Love in the Wild: A Tarzan Retelling

by Emma Castle

  Thorne pointed in the direction they had to go. “Come. The cave awaits you.”

  As soon as his back was turned, Eden screamed, warning him just in time, but he turned a second too late. A cold blade sank into Thorne’s side. Holt held the lethal dagger in him for a long second before pulling it out, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

  “I’ll not let you win, you hear me? The treasure in that cave is mine, and I will get it, either from you or from someone else!” he snarled as he held Thorne close in a deadly embrace.

  For a second, Thorne could only stare at Holt. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. The cave was supposed to deal with him. Destiny. What about destiny?

  Eden rammed her elbow into Holt’s stomach, and he grunted, releasing her. She swung, punching him in the jaw even as he reached for his gun. Through pain-fogged eyes, Thorne watched helplessly as the gun fired.

  Eden cried out, falling back into the water, a bloom of red spreading across the water. Thorne broke through the haze of pain and splashed toward her, but they were too close to the edge of the falls.

  “Eden!”

  She struggled to stand. “Thorne, look out!” Thorne knew Holt was coming for him, but it didn’t matter—only Eden did. She was on her feet now, barely holding her ground against the pull of the water as it vanished over the towering falls.

  “I’m coming!” Thorne called out to her, but Holt raised his gun again, aiming at Eden. When he fired, Thorne roared as Eden stumbled back over the edge of the falls.

  “Even if she survived the shot, she won’t survive the fall.” Holt’s tone was as cold as his eyes. “You think I’m going to let you waltz me into some kind of mystic ambush? You don’t think I know that this stone holds power? More power than you can even imagine.”

  Thorne faced Holt, every bit of strength in him exploded outward as he tore the rope binding his wrists clean apart.

  Holt cursed and slipped in the river as he tried to retreat. “Would one of you guys shoot him already? What am I bloody paying you for?”

  Rifle shots exploded from the trees, but they weren’t coming from Holt’s men, who were falling to the ground or trying to find cover. Thorne looked to the shore. His friends had arrived, half-hidden in the foliage, firing upon Holt’s men and pinning them down.

  Thorne looked back at Holt, and a grim satisfaction began to fill him as the battle raged along the shore. He advanced on Holt, ignoring the pain in his side.

  “Get back!” Holt aimed his gun at Thorne’s chest, but when he pulled the trigger, nothing happened. He tried to clear the jam, but the slide wouldn’t budge.

  “Shit!” With a growl, Holt threw the gun into the water and held up his long knife, still stained crimson with Thorne’s blood.

  “I should have killed you myself all those years ago. I made a mistake, thinking the jungle would take you.”

  Thorne felt the voices from the cave escaping his lips in a low growl. “The jungle did take me. I am its child, and I will not die here, not by your hand.” He could barely feel the deep wound in his side, nor the blood trailing down his body, soaking his clothes and bleeding into the river.

  Holt’s eyes were wide, fear penetrating the icy-blue depths. “You won’t survive. I knew where to stab you. I . . .” His eyes dropped to Thorne’s wound, but Thorne kept coming at him.

  The spirits of the jungle cave were filling him with strength now. It was time to end this.

  Thorne leapt at Holt. Holt tried to stab him, but Thorne gripped his wrist, holding the knife, and they both hit the water. He twisted at Holt’s arm until he felt the bones snap. Holt cried out, and Thorne, gripping him, dragged him toward the waterfall.

  He couldn’t register any pain anymore. Even the gunshots along the bank grew dim in his ears. More and more he could hear only the chant of the cave inside his head, urging him to do what must be done.

  “What are you doing? We’ll both die!” Holt kicked his legs, trying to slow down Thorne’s determined steps forward. When they reached the edge, Thorne grabbed Holt by the vest, gripping the stone tucked inside it and dragging Holt’s body around to the waterfall’s edge. The chant inside his head was so loud that he could no longer hear Holt’s words.

  “I trust the jungle. But you took the jungle’s heart. And you took away mine. And we will both have our revenge,” Thorne promised.

  He leapt off the falls, taking Holt with him down into the roaring white mists far below.

  The impact jarred Thorne’s bones. He lost his grip on Holt and struggled through the foaming water, disoriented. It became harder to swim, his limbs exhausted and his lungs burning like fire. When he caught sight of Eden drifting on the surface, he fought with all his might to get to her.

  He sucked in a lungful of air as he breached the surface next to Eden. She lay face-up in the water, her body still. Thorne wrapped an arm around her waist and swam to the shore.

  He crawled up the muddy bank with her in his arms and laid her flat on her back, staring down at her. Death hadn’t trespassed over her face, yet he feared the worst as he pressed his ear against her chest. A faint beating echoed against his cheek.

  “Please,” he begged the jungle. “Please, I would give my life for her.”

  The pain that had been so easily ignored before began to crawl through his body in a slow-burning fire until he collapsed on the bank beside her. As he closed his eyes, he heard the voices of the cave murmuring inside his head, and he swore that his mother and father were among them just before he let go.

  Eden jolted awake, wincing at the pain she felt all over. She pressed a hand to her shoulder, and warm sticky blood coated her fingertips. She looked down and saw more blood from her side. Both times Holt had shot at her, she’d twisted her body just in time and had managed to only get grazed. It was a small miracle. Cool water lapped at her ankles, and she blinked at the view of the massive waterfall in front of them. It was twice the height of the small waterfall where she and Thorne had first made love.

  “Eden! Thorne!” Distant shouts, familiar voices, brought her back to the present, and she glanced around. Thorne lay beside her on the ground, blood pooling beneath his side from the knife wound.

  “Oh God, no. Thorne!” She frantically checked his pulse. It was too weak, more an echo than a true beat.

  “No! Please don’t go. Thorne . . . ,” Eden whispered as she lay against him. They were too far away from anyone who could help him. The forest rippled, a rare breeze rustling the leaves and vines of the dark jungle around them.

  “Eden!” The familiar voice cried out again, and she recognized it now. Cameron was here, and so was Isabelle. Lofty followed behind, and they were all carrying rifles. Cameron tried to help her up, but she wouldn’t move from Thorne’s side. Another hand gently rested on her shoulder, trying to pull her back. She cried out in protest.

  “Honey, don’t,” Isabelle whispered. “I think he’s gone.”

  “He can’t be. Not after . . . Not . . .” The words fell from her lips as if they were bleeding out of her, leaving her a hollow shell.

  Cameron knelt next to Thorne’s body, but Bwanbale was on the other side of the pool, next to the body of Holt, which had washed up into the shallows. He dug through Holt’s clothes until he found a large uncut stone and held it up, mesmerized.

  “What the devil is that man up to?” asked Lofty. “We’ve got a man down here! No time to be fussing over baubles.”

  Bwanbale suddenly turned toward them, and his dark eyes now seemed to have a hint of gold in their umber depths. He pocketed it and hurried over to the others.

  “We must take him to the cave, now.” Bwanbale started to lift up Thorne’s body, and Cameron helped.

  “Cave? The man needs a hospital,” Cameron said.

  “He will not survive the journey. This is the only way. You must trust me.”

  “Bloody hell. All right, which cave?” asked Cameron. “There must be hundreds, and only Thorne knows where it is.”

  �
�I know the way.” Bwanbale’s voice seemed deeper somehow, as though he spoke with a thousand souls. No one questioned him any further.

  Eden wiped at her eyes as she followed them into the forest. They soon came upon a cave with a dark, cavernous hole that seemed to be a threatening obsidian abyss, one that made Eden uneasy.

  “Stay here. I will take him inside,” Bwanbale told Cameron. Seemingly without effort, the man carried Thorne into the darkness, vanishing from view. Eden tried to go after them, but Isabelle put an arm around her shoulders, holding her back.

  “What in blazes is he up to?” asked Lofty.

  “I have no idea,” said Cameron. “But I felt something a moment ago. I can’t exactly put it into words, but . . . I think we should trust him.”

  A minute later, Bwanbale returned from the cave as a deep rumbling seemed to erupt from the bowels of the earth.

  Cameron gripped Eden and Isabelle protectively. “Hold on!”

  The earth seemed to be speaking with a voice of its own as rocks tumbled down the sloping mountainside, and a heavy rain dropped from the skies only to quickly die away, leaving a rolling mist that shrouded the cave’s entrance. Eden stared at the white mists that began to twist and writhe before a figure emerged from it.

  “Oh my God!” Eden covered her mouth as Thorne walked out of the mouth of the cave. And then he stumbled, as though whatever strength had been granted to him had fled his body. Bwanbale rushed over and caught him with an arm around his waist.

  “Easy, my friend, easy.” He supported Thorne until he seemed able to stand on his own and his voice had returned to normal.

  Thorne grimaced. He lifted his ripped shirt and stared down to where Holt had stabbed him. The skin was knotted in a deep scar, as though the wound was months old and not minutes.

  “How in the world . . . ?” Lofty began, then simply shook his head, removed a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the sweat from his face. “I give up. I suppose one ought never to question the magic of the jungle, eh?”

  “This jungle has a heart,” Bwanbale said with quiet reverence. “And it protects its own.”

  Exhausted, Thorne looked to Eden. Without a word, he opened his arms, and she ran to him. He caught her with a soft groan and held her close. She buried her face against him, shivering. His scent of river, man, and jungle wrapped around her. She swore she could still feel the rumblings of the earth beneath her feet, faint, dying away, but still present. If this jungle had a heart, she was sure she was feeling its pulse, a pulse that matched the beating of Thorne’s heart against her cheek. There had been more than one miracle in the jungle today, and Eden sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever power dwelt in the Impenetrable Forest. It was a mystery she would leave alone. The forest had a right to hold its secrets, didn’t it? That was what made the world beautiful. There were still unexplored forests, caves of mysteries, and fathomless depths of the sea that men should leave alone. The world needed magic to survive.

  “Thank God,” Cameron said. “Thank God you’re all right, my boy.” He placed a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “What happened in there? Do you remember?”

  Thorne frowned, not sure what to say. “I . . . I think I saw my parents.” His blue eyes were stormy with emotions, but he didn’t speak further.

  Eden kissed his chin and hugged him tighter.

  “We should leave before it gets too dark,” Bwanbale said. “It is time for us to go.”

  “Not yet,” Thorne said. “We have one more thing we must do.” He turned in the direction that Eden knew would take them to the wreckage of the Haywoods’ Cessna.

  Cameron’s head tilted, as if he was unsure of what he was hearing, but then he nodded his understanding. “Yes, I think I understand. It’s time we brought your parents home.”

  One week later

  Thorne stood near the shores of Lake Bunyoni, and the Impenetrable Forest lay behind him as he gazed out upon the mist rising from the still waters.

  Twenty-nine small islands dotted the horizon of the lake, each of them a private paradise for anyone who wished to feel closer to nature and oneself. The waters of the lake were safe, free of parasites, crocodiles, and hippos. It was a true paradise. A perfect place for him and Eden to live.

  Behind them, a fresh pair of graves marked the last resting place of Jacob and Amelia Haywood. It had been an easy decision to make. Jacob and Amelia belonged to Africa. It was in many ways as much their home as it was Thorne’s. Their spirits now lived here, helping to protect the jungle.

  What Thorne had seen in the cave was something he would never be able to fully understand, let alone explain, but it was true that the stone that Holt had stolen was the heart of this jungle. Bwanbale had told Thorne he’d laid his body down in the center of the large part of the cave, surrounded by raw diamonds that glinted without light to reflect off them. Bwanbale had placed the uncut diamond he’d taken from Holt on Thorne’s chest. A strange pulsing beat had filled the cave, like the heartbeat of a mighty god. The earth had rumbled around them, and Bwanbale had known he was supposed to leave, so he’d fled the cave. After that, whatever had happened, Thorne had only flashes of memory that seemed over time to grow more and more dim within him the way dreams faded upon waking. Whatever power dwelt in the cave of that lost kingdom from long ago, it had given him back his life, and he’d had one last glimpse of his parents. That single image of their souls—glowing, endless, infinite—would never fade.

  For more than twenty years that stone, the jungle’s heart, had been separated from its home. Now that it had been returned, there was a true sense of peace and calm over the land.

  Quiet steps close by made him smile as Eden appeared at his side by the lake. She wrapped an arm around his back and leaned against his shoulder. Her free hand played with the gingko leaf necklace that hung around her neck. She only ever took it off to sleep at night. He pressed his cheek against the crown of her hair and closed his eyes as true contentment filled him.

  “It’s so peaceful here,” she whispered.

  “It is.” She turned so she faced him, and he cupped her cheek with one hand. “Eden, I am told there are better ways to do this, grand gestures a man should make or formal speeches, but I have only the words in my heart. Stay by my side. Be my mate forever.”

  He paused, letting himself bask in the green of her eyes. “Marry me.” He touched the necklace at her throat. “I have no ring—but consider this my promise to you.” Thorne smiled. “When I gave it to you, I knew you were my destiny.”

  Eden’s lips parted, and her eyes shimmered. The last thing he wanted was to see her cry. But not all tears were bad, or so he was told.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Yes.” The second yes was softer, yet it seemed all the more powerful for the way her eyes glowed with love.

  She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. It was a kiss that burned itself upon his soul. He wrapped his arms around her, deepening the kiss as he let his love for her pour out like the waterfall deep in the jungle, behind which they had first made love. Their love, like those falls, would forever flow wild and free.

  Epilogue

  “If I have ever seen magic, it has been in Africa.” —John Hemingway

  Three years later

  Thorne woke just before dawn. With a gentle kiss upon Eden’s brow, he slipped out of their king-size bed and padded softly down the hall. He wore light pajama pants, and the slightly humid air warmed him as he opened a door down the hall.

  An elaborately carved crib was in one corner. The screened windows were open to allow a light breeze to drift through the room. He smiled at the tiny child as she stirred in her crib. He reached into the crib and picked up the baby, holding her to his chest. She had soft blonde curls like her mother, yet her eyes were blue like his. He nuzzled the crown of her hair, breathing in her scent and feeling the perfect weight of her in his arms. Above her, hanging from a set of ribbons to create a mobile, was his gold leaf crown. The voices of the jungle which still sp
oke to him, had murmured it was a gift for the child. He and Eden had hung the crown with care above their baby’s crib after she’d been born and he would never forget the way her chubby hands had reached desperately for the spinning circlet. Glints of light had lit up her green-blue eyes and the world around Thorne and his family had been quiet with respect.

  “Good morning, my love,” he said to his daughter.

  He could always sense when she woke up in the mornings. It drove Eden to frustration that Thorne always got up before her, worried that she had no motherly instincts. But Thorne always chuckled and kissed away his wife’s frown.

  “She is a child of the jungle. I will always sense her when she needs me,” he’d said, and Eden had sighed with an understanding smile and rolled her eyes playfully.

  He carried the child outside and stood on the porch of their home that faced Lake Bunyoni. He and Eden had built this house close to where he’d buried his parents. Half the year they stayed in England, and half the year they spent in Uganda. Though Thorne was still not comfortable with large groups of people, he had become an ambassador of sorts, an ambassador of the jungle, bringing awareness to its plight and the need for its protection.

  And then came their daughter, who was a mystery to Thorne. A mystery as to how one so small could create so much love in his heart. That first moment he’d heard his daughter cry in the delivery room, he’d understood how Keza had come to his aid as a child when he had cried. Their daughter was so like him in her fascination with the jungle, and Thorne felt blessed to be able to show her both worlds.

  A distant call from the jungle made his eyes turn to the forest. He moved quietly, carrying his child into the edge of the foliage, looking for the one who had summoned him. When he sensed the creature, he stopped and waited.

  An aging female gorilla came into view, pulling leafy plants out of her way. Her reddish-brown eyes were soft and ancient as she looked upon Thorne. He watched her approach as he held his daughter carefully. The child was still and peaceful as the gorilla came toward them on knuckled hands.