Primitive Nights (5 page)

The older woman settled on her knees next to the cot. “I used
gufru
root to neutralize the snake venom in your blood. It works quickly, however, there will be some lingering soreness at the bite, and you will feel tired for several days.” She reached out and took one of Myla’s hands to examine the palm. Small blisters covered the tender skin. “This is an unfortunate side effect, but it will clear soon. You should count yourself lucky that the hands are the only place the blisters form.”

Myla pulled her hand back, uncomfortable with the woman’s touch. She didn’t want to seem rude, but under the circumstances, she guessed it really didn’t matter. The woman wanted her dead, after all. “Thank you for saving my life.”

The woman stood up with a nod. “I did it for my son. It is a decision I hope I will not regret.”

Myla opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. It wouldn’t do any good to defend herself, and she made a mental note to keep a close eye on the old woman. Hopefully Damon would be more accepting of her gratitude. She turned to look at him. “Thank you.”

His green eyes met hers. So like his mother’s, though different at the same time. A smile tugged at his lips. “Michelle Hanson, my mother. You should tell her what happened. She will not let the matter rest unless you explain your escape.”

Good opportunity to work on an ally. Ignoring the intensity of his gaze and the devilish twinkle she detected in the dim light given off by the torches, she looked at his mother. “I threw him off balance a bit when I freaked out over the story he told me about the
chunchabe
. When my clumsiness tripped him up, I took off.”

“Really?” Abundant disbelief laced the older woman’s gaze and voice. Myla cringed. She’d never been a good liar.

Damon’s voice broke the stilted silence. “Satisfied, Mother?”

The older woman nodded only the slightest fraction and turned away. Settling down on another cot at the other end of the hut, she called back. “I would like to finish my sleep now. If you would put out the light, Damon?”

Myla wasn’t ready for the dark. She lowered her voice, wondering how she suddenly felt more at ease with Damon than his mother. “Will you stay here? I mean, where do you sleep?”

He squatted in front of her cot, his gaze roaming over her face to linger on her lips. She licked them and when his eyes came up to lock with hers, they were darker, alive with the reflective flames from the torch. “My home is farther along the river. I will return in the morning.” His voice was no more than a husky whisper.

He made to rise, but she grabbed his arm. With a quick glance at the woman in the corner, she dropped her voice even lower. “Will she harm me?”

Looking down at her fingers, he sighed and pulled them away. He brushed his thumb over her hand before letting go. “She will not. Unless she wishes to upset me.”

The woman didn’t seem to have any compunction in that area. A tight knot formed in her throat. “That isn’t very reassuring.”

He laughed. A deep, rich sound that warmed her. “No. I do not suppose it is.” Without warning, his hand moved and the slightest touch of his finger passed over her lips. “Rest now,
alogu
. No harm will come to you.”

Before she could say another word, or calm the frantic beat of her heart his touch had caused, he doused the torch and disappeared through the door. Lying back on the cot, she stared into the darkness that enveloped the hut.

The sun couldn’t rise fast enough.

Damon stood outside and listened. He closed his eyes, recreating the interior of the hut in his mind. Myla’s hair cascading over the cot, her arms wrapped tightly against her chest in fear. The impulse to reassure her nearly sent him back through the door. Then she turned on her side, maybe lifting a hand to wipe away a tear. He expected she would be scared. The most hardened of his men feared the unknown. It was human.

It was also human to want what one should not want. For that reason, he did not dare take her into his hut.

Claiming her as his own, for her safety, was one thing. Making her his own would be a disaster. His body reacted to hers. Every curve of her slender form, the soft pink of her lips and those eyes… The same azure blue that one could see at the deepest end of the falls. She tempted his desire without trying.

No. She needed to stay with his mother. The older woman’s threats were nothing compared to the dangers of his body’s reaction to her. His father had not thought carefully enough when Mother had stumbled into their tribe. He had wanted her, taking her by force. His white angel. His
alogu
.

His mother had learned to love the land, the people, and even his father, he supposed, in a strange relationship he had never understood. However, bitterness remained in his mother’s heart for her captor, and he would not subject Myla to that life. She would have to be returned home.

Moving away from the hut, he made his way through the dark. His own hut was visible moments later when a slight shift in the trees made him stop. Crouching, he crept along the ground in silence, stretching each leg out in turn as he closed the distance to the trees.

He sniffed the air, nothing. A second movement in the same direction confirmed another’s presence. Keeping still, he waited until the intruder came closer, then sprang forward and clasped his fingers around the man’s neck.

A half squawk emitted from the man before Damon recognized him. Releasing his grip, he smiled into the darkness. “What are you doing here, Seiret?”

“Nearly getting myself killed.”

Damon laughed. “That will teach you to sneak around my home.” He grabbed Seiret’s arm and pulled him toward his hut. “Come, friend. You can tell me what bothers you.”

After lighting two torches, he waved Seiret onto a stool. Seiret sat quietly for a moment before he spoke. “I have received word that the Lijibr tribe moved onto our land at the west.”

Damon shook his head and sat across from his friend. The Hounta tribe to the north and now Ilias Lijibr’s tribe to the west. “I will talk with Ilias. Send your brother to request a meeting. Ilias is a proud leader, but if he moves his tribe onto our lands, the threat from the outsiders must be imminent. We might gain an alliance between our people. Together, with the Lijibrs, our tribes will be stronger.”

Seiret had remained silent as he spoke and Damon did not like that his friend refused to look at him. “Tinjtol brews trouble again. While you were with the woman tonight, he and several others were scouting along the Hounta lands. They killed six men down the river.”

“Hounta men?”

Seiret shook his head in response. “No. They were white men.”

“Tinjtol is becoming more of a threat to our people than the intruders themselves.” Frustrated, Damon slashed his hand through the air. “He will bring war upon us all.”

Seiret spread his hands out on the table. “He will not listen, not even to you, Maglayo. You must do something. He will cause discord between our people. Already he gathers followers. Breeds questions into their minds that you are a weak
bajluk
.”

“He is my brother.” Dropping his head into his hands, Damon tried to think of some other way to convince his brother to cease his violence against the outsiders. “Should I die, the elders will surely appoint him to lead our people. His actions are from his heart. He thinks he does what is best for us all. I assume.”

He had tried everything short of challenging Tinjtol, and only a matter of time remained before his brother would fight him for position as leader. He did not fear Tinjtol, but he did fear the regret that would surely come with killing his own blood. An opposition of leadership could only end when one man died. “I will speak to him again.”

Seiret thumped his hand against the table and stood. “I am your friend. I always will be, but I must insist. If he will not agree to desist in these killings, you must fight him.” His body shook with the depth of his emotions. “I will not let my people perish under his foolishness. Neither will I let his deceit harm you.”

Damon pushed up from his stool and walked to Seiret. Placing a hand firmly on his shoulder, he squeezed. “You are my friend. Loyal to me and my father before me. If he will not listen, I will demand his presence in the fire circle.”

The shoulder beneath his hand relaxed, and Seiret’s expression softened. “I do not wish to anger you.”

Steering him to the door, Damon pushed him through. “Get some sleep, friend. On the morrow, I will need you at my side. Tinjtol will not take kindly to my suggestions or my threats.”

Seiret nodded, and with a slight bow, he disappeared into the forest.

Damon watched him go, his heart heavy with the weight of his position. Silence surrounded the land. The scent of leaves, moss and orchids drifted on the air. Up above, somewhere in the canopy, a sloth moved meticulously along the branches, its slow, methodical trek marked by the bark crunching under its claws. Come morning, the land would explode with vibrant colors, the cries of the monkeys and toucans would fill the air with song. Even the playful antics of the otters would add to the world around him. A world he must protect.

Rubbing a hand over the tight muscles in his neck, he looked to the sky. Tomorrow would begin in its glorious habit, but he knew it would not linger. Under the shadow of Tinjtol’s uprising, Myla’s appearance and the tribes moving onto their land, the day promised to be hard. Wishing for the guidance his father would have offered, he slipped back into his hut and lay down.

Crossing his arms behind his head, he closed his eyes. Myla’s face seared through his mind’s eye. Would she lie awake as he did? Would she picture him in her dreams? The heat of her hand still lingered on his arm. So too did the softness of her lips beneath his finger. With a groan, he flipped over on his stomach. He needed sleep.

The shrill scream seemed to come from a distance. Damon opened his eyes, blinking against the early morning light filtering into his hut. Sitting up, he listened carefully. Perhaps the scream was nothing more than a dream. After several moments of silence, he relaxed.

Pushing up from the cot, he used the water in a bowl near the fire pit to splash on his face. A loud growl emitted from his stomach and after tying his sarong in place, he walked from the hut. Stilted silence met him. Almost immediately Cuklho approached, her eyes lowered. Small white flowers adorned her charcoal hair and she smiled, balancing a large platter.

“Where are my people?”

“Maglayo must eat.” She pushed the tray closer. “Papaya. Ba-nan-na. You like?”

The pale yellow slices of banana teased his empty stomach, and he grabbed several, chewing slow to savor the sweet flavor. “Cuklho, your English is improving. Well done.”

“Thank you. The elders hope you happy I learn.”

This explained her recent presence by his side. Cuklho had served him at each meal for days, and now he understood why. The elders thought to choose him a mate. In this, he did not need help. No doubt his own mother had a hand in it as well.

“You may go.” Anger at their meddling made his voice harsher than planned and he tempered his words. “I appreciate your effort, Cuklho. But I find I am not hungry this morning.”

He ignored the sadness that entered her wide brown eyes and turned away. The same scream that had awoken him pierced the morning air again. Running past Cuklho, he called back to her. “Find Seiret. Tell him to come to me.”

He didn’t wait for her answer. The next scream came louder, more terrified. He neared the edge of huts that lined the trees and found a large group of his people standing close to his mother’s home. Sprinting the remaining distance, he pushed through the first layer of onlookers. The group opened, anticipatory stares following his progress.

On the ground, her clothes covered in dirt, lay Myla. The terror in her eyes tugged at his heart, fueling the anger he barely held under the surface. Tinjtol stood over her, his fist raised, a feral smile parting his thick lips. He looked up.

Straddling her prone form, he turned fully to face Damon. “Maglayo! Come, brother. Let us rid the land of yet another intruder. Poisonous female snake that slithers into our midst.”

He brought his hand up, a knife glinted in the sun’s rays. Before Tinjtol could strike, Damon stepped forward. “Stop!”

Tinjtol glared at him. “You will protect her?”

Damon nodded, reaching a hand out to motion Myla close. She scurried across the ground on her hands and knees, wrapping her arms around his waist the moment she reached him. He looked down and ran a hand over her tangled hair. “Did he harm you?”

She glanced at Tinjtol and quickly looked away. “No. He scared me, is all.”

The light bruise forming on her reddened cheek revealed her lie. Tinjtol’s voice rose above the quiet mutterings of the others watching the spectacle. “You speak in your mother’s tongue with this woman. What does she accuse me of?”

Damon steadied the rampant thudding of his heart. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to refrain from attacking Tinjtol for harming her. “She says you did not hurt her. She tries to protect you. This woman wants peace and yet you would harm her.”

Tinjtol’s laugh was harsh. “She wears the mark of the others, she speaks their language. She is white. That makes her the enemy, and you are weak for coveting her.”