by Louise Wise
The dark jungle closed around her.
No going back now.
***
Jenny’s breasts were aching. They felt swollen and one was leaking milk. She was among twenty or so prehistoric people, all smelling, all with the inability to speak with words that she could understand, and all reaching out to touch her hair with hairy fingers every so often as if they expected to receive luck.
She’d left her baby with one of these people.
Emotion overwhelmed her. She stopped and looked back at the way she’d come. The trees, large and looming, all looked the same. There was no path. The first sun had set a while ago, and its light was dim as the second appeared low on the horizon. Were they even taking her to Fly? Or was this some kind of caveman ritual. Or maybe they had sacrificed Fly and was going to do the same to her?
Her imagination was running away again.
The damp jungle was becoming sparse as the ground steadily slopped upward, and soon the trees were replaced with bushes and the homicidal plants with tall grasses. They’d left the long ridge of the warm caves ages ago.
She stopped to take off her fur poncho and tied it to the harness on her back. Seeing the harness made her think of Diana—not that she could forget her. She felt hot, and sweat was trickling down between her breasts to dampen her stomach.
‘Chi-Chi!’
She looked up. Bo had stopped and was looking back at her.
‘OK, I’m coming,’ she said and began moving again.
Satisfied, the honnard turned and continued the trek. She thought a few had dropped back because they were tired, but realised, when they came back to the group that they’d scouted ahead and were now leading them towards a rocky terrain. Her back ached, her legs throbbed and she was hungry and thirsty, but the cave people seemed unwavering, and just as she thought she couldn’t go on, they stopped next to a cluster of huge rocks and boulders, where several sat down with a groan that was so humanlike that Jenny looked to see if they were human.
Bo looked at her, bared his teeth and chuffed.
This is as far as you go with us, human scum.
He shook his spear at the rock. Jenny peered over and saw that the rocks formed a sheltered ring around a sandy patch. It provided a nice protective area for her—and her alone. As she settled in between the rocks on the sandy ground, exhausted, lonely and scared, she could hear the honnards ‘outside’ as they too settled. Jenny pulled off the harness and took out her water bottle, pulled out the stopper, and took a gulp.
‘Queen of the natives,’ she murmured to herself.
She was too tired to find kindling and make a fire to boil water for her dried food. She tried to get comfortable, using the harness as a pillow and pulled the fur poncho over her. The ground was hard, but at least she was protected from the icy wind that had sprung up. She tried to keep her thoughts positive. Diana was safe with Melinda—their babies had the same needs.
Of Fly she didn’t know if he was safe or not.
He wouldn’t have gone willingly. He wouldn’t have left her with the honnards knowing how she felt about them. Either someone was preventing him from returning or he was dead.
That thought wouldn’t budge from her mind and it had never budged since she found his blood in the buggy. The thought had always lingered, no matter how positive she tried to keep. She closed her eyes as heat filled them. Her breasts hurt; milk was leaking from the other one now. She was hungry. Cold. And she wanted her baby. And Fly.
She wanted Fly.
She curled into a ball, and sobbed into the dry earth.
Chapter Thirty
Molver was poking around the house in amazement. ‘What’s this?’ he kept asking. ‘And what’s this for?’
Fly left him, feeling agitated. He was so close to Jenny now. He hoped she was OK. He hoped the birth had gone smoothly. She’d been in such pain…
He grabbed a fur poncho for himself and extra clothing for Jenny and the baby. In the kitchen, he filled a basket with a few cartons of the dried food, and filled two flasks with water. That’s what Jenny had called them. They were animal bladders, cleaned and dried, and used purely for water. He slung one around his neck and dropped the other in the basket. He folded an insulating foil cover and pressed it over the top of the food, then completely wrapped the basket and its contents in another foil cover, which was also waterproof. He wrapped it like a parcel and tied with rope, and only when he was finished did his eyes take in that his house had been ransacked.
He turned a full circle, the basket hanging loose in his hand. His and Jenny’s precious things had been turned upside down. Feeling dread, he raced out to the barn—the doors were open and the fishing net, usually hung on a nail to dry, was missing. Inside the barn, all his weapons had been taken. Even his explosives.
His breath fogged in front of him. Rage seethed and he glared at Molver as he came into the barn waving a chunk of Jenny’s previously baked bread; his cheeks bulging. The boy baulked, swallowed his mouthful and lowered his prize guiltily.
Pushing the boy to one side, Fly stepped out of the barn and stared at the cattle wandering around the prairie. Curious, he walked over to their paddock and saw the plank of wood across the trench. Only Jenny would have stopped to do something so selfless.
She’d taken the weapons!
Relief almost made his legs give out on him. Then with a ‘whoop’ of delight, he swung the trussed basket over one shoulder and began to run up the hill and down the other side, and without stopping dived into the river and swam across.
The bag filled with goodies was buoyant and it floated beside him as he pushed it across. Their boat was on the other side, bobbing in the current but secured to a tree root. He hadn’t tied it, he remembered, he’d been in such a hurry that he’d left the boat untethered—obviously it hadn’t travelled far as Jenny had been able to use it.
Fly could hear Molver following, and afforded him a glance to see the boy trying to hold the uneaten food aloft as he swam. The tide pulled at him and he reached the bank further along the river after struggling across; his meal was lost and he was panting heavily.
‘What’s the hurry?’ he asked, dragging himself up the muddy bank. The reeds he was clutching snapped under his weight and he almost tumbled back into the river.
Fly grabbed him by the scruff and hauled him up.
‘You’re about to meet my family,’ he said as the boy struggled away from Fly. Fly raised his hands to show him he’d let go. ‘Why so defensive? Come on, let’s go.’ He left Molver standing and ran into the jungle, ducking under tree branches, dodging bogs, thrashing at the undergrowth with his arms as it threatened to slow his pace. This close to Jenny, his impatience at seeing her and meeting their daughter for the first time was giving his feet fuel. He heard Molver crashing through the trees behind him. The boy was grumbling.
***
Fly slowed his pace; something wasn’t right. He stopped and looked around. The animals in the trees squawked and chatted as normal, but the under bush was broken. As he noticed a pile of animal dung on the ground, Molver cannoned into him.
‘One minute you’re running, the next you’ve stopped!’ he complained through a ragged breath.
‘Thought you were known for your speed?’
Molver scowled and opened his mouth with a retort but Fly hushed him with a ‘Ssh!’
Molver looked baffled. ‘What are you doing? Ssh?’
‘It means “quiet”.’
‘Why didn’t you just say so, instead of making silly sounds—’
‘What’s wrong with this part of the jungle?’ Fly cut him off, and Molver looked around. ‘Look at the ground.’
Molver’s eyes dropped. He looked back up at Fly questionably.
‘Haryn droppings,’ Fly said.
‘So?’
‘I haven’t seen one of those animals in these parts before. They are mountain animals. The Jelvias have been here.’ Fly pointed at the pile of dung dropped in a line as if the a
nimal had messed as it walked. He followed the line as his excitement slipped away leaving him feeling hollow and sick.
There was flattened undergrowth and broken tree branches to show that the path had been used by people with weapons and lots of them. The branches had been chopped with something sharp, not broken by a native’s strong grip. The undergrowth had been disturbed by hooves not bare feet.
As Fly looked again at the ground he could see the imprint of hooves.
He broke into a run; not jubilant this time. Fear fed his speed. He could hear the boy behind him, his breathing sharp as he tried to keep up.
Near to the natives’ small settlement, Molver’s shocked curse caused Fly to look behind. The boy pointed, and then leaned over, holding his stomach. ‘That’s classic Jelvia punishment,’ he said. ‘Feel sick now.’
Fly looked to where he’d pointed. The boy had sharp eyes. Half hidden in the thick foliage he saw a honnard impaled against a tree by its own spear. As he stepped into the dense undergrowth, the smell of death swamped him. Behind the first impaled body was another. This one had tried to pull the spear out, but must have bled to death trying. A four-legged native-wolf was also lying dead. A lifeless bird was on the ground; an arrow in its side.
It was his arrow!
Fly turned. Another honnard with a blackened wheal between its eyes—a Jelvian venomous wound—was lying face up on the ground. Fly turned his back and walked out of the trees towards the clearing and the honnards’ settlement with Molver close on his heels. The boy was glancing around as if he feared Jelvias were about to attack them. At the edge of the settlement stood the two large trees where the honnards had pinned an effigy of Jenny on one, but the figurine had gone. Some of the trees had been scorched by fire.
Bracing himself, he walked further into the settlement. Trees and shrubbery surrounding the dwelling was burnt. Ash blew across the colony and lifted in the breeze to hang in the misty air.
There were dead or dying honnards scattered around. His eyes fell on the cave he’d left Jenny in. It yawned open and exposed; the foliage that hung down and concealed its opening lay burnt on the ground. There was no movement or chatter inside.
‘They’ve all been slayed,’ Molver said.
Fly turned to look at him, glad of the reprieve. He didn’t want to go inside the cave. It was dark and quiet: the wrong sort of dark and quiet. Didn’t want to find Jenny and their baby dead. He turned, his heart was scorching inside his chest. Its hammering was so hard he thought it was malfunctioning. He balled his hands and took a long, deep breath before expelling it into the lowlying fog.
‘Stay here,’ he said, dropping his belongings at Molver’s feet.
He ducked inside the cave and saw a dead female honnard lying on the ground with Jenny’s handmade elecat doll clutched in her hand.
The blanket that Jenny had painstakingly made from the woollen coats of their cattle, and dyed a bright pink, was close by.
A flare of pain seared Fly’s heart.
There was something bundled in the pink blanket.
Chapter Thirty One
The morning light was weak when she peered between the rocks. Only one sun had risen, and the honnards were still sleeping, sprawled out here and there, some lying on each other, others curled, foetal style and alone.
She squeezed out and stood looking down at them. Carcasses of animals lay in pieces around the group, and there were the remaining orange embers from a fire. She stepped forwards and her foot kicked something hard. She looked down and saw several melons on the ground beside the rocks where she was sheltering. Remembering how she came to see a melon for the first time almost made her crumble again, but stealing herself she rubbed her nose, hunkered down and began to pull the melon apart to eat.
Zack yawned, rolled over and looked straight at her. He grinned.
It wasn’t a recognised human grin. It was wide, teeth closed but bared, and the lips pulled back unnaturally. A grin as if you were showing someone the colour of your teeth.
‘Thank you for the melons,’ she said, and mimicked the “grin”.
Need to fatten you up for the Jelvias.
‘We’re at higher altitude,’ she said. ‘I can feel it. Are you sure the Jelvias live in the mountains?’
They don’t live in the mountains. We just thought we’d take you for a walk.
He sat up on his haunches. His arms, as long as his legs, circled his knees and his yellow eyes roamed over her face and hair. The irises were yellow, and the pupil black. She could say their eyes were more like hers than Fly’s black, bottomless, orbs.
She wiped juice off her chin. She knew he was waiting for her to speak again. He didn’t know what she was saying any more than she knew what he was saying, but he seemed to understand that she was trying to communicate with him. She wondered what was going through his mind.
A black shadow fell over them. A bird. Or rather, birds.
He lurched to his feet and grabbed his spear all in one movement.
‘Barch, huff-chuff, Pla, chuff…’ he called the others and on alert, they sprang up and primed their weapons.
The birds circled in the air.
There was a strange silence, and then they nose-dived.
Jenny squeezed herself back into the protection of the boulders. Through a gap in the rock, she could see the birds flapping above, circling and dive-bombing them with their sharp beaks. There was a lot of noise, a flurry of action, and spiralling dust.
She grabbed her spear and a carton of inflammable liquid, and crawled out from her shelter. The flapping, and the wind of wings, disturbed the dusty ground and it billowed up around them and smarted her eyes. She felt a flap of wings and drew her sword.
The grunts of the honnards were heavy on her ears as spears and arrows whizzed through the air, but the birds had developed an ability to create confusion with their wings whipping up dust, and the natives were beginning to panic, firing their precious arrows in any direction.
She ran low towards the embers of the fire. She ducked as a bird swooped, but a honnard thrust his spear into its chest, bringing it down. Jenny hunkered next to the fire’s remains and dropped a piece of sap-soaked cloth into the embers.
It flared, knocking her backwards, and the fire came back to life with a fierce intensity. She’d not seen its effects before, and was pleased she’d thought to bring the liquid. She grabbed the fatty skin left over from a carcass and wrapped it around the spear, then poked it into the fire until the skin caught light. She rose with her torch and thrust it around at the birds; some had already left when the flare of fire ignited. The rest of the attacking birds dispersed with loud squawks.
There was no more flapping, no more shadows on the ground from the sky. Just dead birds, injured honnards and a shaken Jenny. She fell to her knees.
She heard a long, drawn-out, wail and looked up, fearful of another attack. But instead saw a caveman rocking the corpse of another. Rocking as though in distress. She was shocked to see the yellow eyes weeping tears. For so long she had thought of them as unintelligent animals. Now they were real people, with real emotions.
Jenny rose shakily to her feet, looking around. The honnards were picking up their weapons, regrouping.
Bo and Zack said a mouthful of words, which Jenny couldn’t be bothered to interpret in her style. The rest methodically buried the dead man, then several vanished into the undergrowth, while others sat around the still-roaring fire.
Jenny sat against a boulder watching them at work. She pulled up her knees to her chest and rested her head on top. She closed her eyes.
Every now and then, her body gave an involuntary shudder.
Chapter Thirty Two
Fly stepped forwards.
He looked at the mother—the blackened wheal of Jelvian venom was visible in her chest.
Then he looked at the pink blanket and swallowed a chunk of emotion. Kneeling, he opened the blood-encrusted blanket and looked inside.
A tiny baby. Its n
eck broken.
A honnard baby.
The relief was immense. He sat back on his heels, his face tilted upward, and tried to gather his spiralling emotions. Taking several deep breaths, he took the dead baby from the blanket and laid it on the chest of its dead mother. He crossed her arms over it as if in an embrace, then moved to pick up the blanket to drape it over them. He brought it up to his face first, and inhaled, hoping for a scent of Jenny. His eyes heated and emotion swamped him.
Abruptly, he threw the blanket over the dead honnards and turned away.
He saw one of Jenny’s baskets. It was broken as though stamped on. He remembered when she’d made her first basket, how long it had taken her and how pleased she’d been when it was finished.
Stooping, he exited the cave. Molver was standing impatiently, his eyes firmly on the ground as he jiggled from one foot to the other. ‘I can’t look! They’ve been massacred,’ he said as soon as he saw Fly. ‘Look! In the trees!’
Fly looked up and saw honnards impaled against the blackened trees. Whoever had done it had spent time and effort to arrange them at eyelevel from the cliff top. Fly’s gaze dropped to the bodies on the ground. Many were female. He looked back up at the trees—more females. Where had the alpha males gone? Usually only a few at a time hunted, leaving the rest behind to protect the settlement. It looked like females had taken up the role of guarding the lair judging by the spears still clutched in some of their hands. There was movement in the lowlying shrub and Fly whipped around as Molver scuttled behind him.
A large black honnard came into the lair followed by two smaller females.
The alpha and Fly eyeballed one another for a moment, and then recognition crossed the honnard’s face but it made no attempt to greet him. It pointed the spear at him and edged around, chuffing and huffing, the females followed. One looked battle-worn, and was holding an injury on her stomach. The other had the stick-doll of Jenny around her neck, and she clutched it with one hand, while the other honnard jabbed a spear in his direction. Then they disappeared into the cave.
