Law of the Jungle

by Unknown Author

  “He’s trying to intimidate us into giving up,” she told Ka-Zar.

  “I know. I can feel it. Here’s what I say to that!” As Sauron streaked in, the jungle man hefted the weighted net that had been attached to the saddle and flung it.

  The net struck Sauron on the upper beak, forcing him to shut his eyes. Ka-Zar banked the pteranodon and Betsy used a martial arts block to deflect one of Sauron’s sharp rear feet. • The other foot and its talons gashed the pteranodon’s neck.

  Their mount screamed. As it rebounded clear of Sauron it began flapping wildly and bucking. Ka-Zar clung tightly to its neck. Betsy clung tightly to Ka-Zar. The landscape wobbled crazily below them.

  They were easy targets now. Betsy tried to locate Sauron, but amid the flapping wings and lurching changes of direction, she saw only clouds, horizon, and a great big fall if she lost her grip.

  “Veer left!” called a familiar voice.

  Ka-Zar yanked fiercely on the reins. The pteranodon veered left. A shadow passed over them.

  Finally, their poor, wounded carrier responded to Ka-Zar’s soothing murmurs and his firm hold. As they soared more steadily, Betsy glanced back and saw Shanna spiraling in toward Sauron. The villain had turned and was responding to her attack, momentarily ignoring the initial dogfight.

  “My psychic shields can’t reach her!” Psylocke said urgently. “She’s vulnerable to his hypnotism!”

  Even as she spoke, Shanna ceased spurring her flyer. The pteranodon began to coast. The She-Devil came to her senses immediately, but Sauron was closing fast. She ducked, avoiding his talons. Her mount was not so lucky. The monster’s claws tore great slices in its leathery wings. It screamed and slid into a nose dive.

  “Shanna!” Ka-Zar shouted.

  Psylocke swallowed hard. Shanna was unhurt, but she faced a lethal impact on the water below. But the pterosaur feebly extended its tattered wings, gliding/plunging toward the shore. It would make it, if Sauron didn’t follow through.

  They would just have to make sure of that. “Get me close to him,” she told Ka-Zar.

  Her ally was already doing so, pulling their flyer into a tight circle with the villain, preventing him from streaking directly at them. To close the gap and slash at them again would require Sauron to stay near for several seconds in a row.

  That was the opportunity Betsy had been waiting for.

  “No!” Sauron rasped, and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Psylocke poured everything she had into the probe. Avoiding the deeply rooted defenses of his natural psyche, she seized the construct Brainchild had crafted and yanked on the places already weakened earlier in the cavern.

  Suddenly she recoiled. One of Sauron’s organic personalities leapt into coherency. She recognized it just as she was pushed from his mind.

  “Lykos!” she screamed. ‘‘Karl Lykos! Help us!”

  Sauron fluttered, losing altitude rapidly, jibbering and spasming. “I... I... where ... ?”

  “You are in the Savage Land, Karl!” Ka-Zar yelled. “Tanya is dead by the hand of your alter-ego! Do what you have to do!”

  Sauron’s eyes bulged. He coughed as if his heart were trying to crawl up his gullet. Abruptly he steadied, hanging in the air.

  “I will,” he said clearly. His voice was raspy, tortured ... and human.

  He kept the pteranodon shape, but he was no longer Sauron. Moving only to fold up his wings, he plummeted down like a meteorite. The impact of his body on the lake’s surface sounded like a thunderclap.

  Ka-Zar and Betsy stared silently below. Adrenaline still rushed through their blood vessels, but with no more need for action, their limbs merely shuddered and their mouths quivered, trying to form words.

  Below, the splash subsided. A moment later the waters began to chum. Fins, tails, and long, toothed mouths broke the surface. A tremendous host of the lake’s predatory fish and prehistoric marine reptiles were gathering. By the time they were done, they would probably have forgotten what prey they had come for, and many of them would be tom to pieces, claimed by a killing frenzy.

  Blood welled up, turning the foam from white to pink. Sauron did not surface.

  “Rest in peace, Karl,” Ka-Zar said.

  Betsy sighed. All at once, she realized a new winged shape had appeared, flying low over the water above the carnage. It was Warren. He circled three times, then climbed to join them.

  “It seems to be over,” he called solemnly. “I saw the bit at the end. Sorry I couldn’t make it in time to help.” He sounded incredibly weary. It was amazing he was still able to fly, and possibly a blessing that he had not had to fight.

  He wasn’t the only one weary, thought Psylocke, finally able to acknowledge the dead, wooden stiffness in her bones.

  She knew without scanning that Ka-Zar was only slightly better off, and only that much because he hadn’t had to expend himself using mutant talents.

  “Not quite over,” Ka-Zar called back. “I need to alert the villagers. We’ll want them up at that cavern as soon as possible to deal with our captives and help out in case the mutates have any reinforcements to call upon.”

  “I can do that,” Warren offered.

  “I was hoping you could look after Shanna and Ororo.”

  Glancing back, Betsy saw Storm fluttering down to a shaky landing on the shore beside Shanna and her crippled pteranodon.

  Ka-Zar patted his mount’s neck, avoiding the gashes. “This animal needs its wounds closed up before it loses too much blood. We’ll do that in the village, too. We’ll see you when you bring the women in.”

  “Okay,” Archangel said. “We'll be there as soon as we catch our breaths.” The X-Man veered off, beginning a long, easy glide toward the shore near the swamp, where Shanna and Ororo were waving.

  Betsy called upon the meager remnants of her psychic reserve to telepathically inform her friends of the plan, and then she slumped against Ka-Zar, grateful to have him to lean on as they coasted across the lake toward the territory of the Fall People.

  They cruised over the stockade walls amid shouts of excitement from the youths manning the watchtower. The pteranodon flopped to a perch on one of the log benches of the storytelling circle and hung its head, heedless of the antic humans around it. Red rivulets trickled down from its neck. Not, Betsy was gratified to see, as profusely as the leakage had flowed during the battle.

  Ka-Zar jumped out of the saddle and helped Betsy down.

  Letting go of her, he turned and hailed the approaching warriors. “Victory!” he cried.

  Betsy smiled.

  The jungle lord explained the situation at the cavern, its location, and details of the battle. Betsy only half-listened, because she needed telepathy to translate the native language and that required too much effort just yet. Soon Tongah and a large knot of strong adult men and women jogged to the gates, leaving other tribespeople to gather needed material and spread the word.

  Betsy saw the grim frowns and glinting stares of the warriors and knew that when they reached the enemy stronghold, they would be swift to begin the process of justice. Any raider lucky enough to escape execution would no doubt regret that he had been spared.

  A healer began covering the pteranodon’s wound with salve and poultices, while his assistants kept the beast calm. Betsy slipped off to the shade of the lodge. Ka-Zar soon joined her there.

  “That was a fine coup de grace you delivered,” he said.

  She shook her head. “My part was trivial. Sauron and his various alter egos did the real sabotage.”

  “No. Let’s take credit for this one,” her companion said. “We deserve it.”

  She chuckled. “Very well, sir. I thank you for the compliment, and hasten to add that I couldn’t have done it without you. If you hadn’t realized where to find that pterosaur aerie, the fiend would have gotten away.”

  She leaned forward, kissed him, then settled back on her heels, smiling.

  Betsy noticed for the first time that Zira was standing a mere fift
een feet away, with little Matthew in her arms.

  Betsy’s cheeks grew so hot she could toast marshmallows. Ka-Zar glanced at the swept mud beyond the lodge poles. But Zira merely shrugged and winked.

  “Doan whurry,” she said, tousling Matthew’s hair. “The little whun is too yhung to ...”—she struggled hard to recall the English phrase, brightening as she did so—“tattle tale.” “Thank God,” Ka-Zar muttered softly. “Otherwise we’d all see exactly why my wife is called the She-Devil.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The feast began well before dark and continued into the night. A bonfire crackled in the center of the village of the Fall People. Children and young men and women pranced around the flames, seemingly immune to the jungle heat, laughing and chanting and exuding the aromas of incense and healthy sweat

  A day and a half after the fight, Cannonball was ready to befieve they had won. No sign of Sauron had turned up in the lake. The mutates were imprisoned. The cavern had been explored and secured. The raiders, save for a few who had escaped early, were dead or confined to a peripheral grotto for imminent serving of justice.

  The village had worked all day to prepare the celebration. Roasted pigs emerged from luau-type trenches. Blankets lay piled high with fruit. Tubs sloshed with beverages, many of them casting off wonderful, yeasty fumes of fermentation. Dancers exhibited the designs they had painted on their bodies. Singers and musicians, especially drummers, provided an exuberant background rhythm.

  The X-Men added their touches. At dusk, Cannonball had raced in circles over the huts, glowing like a Fourth-of-July rocket. Not quite the display Jubilee could have put on, but he was proud of it. Now Ororo was air-conditioning the audience with zephyrs of autumnal wind and with spritzes of cool drizzle. Over between the huts, Iceman was renewing a three-foot layer of snow, and laughing as the village children showed their instant expertise at the previously unknown art of snowball fighting.

  Allies from neighboring tribes shared in the festivities, but the stockade was only slightly more crowded than normal. Many of the resident warriors were still guarding the cavern, and others were en route to or from. Sam could cover the distance in a fraction of an hour at full-speed blasting, but on foot the journey took a full day even at the marathon pace some of these magnificent athletes could achieve. The Savage Land was vast. Sam, Warren, and Ororo had transported some by air, but couldn’t do that for everyone, especially while trying to overcome the deleterious effects of the battle. Sam thought it was too bad the tribes didn’t have pterosaurs to use as taxis. The people seemed reluctant to be near the reptiles, even though the mount who had served Ka-Zar and Psylocke so well was treated with respect and indulgence. Sam suspected the raiders had violated some sort of intertribal policy by making use of the creatures in their schemes.

  The taste of roast pork and sweet potato clung to Sam’s mouth, encouraging him to run his tongue over his lips. Good food, good scene. What more could a Cumberland boy want? Maybe two lovely native damsels, clad in not-much, to rub his bare feet? That was exactly what he had. And a fine job they were doing, too, dabbing his soles with coconut oil and working out kinks he hadn’t been aware he had had. Must have come from all that walking in the foothills. With all the flying around he usually did, that ground search had taxed his lower extremities. He leaned back in his half-hammock and let his eyes fall partially closed, listening to the young ladies serenade him with their giggling conversation, all of it unintelligible to him, but intriguingly exuberant.

  Iceman finished winterizing the playground and strolled back toward his buddy. He plopped down in the neighboring half-hammock..

  “How’s the headache?” Bobby asked.

  Sam lifted the poultice off the bruise on his scalp. “Between the healer’s herbs and all those ice packs you helped put t’gether, the swelling’s pretty near gone. Considerin’ the way I came out of m’last tussle with Sauron, I’m feeiin’ like a linebacker that’s just won the Super Bowl. End of a hard season, but I survived and got m’winner’s ring.”

  “Well, you sure don’t look like you’re suffering.” Bobby grinned, dismissed his ice form, and clasped his hands behind his head. One of the lovely masseuses accommodatingly shifted over to him. He moaned delightedly as she kneaded the callouses on his heel.

  “Now I know why you old guys kept the New Mutants under curfew so much,” Sam said. “You didn’t want us to know what a mint-julep kind o’ life you led when we weren’t lookin’.”

  Bobby stared up at the halo of fireflies dancing above the grass roofs of the huts, kept at bay by the smoke of the bonfire. They looked like agitated stars in the oh-so-dark overcast sky.

  “The Savage Land has its moments,” Bobby declared. “Maybe we should stick around a few more days.”

  Now that Iceman was in human form, Sam couldn’t help but notice all the black-and-blue marks dotting his companion’s body, temporary legacies of the pounding he had taken in the swamp. They didn’t seem to be annoying Bobby any more than Sam’s head and neck insults were distracting him. Not that either of them liked the damage, but right now those aches and pains, in their strange, profound way, made the pleasure and sense of accomplishment that much sweeter.

  For the youngest recruit of the team, he had done okay. All the frustration of the first part of the mission, when he never seemed to be in a useful place at the right time, had evaporated. He had made the show after all, keeping the team’s hope alive. Sacked the enemy quarterback.

  One of these days, he was going to quit worrying about measuring up. A night like this put him most of the way there. He knew he belonged.

  He gazed contentedly at his peers—yes, his peers, not his “seniors”—arrayed throughout the village. Psylocke and Archangel were leaning against the shaman’s hut, so lost in rapt conversation that they weren’t even watching the Swamp People’s fire-eater demonstrating his art a few steps away.

  Ka-Zar and Shanna sat cross-legged among the crowd encircling the dancers, elbows intertwined, frequently leaning sideways to nuzzle each other. Little Matthew scrambled from lap to lap.

  Sam’s eyes widened as he observed a long gaze exchanged between Betsy and Shanna. They smiled like his sisters did when they bonded after a particularly heated argument. Not that Sam’s sisters ever bonded very often where witnesses could see.

  When they did, it usually meant trouble for everyone else in the family.

  But not here. Not now. Tonight was magic.

  Ororo was engaged in elegant, subtle weatherworking, the sort of indulgence she could never partake of during the heat of battle, and which had been utterly impossible while she repaired the damage to the Savage Land climate. From her chair inside the village grounds, she gently beckoned stray air currents from the lake, enriched them with moisture, and funneled them miles upriver to the celebration. With a casual gesture, she eased the heat on the brows of the infants in their mother’s arms. She misted the hair of the dancers until they flung droplets with each shake of their heads. She banished any pockets of dead air that tried to collect between the huts.

  It was so very good to be able to use her power again without feeling as though she were going to faint from the effort.

  Hank McCoy emerged from a guest hut, his fur freshly groomed, his eyes far brighter and more alert than when Archangel had ferried him back to base after a long day spent tinkering with Brainchild’s devices in the cavern.

  “Your work went well today?” she asked.

  “The inhibitor equipment seems to be functioning to specifications,” he reported. “That Brainchild came up with some remarkable innovations for someone determined to create items of no honorable worth to society. Rather delicious to turn such mechanisms on their designer. I think we can leave the Savage Land confident that the X-Men’s presence won’t be required to keep him and his fellow mutates under wraps. They won’t be bothering anyone while they remain down there, unless it’s to annoy the resident bats with their whining.”

  And how
long would that circumstance last? pondered Ororo. The tribal victims of the raiders had agreed that the best punishment, in the near term, would be to force Brainchild, Lupo, Gaza, and the others to endure a stout dose of the suffering and humiliation they had so readily given to others. Yet would the patience of the jailers last more than a day or two? The locals were not the “savages” the outside world assumed, but they lived by a code that did not become entangled in appeal processes, highly paid defense attorneys, and bureaucratic red tape.

  “It’s good that you could join us,” Ororo said. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to order you to come out and have fun.”

  Hank raised a bushy blue eyebrow. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you put down your magic weather wand and partake of your own council, O goddess of the rain?”

  She laughed. “Oh, Henry, I am having fun. I’m not exactly deskbound at a police station, filling out arrest reports, now am I?”

  “True. And I might add that if you reported to work at a police station dressed like that, your boss might well arrest you.” He turned and waved to Bobby and Sam. “We all refresh ourselves in our own way. I suppose to a deity and a leader of the team, what you’re doing constitutes surcease from your labors, but to me you still appear preoccupied with the general population’s comfort and welfare.”

  She blinked. Come to think of it, she had been tending to responsibilities a great deal that day, making sure matters were properly dealt with. It was her way of balancing the frustration of the weather disruption and her own capture

  “You did well,” the Beast said. “Given the challenges Sauron and his brood had thrust in your way, only a perfectionist would quibble with any part of your performance these past few days. And you know of whom I speak. As Rogue would say, ‘Lighten up, sugar. All’s well that ends well.’ ”

  A perfectionist? Ororo preferred the term “responsible” or “dedicated.” But Hank had a point. This was a proper juncture to stop worrying about leadership or justice or consequences, and give herself a moment to just “be.”