The Pearl Savage

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  The guard looked at the brothers’ warily. His captain and his brother, Philip, even larger than Bracus. They would bear watching. He ruminated about that which had engaged them this night: acquisition of the female, the Princess. They did not know his plan differed from theirs so hugely. They would soon enough. The sphere, all the spheres, needed to be broken open, their peoples mingling. He sat thinking. The clans would be the obvious rulers of the people, clan and sphere-dweller alike. It was most logical, considering the sphere-dwellers’ inferior physical status and obvious lack of prowess, and abundance of females. Things would go as planned.

  As he planned.

  Bracus looked around him in amusement, the entire Band had dozed by the fire, only Jack absent. They all looked at him and Philip, eyes glittering in the light cast by the fire. Bracus looked at the sky, a few hours before dawn. He would stand first watch and Stephen second. Bracus announced the watch status, having allowed some laziness beside the fire. However, important developments straight from the president’s lips needed to be conveyed and deliberated upon. Of that, Bracus felt sure.

  Stephen rose, placing the flat of his palm upon the small of his back, arching and stretching as a cat.

  Matthew gave his taunt stomach a glancing blow and Stephen crouched, at the ready. “See how you tarry?”

  Stephen jabbed him back in the vulnerable solar-plexus.

  “Guards!” Bracus hissed and they looked at him. “Now is not the time to seek romance with each other.” They glowered at him. No matter, there would be time enough for sparring when the female was within the safety of the clan. Until such time, he wished for the Band to be ever vigilant.

  Stephen gave up and trudged to his post, not easily seen by the fire. No matter, there was a fence made from the towering trees which ran the length of the clan’s primary compound and was not easily transgressed. Bracus, for one, enjoyed running the perimeter. He told himself he liked the exercise to remain in top shape for warring amongst other clans and the dreaded fragment. The truth was that he wished to secure the clan’s perimeter each day. He never ran at the same time, wishing no one mindful of his routines.

  Bracus had changed his mind, choosing to take second shift. This would allow him time to be at the sphere when dawn saw the new day. He would then creep toward the sphere, stealthily, and look once more at the female. He needed to calm his skin which itched with the wrongness of something he could not name.

  He approached Stephen. “I will run, then return one hour past dawn.” They looked at the sky, judging the time. Stephen nodded. That struck Bracus as odd. Stephen was one to be vocal, always. But he had been unusually subdued this night. Bracus prided himself on being acutely aware of his Band’s mental state. It was critical, their lives had depended on it… would always depend on it. He realized he may be letting his disquiet permeate his thought process too deeply. He shook it away, moving toward the perimeter, his throat slits relaxing in preparation for exertion.

  CHAPTER 15

  Clara slowly opened her eyes, or should she say eye. As it was, the bruising underneath her eyeball, exacerbated by her tears had swollen up from the underneath, distorting her vision. Clara swung her legs around until they hovered over the floor, dropping down and immediately she steadied herself as her vision swam before her, streamers of color running out in different directions. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Finally, when she was steadier, she shuffled over to her looking glass and gasped at what she saw there. Although the primary damage had settled down a bit, the swelling below the eye and her lip made it apparent that she had been struck, badly.

  There would be no attending the fields this day. She could not suffer the questions, sympathetic glances, and cool the tempers of those that wished to avenge her.

  Dawn bore its champagne light through the sphere, the slightly obscure nature of it burnishing the room softly so it glowed. Clara turned away from her pathetic reflection and wandered again to the window that was actually the sphere wall and pressed her body against it, her nightgown flowing around her legs. She could just make out the stand of trees and had a sudden wish that she could see the savage. Not the one that looked like he wished her harm but the other.

  Sighing, she looked at the Forest Outside and he appeared. Just as she remembered and her heart sped, the pulse fairly leaping the prison of her throat. But she was unafraid. He gazed at her from the stand of trees, then looking around him, he carefully set aside his bow, arrow and quiver…he was disarming.

  Bracus lay his weapons aside, as to not intimidate the Princess. If he were attacked, in the open, at dawn, his daggers would do very well.

  His throat slits opened wide, taking in the extra oxygen he needed as he sprinted the short distance toward the sphere. He arrived and stopped before the Princess, her face he could see as through dark water, shimmering and slightly obscure, the material of the dome a milky cloak.

  Clara stood stock still, her pulse hammered and her hands grew damp, a fine tremor taking up residence as she watched that muscular form and long legs eat up the distance between them. He was a thing of beauty to watch in motion.

  As before he stopped and she saw his face change in expression from fierceness to rage and she stepped away from the window, her hand to her throat, what had angered him so mightily? She had done nothing.

  What Bracus saw caused his heart to stutter in his chest. She had been beaten. A black rage, the likes of which he had never known washed over him, making the blood rush through his body and roar in his ears, he tipped his head back and shouted to the heavens, his concern over circumspection forgotten in the face of her injuries. Who could have dared touch her in this way?

  He would kill them he vowed, as sure as he stood before her.

  Clara jumped when Bracus shouted his rage.

  He approached again, his face edged with hard anger and beckoned for her to come closer. She shook her head.

  Bracus could taste her fear, it wafted out to him on the wind. He looked more closely at the one eye he could see, the other almost completely shut from the blow she had suffered. Her beautiful lips, full and ripe when he’d last laid eyes on her, now were distended and bloodied. He felt his hands curl into fists. But he restrained his expression. He knew that this trauma she had suffered would make her uneasy with his show of emotion. Instead, he indicated he had no weapons then pointed to the area of her face that was injured, throwing his hands wide he gave the universal gesture for, who? Then he leaned forward, his face almost pressed to the sphere and mouthed, “who did this to you?”

  Clara would have been a fool to not understand that he wished to know what had happened. Her fear began to slide away. He was not the enemy her People thought them to be. For all his fierceness and huge stature, he was not intrinsically evil. Clara opened her mouth to speak and Charles walked in the room.

  Bracus’ head snapped to attention as a young male entered the Princess’s room, and he growled low in his throat. Was this the male that had hurt her?

  Charles came into Clara’s chamber and immediately spied the savage outside her window. What in the bloody hell? He ran to her.

  Clara felt herself being lifted from behind and shrieked, the memories of the night before fresh. She bucked and fought, fighting for all she was worth, the savage’s roar of rage ringing in her ears. She could feel herself hyperventilating. Please, dear Guardian, I do not wish to be beaten, Clara all but sobbed.

  “It is I Clara! It is Charles, be still, it is I!” Charles shouted.

  But it was no use, Clara was a still bundle in his arms.

  She had fainted.

  Bracus looked at the scene before him, the male held the Princess with tenderness, belying how she had fought him. The male looked up at Bracus and he looked back with dark intent, he would kill the one that had done this.

  Bracus had seen how the poor female tried to fight him off. And now she lay still and vulnerable in his arms. Every protective instinct he harbored screamed to be released,
his hands as evil hammers of abuse at his side. There would be another day that he would exact his revenge. Three weeks hence was too long to wait for acquisition, the need to rescue her was now.

  Where were her protectors? He looked at the male…he would pay dearly. With a final look at the Princess, he raced up the incline, bound for the stand of trees, his throat slits pouring oxygen into his circulatory system. Bracus needed it, he would run the entire way back to his clan, where he would alert the Band to this change.

  Charles saw the savage look at him with murderous intent and realized that he thought that Charles’ was responsible for the abuse he saw on Clara’s face. Not that it mattered what a savage thought but it bothered Charles that another would think he could harm Clara. He was a huge male, inches taller than Charles, with the strange gills she spoke of, opening and closing with his breathing. But it was his eyes that transfixed Charles, eyes which narrowed, memorizing Charles’ face. He looked one last time at Clara then turned, flying up the incline to the Forest of Trees Outside, his form slipping into the wood, disappearing from sight.

  Charles stared for a moment after the savage, glad that the sphere protected him, as he had seen his beating upon the savage’s face. His fixation on Clara made Charles uneasy. The savages’ existence was a problem. Surely Clara could see that? And what of his plan to escape with her? To get her away from this abuse and safely Outside, but the savages were there.

  Clara stirred in his arms and he lifted her up easily, she weighed nothing. He lay her down gently, a fragile burden, her face swollen and marked. His chest grew tight again, thinking of Prince Frederick and what he was unable to stop him from doing.

  Clara opened her eyes and saw Charles. She quickly looked at the window for the savage.

  “He is gone,” Charles said.

  Clara sank back in her pillow and Charles reached out to her face, gently running a finger over her lip, picturing the Prince. “I could kill him, you know.”

  Clara captured his finger. “Do not,” as she lay his hand against her uninjured cheek.

  “I do have a plan, dear Clara.”

  “Is it the same one that Sarah has?” Clara whispered.

  “It is. We will reconvene later, when you feel better and establish a time line.”

  Charles looked at her face. “I am so sorry. He beat you because of me and I could do nothing.”

  “He needed no excuse, it would have happened eventually.”

  “Why do you say this?”

  “He is of the Queen’s ilk. He enjoys punishing for its own sake.”

  They were silent for a moment.

  Charles looked off at the window, his face darkening. “Why does the savage return to you?”

  “I do not know,” Clara said, giving a small shrug, but added, “he does not mean me harm.”

  “He looked like he meant me harm!”

  Clara had a horrible thought. “I fought you…”

  “Yes, I am sorry I took you by surprise, I thought that… I do not know what I thought. I saw him looming over you and lost myself. After last night, I feel just a tad bit more protective than before. It makes no sense, as he cannot breach the sphere…”

  “He thinks that you harmed me.”

  Charles nodded, remembering the savage’s eyes.

  “It cannot be good, I feel there is a purpose for these visits he makes. I do not know for what reason but there is one.” Clara sat up in bed with a clear sense of foreboding wrapping itself around her, stealing into her bones and she grew cold. Charles folded her into his arms and she allowed herself to be held. His strong arms tightened about her and Clara could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. The smell of his maleness and the warmth of him a comfort she was used to.

  ****

  Clara righted her appearance as much as she was able but looked battered. Taking the back streets that the street lights did not illuminate, she made haste to Sarah’s domicile.

  Clara crossed the threshold of the foyer that lay unlocked, always, the interior door barring intruders. Guardian knew, there was always a faction of the People that busied themselves with theft. She depressed a bell fashioned of a hammered brass scroll, slightly warm from the steam which lit it softly. Clara could see Sarah’s form through the warped glass, over one hundred years old, distorting her image.

  Sarah opened the door and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Good Guardian, it looks worse this day than one day past.”

  Clara nodded, she knew from experience that it would not right itself for another week hence.

  “It is bad, but has been worse.” But she had never suffered such about her face.

  Sarah stared hard at Clara, then, saying nothing she stepped aside. “Please, come in, do not linger. Charles will arrive momentarily.”

  Clara passed into the beautifully appointed interior, gazing upon all the things she had seen her whole life during a friendship that spanned their lifetime.

  The foyer was lit by a single steam-chandelier. Its soft, apricot glow reflecting off the mercury glass balls that Sarah collected, stacked haphazardly in a large bowl inside the vestibule. Clara stood a little uncertainly, feeling the weight of an unknown decision pressing down upon her. She felt miserable at the thought of deserting her People, if even for an indefinite period.

  Sarah stared at Clara critically. “Do not fret, you cannot help us if you are dead.” She made direct eye contact. “And well you know that will be the terminus with that depraved man.”

  Charles entered, hearing the last comment. “I wouldn’t call that cad anything close to ‘man,’… abomination is more like it.”

  He leaned down to Clara, giving her a feathers kiss on her forehead, the only unmarred skin on her face.

  Clara leaned gratefully into his affection and Charles fought not to wrap her up into something more intimate. Sarah watched them both with narrowed eyes, Charles meeting hers over Clara’s head.

  Clara thought she was protecting her People, but it was her friends that were her protectors.

  “Follow me,” Sarah said, moving ahead of him. The bustle of her skirt made a soft rustling sound as she entered the parlor, seating herself on a beautifully made rosewood loveseat. Charles and Clara settled themselves in the flanking chairs that matched the settee.

  Charles began, “We will get Clara out of this sphere, however, it may be best that she disappear, into the Outside…”

  “Are you mad?” Sarah asked.

  Charles’ eyebrows drew up into an offended scowl.

  But it was Clara that answered, “We do not know enough about Outside to know the outcome of such an escape.”

  Charles waved the comment away dismissively. “They live Outside. And might I add, seem to be of robust composition!”

  Sarah scowled, males, she thought with irritation, never thinking about danger, but embracing it. “You must know that they have physical attributes which make the Outside tolerable,” she said with thinly veiled scorn. “Another sphere is the practical choice.” She leaned back, satisfied with her answer’s truth.

  Charles’ eyes narrowed. “It is where they will not look.”

  Clara could see where this was headed, the two of them fought like feral cats. “Stop this.” They looked at her, mouths open in preparation for rebutting each other.“I have decided what must be done.”

  The silence stretched out, Clara could hear the steam rising from the small clock on the wall, the ticking loud in the silence.

  “I will do as Charles suggests…”

  Sarah opened her mouth in protest but Clara held a hand up to silence her. “Look upon my face.”

  They looked.

  “He will not let me live. He will chase me wheresoever I go and will not think that I would breach the sphere.”

  Sarah made a last attempt to stymie what she thought was a dangerous plan, “You will compromise the sphere.” The comment fell as a stone in a shallow pond.

  Charles glared at Sarah, who knew very well how close
ly Clara guarded the safety of her People. Sarah glared right back, she cared not, she wished for Clara’s safety above her own.

  Clara rolled her lower lip between her teeth, forgetting her injuries and wincing at the contact. Charles laid his hand on top of Clara’s, his finger absently stroking circles.

  “Dear Guardian, do you think I would endanger her?” he asked, aghast, insulted.

  “Not intentionally.”

  “I would not endanger her accidentally either.”

  “It is unknown and there are the savages to consider.”

  “They mean no harm. I do not care what the Record Keeper reports,” Clara said.

  “Some mean harm, obviously,” Sarah said, giving Clara the full measure of her stare.

  “What say you, Sarah?” Charles looked from one to the other of them, knowing they had a shred of secrecy tethered between them.

  Clara looked down at her hands, tightly clasped in her lap, having let go of his hand.

  “Clara?” he asked softly, prompting her.

  Clara sighed heavily. “A savage appeared at the window…”

  “I am aware…”

  “No, not the one that you saw today… another,” Clara said quietly.

  “You did not speak of this, why?”

  “I know that you worry,” she twisted her hands mercilessly, “and it means nothing… as they cannot breach the sphere.”

  “But they can,” Sarah said, looking at them significantly.

  Charles looked back at her. “They may not know the peril of salt.”

  “Why does everyone believe that they are not intelligent beings? Mayhap they understand us as well as we understand them. Possibly more,” Clara said.