IN NATURA: a science fiction novel (ARZAT SERIES Book 2) (23 page)

  She looked in the direction they had come from, which was now covered in a dark cloud. It looked as if it was raining hard lower down the mountain. She looked back at the Arzat and then to the fire. The stick she had prepared was glowing.

  “Za’at. I am going to use this to burn the wound shut.” Alex said, pulling the end of it from the coals. “It is going to hurt like hell.”

  Za’at didn’t know what ‘hell’ was, but when he saw the female Alex lift the red-hot stick from the fire, he began to imagine.
Perhaps I should leave this
uman
and try to make it to the caves,
he thought again.
Burn it shut?
He had never heard of such a thing.

  “Look, Za’at. I don’t like the idea of this any more than you do, but it is the only way I can think of to close the wound and stop the bleeding. Now, do you want my help or not?” Alex realized she was almost as nervous as the Arzat. Worse, she really had no idea if it would work.

  Za’at looked into the female’s eyes and back at his arm. It was still bleeding profusely. “I am ready,” he said, already grimacing in anticipation of the pain.

  Alex looked around again and found a short green piece of wood and presented it to Za’at. “Here, you might want to bite down on this.”

  She approached him and looked into his eyes. “You are going to want to hit me—but
please
don’t. You’ll probably kill me if you do.”

  “I will not hit you, little
uman
Alex. I can take the pain,” Za’at said, clenching down on the green sapling the smooth-skin had given him despite his proclamation. “But I
will
kill you if this doesn’t work.”

  Now or never,
Alex thought, carefully but firmly shoving the hot end of the stick into the wound. The huge Arzat flinched slightly, but he did not move otherwise. Alex held the fiery stick in place until she herself could no longer bear it, afraid she would do more harm than good if she left it for another moment. When she finally pulled it away the Arzat’s sharp teeth snapped the sapling in two. He pulled the pieces from his mouth with his free hand and spat into the dirt. Alex backed away.

  “Kak! Kak! Kak!” Za’at said aloud, his eyes watering.

  “I’m sorry, Za’at.”

   Alex watched as the Arzat tried to breathe normally. He sat for some time, miraculously composing himself. Finally, he chanced a look at his damaged shoulder. The wound was blackened now and hurt worse than before, but the bleeding had stopped. He looked again to be sure, still taking measured breaths. Miraculously, the bleeding had stopped!

  The Arzat tipped his head back and looked defiantly into the sky. Then, he let out a cry that was so otherworldly and so brutal that Alex’s own body shook from the sound of it.

CHAPTER 33

SCENE OF THE CRIME

Mot’s heart raced with worry. His worst fear had materialized. Rain was pouring from the sky and any chance of rediscovering the scent of the Arzat who had taken Alex had completely vanished. Even the scents of the other Arzat Hunters were becoming vague and hard to follow. Now he had to rely exclusively on the humans and their horses to lead him to the Arzats. After what he had seen in the camp, he was certain that the humans were out for revenge. Mot did not imagine they would give up easily.

  Fortunately, despite the rain, the horse tracks were easy to follow. The animals defecated often, leaving not only their deep footprints behind them but their strange droppings as well. Mot ran at a swift trot, sure that he had to be closing on them.
Hopefully,
he thought,
the humans are having better luck tracking the hunters.

  Suddenly, he stopped. Somewhere, much higher up the mountain, he heard something distinct and familiar. The sound had resonated like the battle cry of an Arzat. He tried to place the exact direction, but the heavy rain made it impossible. Mot continued to listen closely, hoping that if it
were
an Arzat, he would cry out again so he could zero in on the source. He waited another moment, but heard nothing further and began to run again as he continued to follow the horses’ tracks.

  The terrain rose swiftly and there were more and more trees. Mot was still not used to their strange appearance. Most of the plants he was familiar with were dark green and very broad leafed. These were comparative giants that looked almost dead at their bottoms with tiny leaves sprouting from the ends of higher branches. He ran through a cluster of them and managed to stop just before he would have tumbled over a cliff.

  It was hard to see clearly through the rain, but at the bottom of the long ravine he had almost fallen into, he thought he saw bodies. He flicked his long tongue and tasted the wet air. The rain had softened the scent, but the smell of death coming from below him was unmistakable. It was the scent of Arzats—lots of dead Arzats.

  He squatted and placed his hands to the ground, listening carefully for any signs of danger. Mot had to be especially cautious. He knew the rain-dampened ground might hide movement he might otherwise easily detect and whatever had killed the Arzats might still be lurking close by. He sniffed and flicked again. There was a vague scent of the humans and the stronger scent of their horses. Was it possible that the humans had somehow intercepted the hunters?

  He looked carefully around the canyon. There was a narrow path down that Mot could see the horses had taken. He began to edge his way along it, stopping frequently and sniffing the air along the way. Despite Mot’s own surefootedness, the path was slippery and treacherous from the rains. He eventually reached the bottom, easily jumping the last four or five sticks of the distance to the canyon floor.

  Mot looked up at the sky. The dark clouds above him appeared to be parting and Qu’aa was beginning to penetrate them with streaks of light. The rain had suddenly lightened and seemed as if it would soon stop altogether.

  He turned his attention back to the valley. There were several dead Arzats strewn about. Mot carefully approached the first body that he came to and examined it. The Arzat was young, probably close to his own age, and had only recently died. The blood around him was still quite fresh. Mot sniffed again and confirmed that this was indeed one of the hunters he had been pursuing.

  As he bent to get a closer look, he noticed that there was a very unusual killing stick that had struck the young Arzat in the mouth and was protruding from the back of his head. Mot fingered the weapon, amazed at how thin it appeared to be. His eyes were eventually drawn to the bloody tip that had completely penetrated the Arzat’s skull and had emerged from the back of it.

  Interesting,
he thought, examining the object closely.
The tips of Arzat killing sticks were usually just sharpened bits of wood. This weapon had a tip made of rock, perfectly cut and very sharp, much more like the blade of an Arzat cutting stone.
Mot marveled at the strange stick and the attachment of the stone, trying to imagine exactly how it was used.

  He moved on and examined the rest of the Arzat corpses. Most of them had been killed by the same sort of weapon as the first had been—but there was something else even more unusual. Two of the Arzats had been brought down by much smaller versions of the same type of weapon. The only real difference was size and the fact that they had some sort of . . . well . . . he didn’t know what exactly . . . attached to the end opposite the tip. Whatever the material was, it was soft and bent in his hand. The thin sticks looked like something only a child might play with, but their small stone tips had been buried deep in the skin of the victims. Once again, Mot tried to imagine how they were used, but couldn’t.

  Nearby, piled on some large smooth rocks, were the skinned remains of the Arzat’s kills. He sniffed carefully, relieved that none of the human carcasses matched Alex’s distinct scent. There was still a chance.

  Mot followed the horse tracks down the canyon. Amongst them, he discovered the vague outline of another Arzat track that ran counter to all of the others.
Perhaps one of them had turned and been able to escape,
he thought.

  He followed the shallow marks in the ground and stopped when he spotted blood. Mot bent down and flicked. It was definitely Arzat blood and the scent matched the tracks.
Good,
he thought. If this Arzat has truly escaped, he might still lead me to his clan or at least to the other Arzat who has taken Alex.

  The tracks led up a shallow embankment and back into the trees. The horses had followed. The blood would make the Arzat much easier to track. If he continued to bleed, he would also become weak and easier to catch.
Perhaps,
Mot worried,
even for the humans.

  He paused and looked back up the ravine. From his new vantage point, he could clearly see the hunters’ mistake. Whoever had been leading them had made a very bad decision. Mot shook his head. The canyon was the perfect place for an attack from above.

  Too bad for the hunters,
he mused.
Whatever their fears might have been, their worst one had just occurred. They will never be burned and therefore never have the chance to meet their Great Creator.

  He looked once more at the sky, which was now almost completely clear of clouds. High above, magically floating on the air, Mot noticed the same dark creatures hovering that he had seen earlier when he killed the buffalo. The skin on his neck grew tight as he imagined what was about to occur.

  Mot wished he could properly dispose of the bodies, but there was no time. He still hadn’t found the Arzat who had taken Alex, and since he hadn’t found her dead, he could only hope that she was still alive.
She is very smart and very clever,
he reassured himself.
Perhaps . . .

  He gripped his killing stick tightly and ran into the forest.

CHAPTER 34

TRACKER

Abraham squeezed his legs, urging Socrates on as he charged up a steep embankment. The horse was blowing hard and doing his best to please his master, but Abraham knew he must soon slow the pace or he’d kill his prized stallion. It was mid-day and they had not stopped since they had left the scene of the massacre except to occasionally water the horses.

  All of the other animals were struggling as well, most more so than Socrates. Even Moses, who was on foot and who never seemed to tire from anything, showed signs of fatigue. Abraham could sense that the other warriors were beginning to question the ferocity of his pursuit. Their own mounts were just as precious to them as Socrates was to their leader. The higher they climbed, the thinner the air was becoming, making matters worse.

  Finally, the group reached a small plateau and Abraham raised his hand. “We will stop and let the horses blow,” he said. Abraham looked to his tracker. “Moses, will you still be able to find the reptile if we slow the pace?” It was a rhetorical question. None of the warriors, least of all Abraham, doubted Moses’s ability to stay on the lizard’s trail. It was said that he had the nose of a dog and the legs of a deer. His fierce reputation as a tracker was unquestioned and envied by all. If Moses could not eventually find the beast, then it was not to be found.

  Moses was studying the ground, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his own breath. He looked up at Abraham with his dark, droopy eyes and cracked a half smile, and then turned and loped off into the woods as if it were his first run of the day. He rarely spoke a single word more than was necessary.

  Abraham released his reins and dismounted, giving his horse a good pat as he did so. There was no need to tie Socrates. The horse was so well trained that even if the animal did wander, Abraham could call him back with a single sharp whistle. The other warriors were not as confident with their own mounts and either kept their reins in their hands or tied them to tree branches.

  He called the men into a circle and squatted. “Listen. I know some of you must be wondering why I am pushing so hard in pursuit of this lizard,” Abraham said, his eyes making contact with every one of them, “but I believe my daughter is still alive. If you ask me why, I would not be able to tell you. I feel it in my heart, and I must find her if she is to be found. Regardless, if they have captured one of our own and left them alive, it is my intention to attempt a rescue. Either way, given the opportunity, I intend to render justice.”

  His men were silent, many of them gazing at the ground.

  “We only worry about the animals,” one of the warriors, a big man named Remos, finally said.

  “None of you need continue. You may turn now and return to the tribe,” Abraham replied, more quickly than was warranted. These were good men and Abraham had known them all of their lives. They were brave. They were warriors. He knew that they would gladly follow him into the afterworld if he asked.

  Abraham turned and tried to get a look at where Moses had gone. He finally spotted him, much higher up the ridgeline, squatting and looking back down at the group. “We will rest the animals and lead them from here,” he said, not taking his eyes off their tracker. Of all of them, Abraham knew that Moses was the most keen on finding out where the lizard was heading. Moses had his own history with the reptiles.

  For his own part, Abraham had had very little experience with the beasts. During the better part of his childhood and even as a young adult, the strange reptilians had always been more of a scary myth than a reality. For generations, the tribal leaders had simply counseled avoidance as one would a bear or a large cat. Since any actual encounter with the giant lizards was even more rare, it had seemed as if they could coexist.

  Then had come the day when they had found the remains of a tribal hunting party. Moses had never been the same since. Given the opportunity, Abraham knew that Moses would not stop until all of the lizard men were eradicated. Now, after seeing what had just occurred in Maria’s camp, Abraham couldn’t say that he didn’t feel the same.

  He stood and gestured toward Moses. The tracker turned and almost immediately disappeared into the trees. He would leave signs for Abraham to follow.