by Thom Reese
Noavor seemed to contemplate this for a moment, and then, smiling, he turned, strolling up the dusty incline to where Dolnaraq hung, and before Tresset realized what he was doing, he’d freed his claws, raking them across Dolnaraq’s chest.
With a roaring howl of utmost agony, Tresset burst through Noavor’s startled lieutenants and fell upon the smarmy chieftain.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Julia cradled the infant as she and Charles slinked through the shadows along the southern end of the compound. Though Charles urged her to leave the child behind, she staunchly refused to do so. He’d grumbled and groused, but he knew her well enough to realize she wouldn’t be persuaded on this. But the addition of the child negated his Ninja as a means of escape. There was no way she could hold the infant while squeezing against Charles’ back as they road over rough terrain.
Charles found the keys to the Hummer in Shane’s pocket. They crept through darkness, moving past the multiple animal cages. The beasts were in a state of panic. As yet, no fire had reached them, but ash-filled smoke filled the air and each breath burned as it went down. The caged creatures raced about their confines, pawed at the walls, growled and whimpered. A spider monkey clung to the wire bars of its pen, shaking furiously and screeching in a terrified falsetto. A red fox paced one direction then another, back forth, back forth, its nose twitching, its tongue hanging limply out of one side of its muzzle. Julia felt bad for them, and if there had been time, she might have even released the non-threatening breeds.
She looked away from the caged beasts and into the smoke filled night. The moon glowed red as its rays pierced the fiery sky. The smoke irritated her eyes, dried them, caused them to feel scratchy each time she blinked. The baby stirred in her arms and she pulled Charles’ jacket back to peek at the strange child she’d claimed as her own. Her life was suddenly inverted. This was now her first responsibility, the safety of the child. All else was secondary.
They made their way past the cages. There was a small wooden shed just ahead and then, just beyond, a larger building, single-story, old and surely rotted. Their plan was to skirt the southern end of the compound and then sweep north, working their way along the western outskirts of the place and toward the vehicle.
In truth, Julia was amazed that Charles had found her, or, if not that he had found her, that he had gone to such great lengths to find her. He hadn’t yet had the opportunity to share the details, but clearly he’d expended some effort in locating her. When they got out of here—if they got out of here—then what? Charles wanted another chance with her, that much was clear. But did she want him? Was there anything left of the love they’d shared, or had the twenty-pound sledgehammer of his sudden rejection shattered all hopes for them? Could the relationship be repaired, and maybe even more importantly, should they even try?
Charles paused, cautioned her to stay low. There was some sort of commotion up ahead. They were behind the tiny shed now, and she peeked around the corner to the southwest. A cluster of reyaqc stood there, three held torches, illuminating the scene. Two beastly creatures rolled about the rocky ground slashing and biting at one another as the others stood watching the brawl. Another form, perhaps fifteen feet further up the rise, hung strapped to wooden planks—crucified. Julia squinted, attempting to draw the figure into focus, but the torches caused him to appear more as a silhouette than anything else. Though every few seconds, each time the breeze moved from east to west, it seemed a truer light flashed across his face. All at once, the features seemed familiar.
Remaining firmly in the shadows, Julia stepped around Charles, attempting to gain a clearer view of the scene.
“Julia, what are you doing?” Charles’ voice was a sharp hiss.
“The man on the cross, I need to get a better look at him.”
Charles cursed as she stepped further from him, crouching beside a ten foot high mound of gravel to her left. Gaining a different angle, she hoped to achieve a clearer view. Charles had followed, and probably for fear of discovery remained silent. Still, Julia sensed his anger. Of course, he thought her foolish. Perhaps she was. But she had to know. Moving just a little further now, she peeked around the gravel mound and up to the left…
It was him.
Donald Baker.
Julia held the infant closer, her arms trembling as she considered the situation. She’d not cared for Donald. He’d proven devious, single-minded, and outright criminal. Kidnapping, after all, was a federal offence. That said—everything he’d done was to the goal of aiding his species. He wasn’t antagonistic to Julia, or to any humans. As far as she could tell, it was simply that he had a burning passion to aid the reyaqc. Based on the deference she’d witnessed the reyaqc showing him, she surmised that he had a certain clout among them, and without a doubt he was the most civilized reyaqc she’d encountered. She clutched the infant closer. What would happen should Donald be killed? What other reyaqc could she trust to guide her in raising this child? What other reyaqc would even allow her to keep the baby? As illogical as it might seem, she was keeping the child. Minya had given her that charge, and Julia accepted. She believed Minya wanted more for this baby than life in the barren desert, that she saw in Julia a greater hope for that child. Likewise, Julia saw Donald Baker as her only means of succeeding in this mission. She might be wrong on this last count, but she didn’t think so. Donald was key, both to her adopted child, and to the survival of these other reyaqc.
“We’ve got to rescue him.”
Charles jaw nearly dropped to the dirt. “Him? The guy on the cross? Julia that’s insane.”
“That’s Donald Baker.” Julia said this as if this information alone was all Charles would need.
“Okay, that’s Baker—so what? Didn’t he kidnap you? Isn’t he one of them?” With the last word Charles waved his arm in a wide arc, indicting the entire compound.
Julia turned to face her husband. “Charles, we need him. He’s important, both to the reyaqc as a whole and to the safety of this baby.”
Charles stared at her, his expression one of exasperated disbelief.
Julia glanced up at Donald again. His chest heaved. His limbs quivered. “I know this is insanity to you. It is to me too. But our chances of survival are much greater with him than without him.” She paused, scanning the shadows, surveying the terrain. “Even without Donald, we can’t continue in this direction. We’d be walking right in front of that brawl.” Julia pointed to her left. “If we swing around this way, behind the cages and then up the back side of that rise, I think we can sneak up behind Donald, untie him, and then maybe slip down the back. After that, we can make our way to the Hummer.”
Charles stared at her for a moment before speaking. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his jaw tightened. She was asking him to further risk his life. “You sure you want to do this?”
Julia gazed down at the infant in her arms, at the two pearl-like eyes staring up at her in perfect innocence. As strange as it seemed, Donald Baker was the only one she trusted where this child was concerned. “I’m doing it, Charles, whether you come with me or not.”
He nodded. There wasn’t much else for him to say.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Donald gritted his teeth, flexed his biceps, and arched his back, pulling himself up in order to gain a gulp of fiery air. It seemed the stuff was mostly soot, but still, it filled his lungs, eased the need for breath. Relaxing now, he allowed his head to slump forward upon his chest. Breathing was near impossible with his arms spread to support his entire weight on this rotting wooden structure. In another thirty seconds or perhaps a minute, he would pull himself upright again in order to gain his next gulp of life. He would again feel the muscles of his upper arms tear, would endure the coarse and splintering wood scraping against his bare back, would suffer the ropes rubbing against his wrists wearing the skin raw and bloody.
His gaze fell upon the scene several yards below. Tresset and Bytneht Noavor thrashed and rolled about, each injuring the other with e
very slash and bite. Noavor was larger, younger. He was defter of movement. His agility far surpassed that of his opponent. But Tresset was tested. He possessed a patience born of experience. His instincts were sharp, his every strike masterful. Still, he tired. Even through the smoky haze, even amidst his own suffering, Donald saw his age-old companion faltering.
Donald lifted himself once again, gathered a breath, and attempted to shout to the combatants. “You are not so different as you think. Talk! Not battle!” But his warnings were naught but the feeble croaking of a used-up reyaqc tied to a wooden frame. It was doubtful that any heard his words. If anyone had, well, not one pair of eyes turned in his direction.
As Donald watched through bleary eyes, Tresset kneed Noavor in the groin, and then quickly tossed him to the left. Springing to his feet, Tresset huffed, his lungs heaving at the exertion. But still he leaped forward just as his opponent sought to right himself. But Noavor anticipated the lunge, sidestepping Tresset and gaining the upped hand.
Donald tensed, once again lifting himself to breathe.
There was a sound from behind. Whispered voices. He turned his head but could see nothing from his angle. Yet, there was a scent on the air—two actually. Humans. “Julia?”
“Yes.” Her voice was but a whisper. “Don’t draw attention to yourself. We’re here to free you.”
Who was the other one, the male that he smelled? Clearly he was not one of the pack’s givers. His scent was too civilized. Even through the perspiration, Donald smelled musky cologne and the sweet odor of hair product. Not Shane. The scent was different. Who was this man?
The frame shuddered. He’d been crucified upon an x-shaped structure. Support beams ran from the ground to the top of each arm of the “x” where Donald’s hands were strapped. Another plank rose to the center point where both lines of the “x” converged. These boards were being pulled free, one at a time. The male supported the structure with his back as Julia pulled and twisted at each support until the nails were freed and she could drop the boards carefully to the ground. Now, as Julia held the board on Donald’s left, the male inched to the right, clasped the plank just above Donald’s right hand, and they lowered the frame. Donald now laid on his back staring into the smoke filled sky.
“Hurry. I must intervene before Tresset is killed.”
“We’re doing what we can,” said the male. “Just stay still while I untie these straps.”
Julia’s face loomed above Donald. She’d just retrieved something that had been lying perhaps five feet off to the side. She cradled a lime green and black riding jacket. Donald smelled the infant reyaqc within. “The girl, Minya, her child?”
Julia nodded. “We need to get the baby to safety. We’re going to take the Hummer. Come with us. After the battle’s done, we can return.”
Donald’s right arm and leg were free. He took a deep breath. His lungs still ached, but breathing was easier now. “I can’t leave, Julia. Not now. Take the car. Gain some distance from the battle. But don’t stray too far. That baby needs the care of a reyaqc.”
“I promised Minya I’d raise the child.”
Donald stared at her for a long moment. There was a determination in this woman, a will that he’d sensed earlier and now proved strong and unshakable. He nodded. She offered a weak smile.
An agonized screech pierced the night air. At the same time loping footsteps drew near.
Leaving Donald’s left wrist strapped, the human male rose to his feet, fumbled in his right pants pocket, and then withdrew a small handgun. “Stop right there. I will shoot.”
Donald tilted his head so that he could see the scene before him. Two reyaqc had noticed the activity upon the rise and had come to investigate. Below, Noavor straddled Tresset’s bloodied form, his jaws clamped upon the chieftain’s neck as Tresset thrashed about in pain and terror. “Julia, untie my hand—quickly!”
The woman placed the infant on the ground and began working on the thick leather strap that bound Donald to the board.
“Quickly!”
He felt a tug, a pull, a tug in another direction and then his arm was free.
He was to his feet. His muscles burned, his throat was raw, and he could barely stand upright for the pain, but these things were inconsequential. As he stumbled down the slope, Tresset lifted his right arm as if to pull Noavor’s jaw from his neck. His head rolled in Donald’s direction. Their eyes met. “Dolnaraq,” gasped Tresset. “He is worse…” There was an exhalation of breath. Tresset’s arm jerked and then fell limp. Donald closed his eyes. His emotions swirled—his duty, his promises, his life’s work—his rage. He knew what Tresset had wanted of him. He knew how he would respond.
“Noavor!” screamed Donald, seeing the young chieftain rise, his hands held high in victory and Tresset’s limp and lifeless form at his feet. He raced forward heedless of all. One molt made to intercept Donald, but the human male warned him off with the gun.
The young chieftain turned, muzzle bloodied with Tresset’s life fluid. He grinned a broad, self-satisfied grin. “He’s dead, Dolnaraq. Too bad for you.”
Donald knew rage as he had not known in a century’s time.
Blinding rage.
All-consuming rage.
He welcomed it.
Beckoned it.
Embraced it.
No longer did he hold it in check.
No longer did he quash that which cried to be free.
The self-assured Noavor didn’t realize he was under attack until Donald fell upon him. Every ache was dismissed, every injury forgotten. Philosophy evaporated. A lifetime of learning and hope crumbled away as dust, and Donald knew nothing but murderous rage. Though he had no fangs, he clamped his jaw on Noavor’s neck while simultaneously clawing his eyes with his fingernails.
He tasted flesh. Thick salty flesh.
He tasted blood. Copper and iron. Sweet, sticky, flowing.
He bit harder, tearing, grunting, ripping the surface tissue free, and then burying his face in the musculature beneath.
He lunged again.
Again.
Again.
Noavor’s eyes went glassy, his limbs limp, but still Donald ripped and tore and chomped.
Then, suddenly, with no apparent reason or prompting, Donald came to himself. His vision cleared. His mind swept away the low-hanging clouds of rage. There was flesh still caught between his teeth. Moist spongy matter obstructed his nostrils. He sensed the injuries inflicted upon him by the struggling Noavor’s claws. He saw the jagged chunk bitten out of his left forearm, perhaps two inches in diameter and nearly an inch in depth. Had he even felt Noavor bite him? Looking down at the ravaged form of the young molt, he felt his abdomen tighten and turn. Donald tumbled off of the lifeless form as his stomach gave up its bloody contents on the hot stony ground.
EPILOGUE
Donald was a chieftain. It was not a position to which he’d aspired. Nor was it a position he desired. But it had been thrust upon him by his own irrational actions. By reyaqc tradition, the one who slew the chieftain assumed the role. Bytneht Noavor had slain Tresset, and thus earned the position over the two packs. Donald had likewise slain Noavor and so the burden of leadership now rested with him. He knew this was what Tresset had wanted, knew that in the end, Tresset realized that should Noavor attain dominance, that he would perpetuate only savagery, that the reyaqc would never ascend to their true potential.
Or had Donald simply inserted his own fears into the emotion of the moment? He supposed he would never know. But truly, his greater concern was the pack, these molts, these reyaqc. They looked to him for guidance, direction. What was he to tell them? He abhorred their lifestyle. Was it possible to educate them—all of them—to such an extent as they could enter society? What of the molts? What if he could not convince them to give up their beastly essence? What if they preferred to live a wild, unhindered existence? Or, what if, like Treleq, the Las Vegas rogue, they sought to divorce themselves of animal essence, and then went insa
ne for their efforts? Not every molt handled this transition without complication. He had nothing to offer these reyaqc, for he understood so little of their needs and motivations.
And credibility.
Donald had succumbed to rage, had murdered Noavor in a savage haze of blood. How could he then stand before the reyaqc and proclaim civilized behavior and education as their true salvation? Perhaps he was the fool Noavor had thought him to be. He’d spent a lifetime studying the reyaqc, but though he’d uncovered volumes worth of facts, could it be that he’d never touched the soul of his own race?
Donald closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and then stared at the small patch of reddish orange fur on the back of his left hand. Did he even know his own soul? He had sworn, a century ago, that he would never behave as a beast again, that he would be an example of a refined, well-educated, civilized reyaqc. But when he had seen Tresset lying dead in the dirt, when he’d seen Noavor’s haughty grin and heard his smarmy gloats, all that Donald had sought to be, all he had claimed of himself, had been swept aside in a rush of animalistic rage. He was once again the savage molt who had loped about the edges of civilization, naked and wild.
Who was he really? Which was the true Dolnaraq?
Footsteps approached from behind. Donald turned to see Julia. She wore blue jeans and a green pullover blouse. A wide-brimmed straw hat shaded her face and neck from the brutal Nevada sun. She cradled the bundled infant in her arms, three weeks old now and already alert. She’d allowed the child to infuse from her on two occasions. The child was healthy and Julia had shown little signs of distress after each drawing of essence. An infant’s need was much less than that of an adult.
“The rebuilding goes well,” she said as she stepped to along side him.
Donald nodded. “Tresset was a capable leader, but he focused too strongly on ambitious strategies for battle—both against human and reyaqc. Most of the burned structures should have been leveled and rebuilt soon after I purchased this old mine.”
