“I do not know if I can make her well enough,” Elise admits.
Ulric's face twists into anger and she does not recoil, no matter how badly she wants to.
The snow pulverizes beneath the footsteps of the othersʼ approach.
“Well enough for what?”
Elise swipes at hot tears that cascade down her face.
“For life,” she whispers.
Ulric grips her arm and hauls her behind him. “I will see to her.”
“But your blood!” Elise yells, fighting his grip, knowing it is fruitless.
Ulric whirls. “That is it precisely. My. Blood. It will save her again. It could save anyone if the case necessitated it.”
Or mean their death.
He keeps pulling Elise behind him, his head turning left then right, nostrils flaring.
His scenting reminds Elise of the Band's throat slits.
Ulric's head suddenly snaps to the right and he moves to Elise's tent. A guard lays at the outside, unconscious from Elise's none-too-subtle bludgeoning of his noggin.
He sweeps the flap open and spies Calia, and he releases Elise.
She spins away to depart the tent. Her move is cowardly. Yet, deep down, Elise knows Ulric will not harm Calia.
She runs into the chest of Brom. He steadies her with his large hands and Elise takes a shaky breath.
Oh Adahy—where are you?
*
Adahy
Adahy drives to his hands and knees, and using a move that was so effective in his days around fires and sparring with his brethren, he digs his toes into the ground and launches, shooting for the tomahawk embedded in Vaughn's leg.
Vaughn's mouth makes an O of surprise, and then he is slamming a fist into Adahy's back.
Adahy shudders at the impact but ignores the pain, swiping at his tomahawk like a missing appendage. It comes free with the help of gravity and well-practiced aim.
Adahy rolls, his back in paralyzing spasms as he swings upward with the blade.
Vaughn meets the tomahawk once more. This time it buries itself into his gut.
Adahy, like all Iroquois, feels taking of life, any life—great or small—is a travesty.
But not this one.
Adahy whips the blood spray out of his face so he can breathe through his mouth and lunges forward, hard, driving the triangular blade deep.
Vaughn's eyes widen, his hands grabbing the hickory handle to stall its progress.
“You die,” Adahy says in his broken English.
Somehow, Vaughn understands. Death's intent is universal. It could also be the non-verbal cue of the ax end of his tomahawk trying to kiss Vaughn's spine.
Adahy shoves off, his foot solidly impacting Vaughn's chest and kicks hard. With a sucking pop, the metal pulls free from the Band's guts and he slumps to the ground.
Adahy does not waste time on reprisals, wonderings or joy in vengeance. He makes a hasty retreat from Vaughn as his lifeblood is added to the thirsty sponge of the earth. She greedily takes back what is hers, gulping his blood even as he unwillingly offers it to her waiting mouth.
Adahy turns away from Vaughn bleeding out and ties off his tomahawk, beginning to run full tilt to where he knows Elise's tent to be.
His disquiet has intensified to a clamoring alarm of action. He will fetch Elise and they will leave this place. There will be vengeance for his conduct, though Vaughn meant his death with no witnesses.
Vaughn might have been able to explain his death away as wandering Fragment or some such. But this clan will never listen to the testimony of one such as he. Vaughn would have been cleared of wrongdoing without question.
Adahy is noisy as he breathes through his mouth and for the first time, since knowledge of the Band inserted itself in his psyche, he finds himself fervently wishing for the throat slits of the pure Band.
He redoubles his gait, heading straight for the flap when a Stone Giant moves in front of the entrance.
Adahy does not hesitate and growls, releasing his dagger in one hand and hoisting it in the air in a graceful arc.
The blade sings in the night, the pitch of its music in perfect harmony with the wind whistling through the encampment.
The Stone Giant reacts too late and Adahy's dagger hits the intersect at his shoulder and neck.
Blood pours, and Adahy shoves him without a moment's hesitation to the ground, knife embedded deep and blasts inside the tent.
What he sees stops him in his tracks, halts his wheezing breath, thoughts.
Heartbeat.
A Stone Giant holds Elise while Ulric massages his arm to promote blood flow for the parted lips of Calia.
Adahy hardly has time to wonder why everything has come to this when Elise speaks in Iroquois, “Adahy—run.”
Adahy does not even wince at the grin that spreads across his injured face.
“Never,” he replies in his native tongue.
Elise closes her eyes in clear resignation.
Adahy charges forward but another pair arrive, flinging themselves inside the tent with all the surety of ownership.
Yet Adahy knows this to be impossible.
A beaten and bleeding Philip of the Band and the Traveler, Jim, burst through the flap, panting.
*
Jim
“Man, is he on it!” Jim chortles then rushes forward. He doesn't think he needs to be a mastermind to figure out what's going on here.
Ulric's doing the blood bank routine on Calia so Jim uses the last bit of starved grace he has available and gives Ulric a love tap in the temple just as he makes to turn.
Knocks him out like a box of rocks. Fucking awesome. “Thank god. What a pain in my ass.”
Jim turns to where Philip is and Brom socks him in the face.
Jim crumples to the ground. “Fuck,” he says in a groggy voice, his mouth filling with blood. His consciousness tries to swim to the surface. He gets on his hands and legs and swivels his head, trying to stay in the game.
Ah... this is so bad. He lays down again, peering up at Brom who quips, “There's more from where that came from, dickweed.”
Jim blinks.
Oh yeah, the ape guys are linguists too. Fabulous. Jim rolls over on his back, groaning.
“You are stupid, Traveler. Ulric saves the female.”
“Huh,” Jim says from the ground, “kinda looked like the blood thing again.”
Elise looks at Jim, then her attention turns to Philip.
Jim notes Philip is hanging onto the central tent pole, skin ashen.
“She tried to take her own life. Calia despaired that Jim's life would be sacrificed in the name of the Fragment—”
“Me either,” Jim says wearily from the ground.
Elise ignores him. “Nor did she wish to lose Philip for his inability to partake in the Rite of the Select. She had little choice so she chose this.” Her palm sweeps to a comatose Calia.
Everyone's eyes go to Calia.
Philip's gaze never leaves her. He staggers to her side, sinking to his knees beside Calia, though he looks hardly better.
Philip turns his head and lowers it above her mouth. “She breathes,” he says, more to himself than them.
Brom glares at Jim. “If you had let the woman stay with us, they would even now be well,” he unhelpfully points out.
Jim shoots him a go die glare. How does he switch that speech thing back and forth?
“Yeah, and that's so fair, blood sucker,” Jim mutters.
“I don't like your tone, asshole Traveler,” Brom shoots back.
“Goes both ways, tree dick.”
They have a glower standoff.
Adahy and Elise flow toward each other but Brom stops the reuniting with an arm. “Let us go.”
Brom shakes his head. “No. I must get everyone to the nearest breadth of woods.”
They look at Ulric who is out cold, Jim's pleased to note.
“I am going nowhere with you,” Calia says, sitting up and giving a harsh cou
gh.
Why do I have to choreograph bullshit all the time? “Here's our choices,” Jim begins. “Stay and become female fodder for mommy-dearest and the Band dudes. Not.” Jim looks around and seeing general confusion shrugs and continues, “No takers? I didn't think so. Or, and I like this choice slightly better, take our chances with monkey boy fang gang—and our blood.”
A look of distaste comes over Brom's face.
“What?” Jim squawks, slapping his chest with a hand. “My blood not good enough for you?”
Brom's conspicuous silence pisses Jim right the hell off. “Jerk.”
Staying here isn't an option. Philip gathers Calia close to him and rises somewhat unsteadily.
They make the decision for everyone, silently walking out of the tent for the unknown.
Chapter 10
Ulric
Ulric groans as he comes to, the instant headache bringing memories of Jim the Traveler's timely kick to his skull.
Ulric finds he has a deep and abiding dislike for Jim.
He gets his bearing, cracking his aching eyelids open just enough to ascertain he is within the shelter of the trees.
Dawn's rays filter through the thick canopy, dappling the area around where he lies. Blessed shadows camouflage him neatly.
Ulric inhales deeply, gathering his sense of all things from the one breath. He exhales with a shudder, plumes of frosty air lighting then dissipating in front of him.
Five people lay claim within a distance of ten horse lengths from his position. One is of the tree, as he is.
Brom.
His nose wrinkles at Jim's obvious human stench, bristling less at an on-the-mend female of the Band (Calia, he is certain), and her mixed-blood friend, Elise. The male mixed-blood of the Band, Adahy and the pure Band, Philip, are also nearby.
The smell of the sea is faint and that tells Ulric he was transported.
He is certain that it was Brom who made that happen. Philip, Adahy and Jim do not see him with kind eyes.
A small branch creaks under the weight of a deliberate foot placement and Ulric's head snaps to the left.
Brom stands as still as the trunk he leans against.
Their eyes meet and Ulric's shoulders ease from their tense stiffness.
“Ulric, how do you fare?”
Ulric glares back on principle. “Terrible. My head feels like a horse's hoof kicked it about a dozen times.”
Brom smirks. “Shift and take the damage away.”
Ulric gazes down at his less-than-perfect scouting clothes. Already they wear the grime and use of the short travel. Two trips within the tunnel will do that, and loss of blood.
Ulric nods, standing. He staggers like a drunkard. Finally, he regains enough of his senses to strip.
Ulric stands unashamedly nude, as all his kind are comfortable without clothes. When one shifts form, one can certainly not be concerned over covering the body.
He closes his eyes, feeling the barest amount of concentration take root as heat begins at his feet. Ulric wiggles his toes, the warmth slowly gaining like coals inside a deep fire coming to life. The pain shoots up from there, striking lightning that threads up his shins, thighs, groin—blasting into his heart last. It fans out to his arms—hands, and eventually, his brain.
Ulric's vision grows fuzzy, as though looking through dirty, warped glass. He grits his teeth, knowing what will happen.
His skin begins to tear off his frame and Ulric inhales sharply, grinding his changing teeth against the experience of being flayed alive.
Just a few more seconds.
“Holy shit!” Ulric hears dimly.
Tendons pop and realign, the fire of his system intensifying for one brilliant and shining moment of agony. Foreign teeth fill his mouth, his face breaking to accommodate his changed facial structure.
Then it's over and he kneels, panting in his own slimy muck. Ulric slaps a palm into the soft bed of moss at the forest floor and braces himself. He rises.
“That's the most awful, and the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” Jim says in awestruck wonder from beside Brom.
Ulric swirls foul saliva around his mouth and spits out a glob of extra flesh tinged with blood from the change.
Jim chuckles, his gaze no doubt noting Ulric's nudity and lack of concern over ridding himself of the gore of his shift.
“You're not a self-conscious guy, are ya?”
Ulric's gaze narrows, seeing the fine pores that dot Jim's face with the perfect clarity of his half-ape vision, and this new form never fails to initially intimidate him. Ulric is alpha of his clan, so his change is the most powerful, the most painful.
“No.” He answers as he swivels forward. His powerful legs are slightly bowed, but fast and accommodating within his natural habitat.
Ulric walks slowly toward Jim, the gait less graceful then if he was swinging through tree limbs.
“This is when I die, I guess,” Jim says, and Ulric sees those pores he noticed before open for sweat to bead. A fine tremor begins at Jim's hands, too microscopic for him to be aware of. His unusual, almond-shaped eyes bug in a face gone more sallow that what is natural.
“You have made me incensed, Jim,” Ulric admits in a growl.
Jim nods, backing up slightly. “I know, but—in my own defense—you were pouring blood down Calia's throat again, and Philip was momentarily indisposed.”
Ulric dislikes Jim. Intensely. But Jim might have his uses in the near future. His blood is inferior, and his kind has done much to damage Ulric's world. However, Jim is the catalyst for the women having been brought to their refuge in the trees. Without his involvement, they might have never crossed paths. Perhaps he might offer knowledge.
Ulric glances at Brom, and he tosses loose, half-length pants of leather to Ulric. He ignores Jim for the moment, pulling the pants up, laboriously lacing the crotch with his changed yet highly dextrous fingertips graced by short extendable talons.
Jim's throat does a slow plow of nervousness looking at those fingers Ulric commands with such finesse.
“We shall make a pact, Jim.”
Ulric is not asking.
Jim's eyes widen at the potential in Ulric's words. “Uh....”
Ulric's eyes blaze out at Jim, and the smaller male looks up at Ulric towering above him in his half-ape form.
“I will be clear. I gave blood to Calia to save her life—again. I have not gotten the facts from Brom, but you all escaped our hospitality—”
“Pfft,” Jim sounds off.
Brom elbows him and Jim doubles over, holding his ribs as his hand moves, chopping the side of Brom's neck.
He falls where he stands.
Ulric and Jim stare at his unconscious form.
“You are a foolish male, Jim,” Ulric finally says.
Brom begins to stir, and Jim's eyes flick to him.
“No. A dumb guy wouldn't know how to bring down the ape dude by whacking his vagus nerve. But Jim does.” The Traveler puts his spread fingers against his own chest. “I'm a trained scientist. I study genes, for the love of everything holy. I'm not a survivalist. Hell,” he begins to rant as Brom struggles to his knees, gasping and glaring up at Jim, “I've never even been effing camping. Then this—” Jim sweeps a palm at the dense woods, “this nature shit is overrated. I'm hungry, beat and about damn tired of everyone kicking my ass.”
“Are you through?” Ulric asks.
“Don't know. You going to kill me or just talk me to death?”
Ulric grins suddenly and Jim retreats a step. He sometimes forgets how he must appear to someone not accustomed to his current form.
“I'll make you a deal,” Ulric growls, seamlessly changing to the dialect of the Traveler.
“Fine, lay it on me.”
Brom stands, giving Jim a look of reluctant respect. “You won't take me by surprise again, human.”
Jim shoots him a look of disdain. “Don't push it, and I won't have to drag out my bag of tricks.” Jim waggles his eyebrows.<
br />
Brom turns to Ulric in patent disgust. “I don't think I can stand him for the length of time you might need him.”
Ulric's grin spreads, giving Jim a considering look. “He has mettle, our Jim.”
“I'm not yours pal, but if you can act like a human being for three seconds we might come to an understanding.”
“I'm not human, Jim.”
Jim shrugs. “Right, don't be an ass—you guys take everything so literally.”
The silence fills the forest, eventually eaten by the sounds of the woods. Finally Ulric says, “What is your end-goal, Jim?”
“Nice,” Jim replies, clearly referring to Ulric's grasp of Traveler semantics. “I thought you'd kill Phil—me, then take the girls and go all Fragment on their ass.”
Ulric's brows drop low over his eyes. “We are not to be lumped in with the Fragment. They're from your world, Jim. Not ours. We are not the ones who force our females into subjugation.” Ulric gazes in the direction of where the two females and males are located. His eyes shift to Jim again. “Even the clans are very controlling of their females.”
“Listen, the clans are like franchises. There's some crappy McDarnald's and some great McDarnald's,” Jim says.
Ulric is confused. “McDarnald's?”
“Nevermind. It's a fast food joint that's like measles on my earth.”
“You don't make sense.” Brom frowns.
Jim smirks. “I only have to make sense for me, guys.”
Ulric and Brom stare at him.
“There ya go with the serious BS again. What I meant, was each clan is different. Obviously, Brom boy here hasn't had a sec to fill ya in on what went down at Calia's bio-clan. I knocked you out, then you did the big change-a-roo...”
Ulric is not sure of his exact meaning but does know that nothing at her clan of origin went as expected simply by what he found upon arriving.
“You get my meaning?”
Ulric slowly nods. “Certain things were expected, and nothing played out as it should.”
“Exactly. We got there and they immediately separated Phil and Calia, then they wanted me to pay for Edwin's death with my life because I'm from the same earth as many of the Frag-tag team.”
Ulric feels his expression darken. “Why was Calia in that state? Even my blood to nourish her was barely sufficient.” Ulric doesn't mention that his healing of her through blood was not complete because of Jim's untimely attack.
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