When it was outside, he pushed frantically on the mechanism again. Again the door creaked and groaned, and it seemed to have trouble closing. Tol’zen put his shoulder against it and shoved the protesting metal into place. The snake struck at the door with a CLANG that shook the door and the very walls around them.
“That was close,” he said.
“What do we do now?” Pashera asked. “How can we get out of here?”
Tol’zen considered this. Then he said: “If we are careful, we can exit the broken window upstairs, and make our way along the top of the enclosure. I don’t think the snake will chase us too far. It’s probably eaten the rest of the pig already.”
There was a noise upstairs. Both the saurian and human turned their eyes up. They heard a clatter, but also a scraping noise.
“The snake is coming in through the second-floor window!” Tol’zen exclaimed. He turned and punched the door mechanism again. The door groaned, whirred … and did nothing. He hit it again. The door didn’t budge.
“The snake broke it!” he raged. He turned to her. “Come on!” And he led the way up the stairs.
By the time they got to the top of the stairs, it was too late. The snake already was well into the great room on the second floor, slithering toward the stairwell. It saw them coming up the stairs and lunged forward, jaws agape.
Now, Pashera could see the whole length of the monster. It was at least as long as eight or nine men laid end-to-end. Its enormous head was attached to a black body that was thin at the ends and twice as fat in the middle. There was a lump toward the front of its body that had to be either the rest of the hog or some other unfortunate meal.
There was no time to run to the next flight of stair higher. Tol’zen and Pashera backed down the stairs. The snake came after them.
Tol’zen kept his spear as ready. The snake struck, but Tol’zen was lightning fast, and his spear blocked the snake, which hissed in rage.
Pashera flew down the stairs to the first floor. She pushed on the door mechanism, but it was still stuck. She looked around. What else could she possibly use for a weapon? It seemed hopeless.
Tol’zen danced backward down the stairs, locked in mortal combat with the giant reptile. It snapped at him again and again. Its huge black head was bleeding red in at least three spots, but this didn’t seem to discourage it. If anything, the wounds only enraged it more.
Making matters worse, the snake was too fast for him to target a hit on its vulnerable eyes.
He stepped back just as the snake lunged again. Again, his spear pierced its hide, but again, not deep enough to make a difference. The snake pushed against the spear, hissing a scream. Tol’zen clung desperately to his spear, and losing his balance, he tumbled back down the stairs, his dropped spear clattering behind him.
“This is it, then,” he said grimly. He came to rest at the bottom, just in time to see Pashera heading up the stairs. She stepped by him quickly, carrying something.
“Pashera! No!” Tol’zen shouted. But she ignored him. She hefted something in her hands – the flame wand he’d used yesterday.
She raised the business end up the stairs. Just as the snake struck, the stairwell filled with flame.
The snake reared back in alarm. Then the pain of the flames connected to its primitive reptilian brain. The snake shriek-hissed and bent backwards, slithering up the stairs in a flurry of coils.
Pashera followed, and Tol’zen, scrambling to his feet, followed Pashera. At the top of the stairs, she pointed the flame-wand again, and again it spat flames. The snake hurried out the window, coils looping over each other in a panic.
The flame-wand started to whine. It was a strange noise that went higher in pitch as it got louder. A shadow loomed behind Pashera – Tol’zen. He grabbed the flame wand from the startled woman and pitched it out the broken window.
He dove to the floor, dragging her with him. Pashera wondered why, when a hot fist punched in through the window. The entire building shook, and crashes sounded from various floors.
Tol’zen got back up and extended a hand to aid her in rising. He and Pashera went and looked out the broken window. The snake was left in two distinct barbecued pieces, both of which still thrashed terribly. The entire enclosure now covered in flames, all the vines and unkempt growth alight.
“How did that happen?” Pashera wondered in awe.
“The old devices – they do that sometimes,” Tol’zen said. “They blow up if you’re not careful.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “Quick thinking on your part.”
They went downstairs. Try as they might, they couldn’t get the door open, even with Tol’zen heaving mightily. So, back upstairs, and he lowered her out the broken window down to the ground, then followed.
Tol’zen poked at the dead snake with his spear. “You ever eat snake?” he asked Pashera.
She took out her knife. “I bet it’s good.”
And it was.
Twenty minutes later, they left the enclosure, and Tol’zen took the lead. He didn’t put a tether on Pashera. He didn’t have to. She followed his lead. There was no rip in the trees for this part of the journey – that unnatural path seemed to end right at the tower – and so Tol’zen led her down a game trail that wandered through the trees. The thrum-thrum-thrum of the strange tower faded behind them.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, Pashera knew she was going to miss that eerie noise.
Whatever monsters had kept Pashera awake by going bump in the night, they weren’t visible. Sign of their presence was everywhere. Large piles of spoor. Ground ripped up like pudding. And the greasy, blood-spattered and broken remnants of kills.
Despite their battle with the giant snake, Tol’zen seemed in a lighter mood. But the journey back into the forest weighed on Pashera. So, she started talking to Tol’zen. She gave him an earful about her tribe, her mother, which hunters were better than others, and more.
This time, Tol’zen didn’t shush her. Whenever she lapsed into silence he prodded Pashera with questions about her tribe and family. He was a good listener. She told him about her revulsion at the thought of marrying Terrik or Datik, and why that started her adventure in the swamp. She told him about her friend Magwalra, though she kept some details to herself.
Through her monologue, Tol’zen showed he really listened. He chimed in with questions, or appropriate assurances. But mostly he let Pashera talk herself out.
By the time the sun reached its highest point in the sky, Pashera was tired again. She stumbled, and begged Tol’zen for a rest. Rather than throw her over his shoulder, he led her to a clean spring where she could rest. He disappeared into the woods and came back with two fat squirrels. He gave them to her to gut while he started a fire.
After gathering wood, Tol’zen lit it with an item produced from one of the many pockets on his sash. The wood started smoking immediately, then burst into flame.
“More magic,” Pashera said.
“Surely, you have a flame stick among your words now,” Tol’zen chided her.
Pashera thought about it. “May I see it?” she asked.
Tol’zen handed it to her. Now that she could see it clearly, she knew exactly what it was. A flame stick. The trigger on the side produced flame at one end.
“This thing you did to me – putting all these words in my head,” she said as she passed the flame stick back to Tol’zen. “How is this possible?”
“A lot of things were possible for the old people,” Tol’zen said. “The most amazing thing is that so much of the old tech still works after all this time.”
“But not always well – like the flame-wand that exploded.”
“Well, yes, that can happen if you’re not careful,” Tol’zen said. “Don’t worry. You’ll learn a lot more about how to handle things properly when we reach my city.”
“Will I be there as your guest?” Pashera asked.
Tol’zen’s face hardened a bit. “No. You will be a slave.”
A chill
went down Pashera’s spine even as rage colored her cheeks. The Long Spear tribe had slaves – members of other tribes capture in wars or raids. Their lives were generally miserable, and they didn’t live especially long unless captives were exchanged.
“I saved your life,” Pashera said. “Back in the tower, I fought off the snake. Why would you make me a slave?”
“I’ve saved YOUR life a few times,” Tol’zen chided her. “And in Guadalquivir, all humans are slaves. I can’t change that. But I’ll tell you the truth: a loyal slave in the city of Guadalquivir lives better than a king among your people.”
Pashera scrunched up her face in anger. But Tol’zen continued: “You told me what your life was going to be like. Forced to marry a warrior you detest. Ha!” he laughed a bit. “In your tribe, women don’t even get their own names. Your tribe treats women worse than we treat our lowest slaves. But we’ve come to expect that from humans.”
Pashera scowled again. Tol’zen took the squirrels from her and soon had the meat cooking over the fire.
In a few minutes, the squirrel smelled very good. Tol’zen passed Pashera her share, and she ate it silently.
When the food was done, Tol’zen stood up. “I’m glad we settled that,” he said. “Now let’s go. The next part of the journey gets more difficult.”
Pashera wondered what could be more difficult than battling a dagger-toothed cat, three-horn, wolves or a giant snake. But she held her tongue and sulked as Tol’zen led the way.
The ground started to slope upward. The trees spread out more and grew larger, the ground cover turned from jungle growth to dryer shrubs. Prickly plants covered large swaths of either side of the path, and Pashera was glad for her shoes.
They walked for another hour. Then Tol’zen held up his hand.
“What?” Pashera asked.
“We are being followed.”
He motioned for her to hurry along. He picked up speed, and Pashera had to trot to keep pace. Glancing back, Pashera saw a large shape through the trees to their left. She shouted a warning to Tol’zen. He started running. Pashera tried to keep up, but he left her in the dust.
“Tol’zen!” she shouted. “I can’t run that fast.”
A large leatherback moved along through the trees. It was leafy-green in color, with sharp brown stripes that blended to become the dominant color on its legs. This was no leaf-eater like the three-horn. This beast ran on two legs and had a mouth big enough to swallow a man whole. That mouth was ringed with rows of sharp teeth.
The monster was four or five times the height of a man. It ran on two powerful legs. It had one small arm on its left side; but the one on the right ended in a blackened stump. Its head was covered in scars, as were its meaty flanks. But none of the old wounds were enough to slow it down.
It spotted them. Its golden eyesglintedviciously. The huge beast stepped through the trees. And then it opened its mouth wide and roared with a sound like sheets of metal ripping apart. It was a noise straight from the throat of hell: “Hoooowrororow!”
The sound was so loud, so horrific, that Pashera’s knees nearly buckled. She stumbled as the monstrous beast lowered its head and charged.
Tol’zen looked back, saw her falter, then turned anddashed back. He picked her up bodily. Slinging her over his shoulder, he turned and ran hard, with certain death in pursuit.
Tol’zen ran fast. Again, Pashera was amazed at how fast he could move with her over his shoulder. Huffing and puffing, he maintained a good lead on the monster.
But the giant leatherback slowly narrowed the gap.
Soon, it was only a couple of lengths behind them. Pashera looked straight into its mouth, past stained and broken teeth, down its enormous gullet. Its huge tongue waggled obscenely. She could imagine that thing swallowing her in one bite. Then she would end up suffocating inside its stomach. She could not imagine a worse death.
And with every giant footstep, that death came closer.
Then with a final burst, Tol’zen sprang and flew forward. He skidded across the ground. Pashera screamed. She was sure death was upon her.
But then the leatherback pulled up short in its pursuit. It snorted a couple times. Then it lifted its head and roared in what must have been disappointment. Finally, it turned to its left and stomped off.
Pashera struggled to sit up. Beside her, Tol’zen gasped for air. She looked around. They were huddled on the ground in front of a pylon-shaped, one-story structure. It had an open door, no windows, and was built into a rising hill. On top of the pylon, blue fire blinked regularly.
Tol’zen recovered enough to stand up. Picking up his spear, he staggered as he led Pashera to a fountain at the side of the pylon. They gulped down water. Pashera peppered him with questions – why had the leatherback not eaten them? What was this strange place? But Tol’zen waved her questions off with one hand, and tried to catch his breath. Finally, he could talk.
“This marks the boundary of the province around Guadalquivir,” Tol’zen told her. “In the old days, this area was settled, though it’s been empty for hundreds of years. That pylon keeps the guardians like old Hrothrawl in check – they can’t pass it.
“Hrothrawl?”
“Yes, the big predator. The ‘leatherback’, as you call it. He guards the approach to our lands. Just our bad luck to come along when his patrol brought him near here. It would have been very embarrassing to have been eaten by old Hrothrawl.”
“Embarrassing? That’s what you’d call it?” Pashera asked. “You name that monster like a pet?”
“He’s been guarding the frontier since my grandsire hatched. If I knew his schedule better, we could have missed him entirely.”
“He has a name,” Pashera was mystified by this. “Like a pet.”
“In grandsire’s day, he could be controlled, and not just by the pylon,” Tol’zen said. “But like much of the old knowledge, exactly how it was done is forgotten.”
He sighed, clearly exhausted. “Anyway, Hrothrawl won’t be back around here for hours yet. And our path leads us further up the mountain.”
“To Guadalquivir,” Pashera said.
“Yes, to Guadalquivir.” Tol’zen closed his eyes and slumped lower against the fountain.
Pashera looked around … ah, just what she was looking for. She picked up a rock next to the pool that was perhaps twice the size of her fist. Then she stood up, and swung it hard right against Tol’zen's skull.
He went down like a bag of bones. He moaned and twitched. His hands spasmed as if he was trying to grasp at her. Then he went still.
Pashera picked up his spear and turned on her heel. “The devils will take you before I’m anyone’s slave,” she called back over her shoulder.
The old leatherback – Hrothrawl – was nowhere to be seen. Tol’zen was right – the leatherback was already going somewhere else. Pashera trotted back the way they’d come. She was unsure of the way, because Tol’zen carried her for the last part of it.
She thought of Tol’zen. Had she killed him? She didn’t think so, and she was glad for that. His spear was heavy – she considered abandoning it, but knew she needed it for the many predators in the jungle.
Still, she was confident her new plan would work. It went …
Get to the old tower before nightfall.
Spend the night there, and pick up supplies for the next leg of her trip.
Go back to where they’d left the two dead three-horns. Salvage some of the horns.
Go back to the tribe, present the horns to the chief, and claim any husband she wanted.
Even at her best speed, she’d be three days missing by the time she got back. She hoped it didn’t worry her mother too much. But oh, what stories she had to tell. And if she could convince the tribe to come salvage what they could carry from the old tower, her prestige among her tribe would surely grow.
So intent was Pashera on working out her new plan that she lost the path. She spent a few minutes in a panic, trying to decide if she shoul
d backtrack or just press on. Finally, she figured that as long as she walked downhill, she should be in the right direction made her press on.
But after another 10 minutes, she felt really lost. Now she did panic. She decided to walk in a big circle to see if she saw anything familiar. That didn’t work. Then she climbed a tree – maybe she could see something from there.
She didn’t find the path. But something found her.
The roar that cut through the air was scary enough to cause stones to shiver. Up in the tree, Pashera turned to see the old monster Hrothrawl lumbering toward her. He’d spied her once she’d climbed up in the branches. Now, he seemed intent on finishing their business.
She slid down the tree, grabbed the spear, and took off down the hill. The hill steepened, and soon she saw this gave her an advantage. Hrothrawl’s bulky body was not made for going downhill, at least not at any speed.
Pashera stretched out her legs to put distance between her and the monster. Near the bottom of the hill she tripped over something and went tumbling. She tumbled head over butt, right into the roots of a great tree.
She looked up the hill. Where was the spear? She could see Hrothrawl coming down the hill clumsily. Did she dare go back to look for the spear? She knew once he was on the flatter land, Hrothrawl could outrun her.
Then none of that mattered. The tree roots she was crouching on shifted. They coiled around, and took the form of a black snake – a smaller version of the giant black snake she’d killed this morning.
Pashera screamed, and the snake hissed angrily. She jumped away from its coils, and seeing nothing else to do, climbed up the tree.
The snake came after her, but she was a fast climber. Still, she ran out of places to go rather quickly. In this section of the forest, the trees were spread out – she couldn’t just run along the limbs from one tree to another like she had in the swamps.
Slave in the City of Dragons (Dinosaurs and Gladiators Book 1) Page 5
