trackers stampeded along the ridge in pursuit. The pack crashed through the jungle, spreading out on his blindside, reducing and blocking the avenues of escape.
Éorik’s heart thudded as he realised the escarpment ended just up ahead. A thunderous deluge poured over its edge.
Hel Bihter’s cold breath gusted over his nape. ‘Jump.’
‘I cannot.’
He had no choice.
Éorik reached his run’s end and lunged over the precipice, knees coming to his chest, hands flying out. His instincts shrieked. The fall was too deep. His arms wheeled and his legs kicked. Tattered cloak and snowy mane streamed behind him. Air whistled, shoving into his nose and gaping mouth, and his vision was a pastel smudge.
Roaring a challenge, the cascading water raced him to the bottom, drowning the cries of his doomed cub.
Nebulous blue light flashed through the canyon.
Éorik’s momentum slowed as the air compacted then released. He regained velocity but recovered enough from his shock to straighten his legs and snap shut his arms. Sucking down the little air to be had, he crashed feet first into the churning river. Dirty dark. Stinging weeds and biting fish. No air. Spinning and twisting without knowing up from down, he headed to the lighter brown abyss towards his left.
Éorik kicked and kicked until he breached the salty froth, sense of direction snapping back into place.
He gasped and gasped while his lungs burned. Strong undercurrent pulled at his legs while eddies swirling on the surface pushed at his torso.
Fergie thrashed. Choking. He flipped onto his back, keeping the cub’s head above water as best he could.
She vomited hot runny spew onto his chin and throat, the pungent stink washed away by his next pant for air.
Éorik struggled against the raging flow in a crude approximation of a backstroke. Branches sliced through the water, sharp enough to impale his skull, but it was a glimpse blue flesh powering past that startled him into further action. He aimed for a boulder growing larger and braced. He slammed into it face first. Finger claws scrabbled along its slimy smoothness for purchase as his legs carried on downriver.
Gritting his teeth, muscles seizing, Éorik stole a moment to inhale boggy stench and gather his strength. He gained against the current in incremental jerks until his knees hit the same curve of the boulder. It offered enough leverage for him to reach out an arm and snag a dangling vine. He used its coarse length to reel himself in.
Crawling onto the muddy bank, cold, yellowy sludge squishing into every orifice, he collapsed on his bruised side, a wrinkled husk drained of energy.
Fergie wriggled against his chest. Her hiccups and wails of protest were a delight to his waterlogged ears.
A pair of bare feet with three fused-toes squelched to a halt at his head. Blue knees dropped into view.
Éorik gaze lifted to their looming saviour. ‘What you did. The light.’ His voice was hoarse and his chest ached. ‘That is how we survived the drop.’
Hel Bihter swivelled his head, eyes raking the impenetrable mesh of leaves. ‘We are close to your people now. Up. More come. We want off this planet.’
A groan easing from his throat as he staggered upright, Éorik dug deep into the well of his endurance and straightened his shoulders. He stroked the cub’s soggy hair. ‘Gratitude for–.’ This time he smelt it. His dagger was out its sheath and buried in the L’Odo’s retreating back before he consciously registered the throw. ‘A scout. If it overheard us it will tell its chieftain of us and the others.’ Cursing, Éorik shook his head. ‘What now?’
Hel Bihter’s grey eyes brightened. ‘We hunt.’
Chapter 10
Darkness crept along the rust-streaked sky when Beowyn stopped.
I trudged headlong into his stiff back. Picking myself off the floor, I regarded with alarm his feral posture.
He crouched, pointed ears twitching.
Head tilted in a manner eerily animal, the star shaped pupils of his eyes blown wide as he scanned the dark spaces. Not even a slight stirring of breath gave him away.
I went to move, and he took me with him to the boggy ground in a twisted movement. I ended up prone in the stinking muck with him covering me, my pulse ragged, his arm wrapped around my middle, and his brawny thigh wedged between mine.
With his groin flush to my arse, moving in jerks against me as he scoped our surroundings, my face heated.
He shifted his arm up my front, forearm sliding between my breasts to press a finger to my lips. A ridged talon tip pricked the base of my septum.
I nodded to acknowledge the need for silence.
Using his hands on my body as a guide, I eased onto my knees. I forced my mind not to dwell on the gooey mud beneath my palms. I imagined the hairy, many-legged things that scuttled under my wrists and slithered between my fingers were merely dead leaves. I pretended the bursts of rank odour plugging my nasal passage and slicking my tongue with sour saliva as I disturbed the undergrowth didn’t make my gorge rise, and my eyes water.
I crawled under the cage of his limbs until my arms throbbed.
Bushes thwacked me in the face and neck with their sticky petals and acidic thorns. I paused to push a clump of my tangled hair from my eyes, leaving a streak of dirt on my cheek.
The musty pungency of my unwashed body wafted into my nose each time I shifted, and my clothes snuck to the creases and crevasses of my aching body in a most uncomfortable way. As we slogged on, I found it hard to catch my breath in the soupy jungle air.
The prolonged physical exertion made me light-headed, nauseated, so whatever danger Beowyn sensed, I prayed we’d avoid it soon.
On a sharp intake of breath, my protector pushed on my lower back.
I arched into the warning touch, signalling I understood to be still.
We peeked over the bank of mud held back by a rotten tree and its decaying leaves, their pest-bitten edges bearing browning crescents. I peered down a steep slope worn smooth by critters. It led to a natural break i
n the seemingly impenetrable foliage.
My heart sank, a hot rock lodged in my belly, burning, blistering.
Aled, Uncle Fergus and Rowan were hogtied. Their contorted figures lay squirming amid a rabble of mottle-skinned beings I might have dredged from a feverish nightmare than imagined of an advanced alien species.
My chest constricted as my Uncle Fergus was set free, yanked onto his feet then pushed and shoved by a pair of the taunting, green and yellow-fleshed creatures. Their beady eyes and elongated snouts lent a repugnant animality to their upright bipedalism.
I could only assume these were either the mysterious L’Odo or Dei San the Verak reacted with such disgust over.
I’d long decided I hated them.
Red-faced, Fergus alternately cringed and shook whitened fists at anyone who drew close. A leering alien slashed him with a serrated instrument. It brayed laughter when crimson blood spilled from the ragged cut. Fergus made a close-lipped bellow of frustration. Bewildered by the clicking alien noises, he spun in circles as he tried to make sense of the hostile environment.
Rowan begged them to stop.
Threats streamed from Aled’s mouth in a torrent of Welsh. His violent struggles were rewarded with an apathetic kick to the temple.
Dazed, he collapsed onto his front.
Rowan wriggled closer, and using his shoulder, he propped Aled up. The man’s lolling head stopped sinking into the mud, but the muck already clogged his nose and rimmed his slack mouth.
My eyes darted around the edges of the ragtag group. I couldn’t see the rest of our scattered party. That didn’t mean they weren’t near. Horrified at the cruelty playing out below, I prayed Fergie was unharmed and distant, even if it meant she was far from me.
Beowyn’s hand on my back stroked. It stopped at my waist and applied pressure. I tore me eyes away from my family. The light from the fires glinted in his eyes as my own asked a question.
He jerked his head over his shoulder and again caressed me; this time his hand gripped my hip.