Sun in the Oven_Galaxa Warriors

by Milly Taiden

  His lips spread against hers and he growled. “Baby, that’s a date.”

  Damen caught sight and winked. “Whatever it is you two are cooking up, count me in. I can feel the heat from here.”

  They wound down the narrow trails, single file, with weapons ready for attacks from the trees and from the crags above. After Riley’s attack six months earlier, Jag briefed them on the rogues preferred methods.

  Henley kept close to Gunnar, and Damen followed behind, never more than an arm’s distance from her back. A light rain fell as they reached the base. They rounded the end of the trail only to face a coursing river separating the Mirror Mountains from the edge of the Tempera. The trading post was on the opposite side and the only thing connecting them was a broken-down bridge over the wild depths.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she mumbled.

  Gunnar glanced over his shoulder. “You game, babe?”

  “Yah,” she said with an exhale. “Just call me playah.”

  They crossed as quickly as possible, each stepping where the other had first. The last of them stepped onto the far cliff as rogues filed out from the trees on the opposite side.

  “We’ve got company for real,” Jag said, moving into fight position with the others. Damen pushed Henley behind him.

  “If we have to shift, you run. Take the silver pack. It’s got enough to keep you until we can find you. I’ll be right behind you as soon as I can” His voice was low, but enough worry laced his tone that she nodded instead of arguing.

  Lifting what looked like a machete, one of the rogues cut the bridge’s anchor ropes and the entire thing splintered, crashing against the rocky gorge.

  Gunnar kept his eyes on the rogues, but his shoulders relaxed a notch. “That makes their message clear. We’ll have to find another way across at the end of the week.”

  “Didn’t you bring a transmitter thingy? With all your technology, no one’s thought to make a handheld communicator? Even Star Trek has those,” Henley questioned with a soft huff.

  “You mean like this?” Jag lifted what looked like a small Bluetooth earpiece from his pocket. “We’ve got it covered, Hen. We might have to cross the river farther down because the hover transport won’t be able to land or even get close with all this tree cover, but we can definitely call ahead.”

  She looked between Damen and Gunnar. “Do you have those as well?”

  “Of course,” Gunnar replied.

  Switching her glare to Damen, she put her hands on her hips. “Take the silver pack, Henley. Hide. Make your home in the trees like a monkey and I’ll find you,” she mimicked.

  “Hen—”

  She snorted. “I can work a communicator, Damen. You could’ve handed me yours to call Vander. He’s probably close enough, he could’ve turned around.”

  “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to play hide the banana with you in the vines,” he teased, kissing her nose.

  Jag chuckled, but then thumbed toward the trading post. “Funny, but our journey starts there, so let’s go.”

  The ground around the trading post was tamped down. It was clear where the terrain had been cut back, but in the year since Maddox and his black market business had been taken down, the jungle had reclaimed much of the landscape.

  She walked around the front, dodging scrub and insects with wingspans like birds. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while.”

  “Nope. Not what I was hoping.” Gunnar shook his head. “I had hoped we’d find a lead or something that would help us track the Hatun other than my and Damen’s combined memory.”

  Jag squatted by the edge of the post near the back end. “Take a look at this.”

  The three moved to where he bent, leaving Vander’s two guards to cover. “It looks like a footprint,” Gunnar said, peering closer. “Juvenile. Could be a primate or even one of the Hatun youth.”

  “You have those here, too?” Henley asked.

  “That’s a dumb question. You know we have children on Galaxa,” Gunnar teased.

  She rolled her eyes. “No, bear for brains. Primates. We have a ton of varieties on Earth. From very, very small to even as big as you, though monkeys are better comedians than you.”

  “No doubt,” Gunner joked back. “But can your primates talk?”

  Henley blinked, not knowing if he was serious or just teasing again. “Talk. As in being dual-natured, talk?”

  “No, as in opening their primate mouths and speaking,” he replied.

  Her mouth dropped and she looked from the footprint to Gunnar and then Damen, and he nodded. “It’s true. Rare, but true. Some single-natured animals have developed the ability to communicate. Not in full, cognitive sentences, but in basic words and sounds. They aren’t fully expressive, but they understand everything,” Damen said.

  Jag straightened from his squat and wiped his hands on his thighs. “Look around for anything else that might tell us who was here last. They might lead us right where we need to go.”

  “Do you really think the Hatun will attack? Don’t they want help freeing themselves from the Unduru?” Henley asked. “I mean, who would want to live having to sacrifice their own just so they’re left alone? It’s like King Kong meets Dracula. If it wasn’t so appalling, it’d be funny.”

  Damen angled his head. “King Kong? Wasn’t he a giant ape or something? How does that fit this scenario?”

  “Because, the natives sacrificed their women once a month to appease Kong, otherwise he’d go ape-shit on them.” She lifted a hand. “The Hatun sacrifice women in kind of the same way. It’s been a year since you, Vander, and Jag took down the black market Maddox made. It only follows the Hatun would have to find alternative sources or sacrifice their own. So, if that’s the case and they have to sacrifice their own, why wouldn’t they want our help?”

  “Hey! Over here,” Jag called from the opposite side of the trading post.

  They rushed to where he’d brushed away a line of newly fallen leaves. Underneath were the same sort of tracks, but these weren’t dried out.

  “Fresh,” he said pointing to the indentations in the soft ground. And they lead in a definite direction.” He gestured toward where Vander’s guards stood watch. “Get Huey and Louie and let’s go. Following these is better than standing around with our dicks in our hand.”

  Gunnar whistled for the guards, and they flanked the back of their line as Jag led them through the trees and brush.

  “What should we look for?” she whispered to Damen as they walked.

  He pointed toward the brush. “Snapped stalks or leaves on plants that have been broken or disturbed. The space between footprints. That can tell us a lot.”

  “Do you think it’s an animal? A talking primate?” she asked. “Seems kind of farfetched.”

  Gunnar laughed, glancing at Henley. “Says the Earth woman on a distant planet with two shifter lovers.”

  She smirked, lifting a hand to his arm. “Point taken.”

  They walked for what seemed like forever, heading deeper and deeper into the foliage. Thick tree cover blocked the sun, and the insects swarmed, buzzing loudly. Henley swiped at them, but there were always more.

  “Goddamned bugs!” she complained. “It’s like we’re a hot lunch for mosquitos or whatever these flying bloodsuckers are.”

  Damen paused, tapping Gunnar on the shoulder. He lifted his hand for the others to stop, but also lifted a finger to his lips. He motioned to Gunnar, pointing about fifty feet from the trail.

  There was a fork in the almost non-existent path where a tree grew black as pitch. Its trunk reminded Henley of the mangroves on Earth, where the roots spiral together. The tree’s canopy grew only one way, as if a non-existent wind forced the branches and leaves in that direction.

  “I remember this,” Gunnar whispered. “This is where we made camp that first night.”

  Damen nodded. “At that abandoned encampment.” He looked around. “I remember the path here being very clear, though. Well-mark
ed.”

  “Me too,” he agreed. “Still, it’s been a long time.”

  Jag pushed past them slightly, and looked at the tree and the surrounding area. “Do you two think you could find where the encampment was? Even if it’s overgrown? There doesn’t seem to be much in terms of signs of life. Was it that way when you first came?”

  Damen shook his head. “No, just the opposite in fact.”

  “Let us take the lead. We’ll scout things out ahead if you stay with Henley,” Gunnar replied.

  Damen shook his head again, this time disagreeing. “I’m usually one for divide and conquer, but I’d rather not split up. My gut is burning and I have that same heaviness in my chest as I had that first time in the jungle. I don’t know how I know, but we’re being watched.”

  “We all go, then.” Gunnar nodded. “If I learned anything from that misguided trip, it was to trust Damen’s instincts.”

  They pushed through the overgrowth, Gunnar swinging a curved machete-like weapon that sliced through vines and branches like butter. Damen had one across his back as well, and if the trail was wider, would have done the same.

  Damen pointed for them to bear right, and soon enough Gunnar stopped, holding the blade high for everyone to halt. There ahead was a cold encampment. It wasn’t abandoned or overgrown like the trail or the trading post. It was inhabited. Just empty as if the dwellers had disappeared into the forest.

  “I told you we were being watched,” Damen said.

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than painted warriors emerged from the foliage like ghosts. Damen and Gunnar exchanged a look. The men were painted, just as they remembered. They had found the Hatun.

  Or the Hatun had found them.

  17

  One of the men stepped ahead of the others. He carried a spear decorated with feathers and bones. More ceremonial than weapon. His headdress told them he was of importance, and Jag stepped ahead of the others to meet him halfway.

  “You are trespassing,” the principal man said, clearly stunning Jag and the others in their group that he spoke their language. “Surprised? We may look like savages, but only to uphold necessary traditions.”

  Damen stepped forward to flank Jag. “Traditions? Don’t you mean necessary sacrifices?”

  “You dare come into our territory and point fingers at our shaman?” The man who spoke was clearly a captain or a leader among the warriors. “Our holy man may be willing to hear what you have to say, but I’d as soon kill you where you stand.”

  Provoked, the line of warriors moved to flank their shaman, but the holy man raised his hand, stopping them in their tracks. “It’s not our custom to be insulted on our own land. I will forgive your ill-mannered words. It is clear you know nothing of what you speak.”

  Gunnar moved to stand beside Damen, shaking his head. “We meant no disrespect, but we do know. Many years ago we were exploring this very forest, and made camp here our first night. The site was deserted, or at least it seemed to be, but we made use of the fire pits and lean-tos for the night. By our second night, the jungle seemed to close in, and we lost our way. We made camp in a clearing, only to witness something unspeakable.”

  The painted men exchanged looks, but their shaman kept his eyes on Gunnar. “What was it you saw?”

  Damen explained, and the look on the shaman’s face spoke volumes. Damon said, “We have since discovered a traitor to our king and our people that sold our women to be used in the same unspeakable way. Their betrayal was in exchange for poisons native to this land. Native to the Hatun.”

  The painted warriors moved to surround Damen and Gunnar, who had stepped ahead of Jag. One warrior stalked forward, club in hand. “You know nothing of the suffering we have endured! What we still endure!”

  “Enough!” the shaman demanded. “I will hear what these men have to say. If what they say is true and their women were taken against their will without the blessings of their families, we will talk more. If not, the woman with them will feed the Unduru when the moon rises tomorrow night.”

  The shaman dropped his hand, but one of their women cried out, rushing past him.

  “No!” The warrior captain reached to stop her, but she twisted from his grip, moving to stand at the center between the factions.

  “The women here know you speak the truth. We cared for your women until one by one they faced their deaths. They were taken against their will. Our women have suffered the same fate for generations. Not one mother willingly gave up her daughter, but for the Hatun there is no escape from the Unduru.”

  Damen’s eyes softened at the pain in the woman’s face. “I’m sorry for you, truly, but whatever deal Maddox made with your elders is over. The King of Galaxa knows everything. He’s sent us to try and help, but if you resist and insist on continuing your sacrifices, then you leave us no choice. The king will see you as a threat and have you destroyed.”

  Fists clenched, the woman took a step forward and raised her chin. “Send your warriors then. Oblivion is better than this living death. The women of this tribe live in terror. We bleed and we die. We cried for your women. Maybe if your king kills us, the Unduru will starve and die and the world will be safe.”

  “No!” Henley pushed past the men. “That’s just it. The Unduru won’t die. Not unless we work together to kill them. The king has scribes and archives and we know the stories and the legends. We know how to blast them from the face of Galaxa.”

  The shaman shook his head. “You think we don’t have legends and histories? What you ask is impossible. You’re asking me to send my people to their deaths.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing now, one at a time?” Henley asked.

  The captain lifted his weapon and pointed it at Jag. “Control your woman or we’ll control her for you!”

  “First off, she’s not my woman, but I doubt her mates could control her any more than you or I.” Jag replied with a smirk. “The women of the Palladia are not subservient, nor are they fodder for sacrifices. They are intelligent, strong and respected, as well as loved.” He glanced to the lone woman standing between them and then to others standing in the back before looking to the captain again. “Don’t you honor and revere your women? Or at least want the chance to?”

  One by one, the warriors passed their captain to stand in a line, nodding. The shaman saw the expectant faces on their men and nodded as well. “We will hear what you have to say.” He beckoned them toward a barricaded structure made of heavy wood and seamless joists.

  The holy man stood in the entry offering a blessing as they each entered. The warrior captain was the last to enter the structure, closing the door. A heavy bolt stayed unlocked, and Damen raised an eyebrow.

  “This is obviously a safe house for your people. You emerged earlier from the shadows as if taking shelter from something. Since you outnumber us five to one, why leave the door left bolted now?” he asked.

  The shaman lifted a dismissive hand. “We are in no danger tonight.”

  He walked away without elaborating and Damen looked at Gunnar. “What the hell did he mean by that?”

  “Look at the woman to his left.” He gestured with his chin to the woman’s red, tear-swollen eyes. “That’s why. Someone she loved was the most recent offering.”

  Damen took Henley by the hand and settled her between him and Gunnar. Jag took the lead as the royal representative while their guards flanked them on either side. Low cushions were spread around the inside of the structure, and tables dotted the places in between, loaded with food and drink.

  The shaman sat at the head of the room, nodding for the others to do the same. “You are our honored guests,” he said, but a sideways look to the captain put a time limit on their hospitality.

  “No one knows where the Unduru came from or when they first inhabited the Tempera. Histories teach that the creatures once lived outside, taking shelter from the hot suns in the darkest parts of the jungle. They were the living dead that melted into the trees and attacke
d our village by night. Our ancestors found that sunlight was the only weapon that could be used against the Unduru. But the creatures are intelligent, and soon moved to a place where no sun exists.”

  Damen nodded. “Underground. We’ve heard this too. We also know that they are most vulnerable in the hour or so before dawn. That their strength leaves them and they walk in a dreamlike haze.”

  “Yes, but their lair is so deep in the Tempera caverns, no light can penetrate,” the captain replied.

  Jag looked at them, curious. “What if we were to lure them to the surface? Or if not to the surface, than close enough we could find a way to expose them to light.”

  “Or fire.” Henley interjected, and everyone turned. “We have our own legends on Earth. Your living dead creatures aren’t that different from ours, except for the nasty worms in their gut. Fire can render them helpless, and then snap—” she snapped her fingers. “We go in and behead the bastards and drive a stake through their hearts just because.” She nodded, grinning.

  The captain of the warriors laughed, raising an eyebrow. “You weren’t kidding about Palladian women.”

  Jag smiled, lifting a hand Henley’s way. “Beautiful and daring.”

  “…And ours,” Gunnar added as Damen nodded.

  “So,” Jag continued. “What do you think? You obviously know the location of the Unduru lair, or at least have a good idea. We could set out at first light and strike at noon when the sun reaches its peak and take them down for good.”

  The holy man stood, motioning for the others to do the same. “It’s late. We both have much to think on, so let’s speak again before dawn. You are welcome to stay the night in our lodge. No harm will come to you here. This is a scared space.”

  His gut churning again, Damen caught the look between the warrior captain and one of his men as they left the building. “I’m not so sure about the no-harm thing. We need to keep an eye out. I’ll take the first watch.”