Savage Lands (5 page)

Greystoke looked thoughtful for a moment, recalling the list of terrors he had heard about. “People who were not quite human. Mutations … hybrids … things that should not be. Bloodthirsty too. Many stories recount villages being attacked, the inhabitants whisked away. Devoured by the Opar's cannibalistic population.”

Silence fell once again. Greystoke sniffed the fruit in his hands suspiciously and then bit into it. He let out a gasp of pleasure and smiled. “Incredible! It's like an explosion across my taste buds. I've never tasted such a thing!” he exclaimed.

Nobody paid any attention. They were all staring over his shoulder, hands frozen midway to their mouths. Greystoke suddenly turned, a chill running through him. A figure stood watching them from the trees. The mist diffused its outline and obscured features, but it looked almost childlike and remained motionless.

Greystoke shot a look at the others before slowly turning and standing.

“You must be Tarzan, I assume? Hello. I'm your cousin William.”

The figure remained silent and Greystoke's uneasiness increased. He glanced at the others for encouragement, but they all remained motionless. Greystoke gathered himself, refusing to display any trace of fear.

“Don't be alarmed. We mean you no harm. You should recognize your friends here,” he indicated to the others, partially turning as he did so. When he looked back the figure had gone. He blinked in surprise, his voice lowering to a raspy whisper. “Where'd he go?”

“He just vanished,” whispered Robbie who had been watching the figure the whole time. “Like the fog just swallowed him up.”

“And that wasn't Tarzan,” Jane added.

“She's right,” said Clark, keeping his voice low. “He's much bigger. And not the kinda bloke to be so shy.”

The color drained from William Greystoke's face and he took a step away from where the figure had been.

Archie insisted they keep watch throughout the night. Despite their exhaustion, it took them all a long time to drift into a deep, dreamless sleep.

• • •

S
ome
primal instinct woke Jane in the dead of the night. The campfire had faded to embers and her father was slumped asleep, still sitting upright, his head lolled on his chest. What had woken her? Instinct told her not to move. Her eyes rapidly adjusted to the darkness.

And then she saw movement. A single squat figure stepped out of the trees, a hunting spear in one hand. His footfalls were silent, like a phantom. The closer he got, the more unusual he looked. It was the same figure they had seen in the mist. Although he had the stature of a child, he had the wrinkled face of an old man. More figures appeared from the trees and Jane couldn't stop a startled gasp spilling from her lips. She moved to sit up, but felt a gentle pressure press her in place, and heard Clark's low voice as just the faintest of whispers.

“Don't.”

The figure stopped, looking directly at Jane and Clark. There was no use pretending to sleep now. Jane sat up, and called clearly out.

“Who are you? What d'you want?”

Archie woke with a snort, his hand going for the rifle near his feet, but he froze when he saw the dozen figures surrounding them, none bigger than four feet in height, wearing crude garments and wielding primitive spears and bows with arrows notched.

“Pygmies,” said Greystoke who had just bolted upright, waking Robbie. “We must be on their land.”

Jane felt icy shards of fear trickle down the back of her neck as she recalled Greystoke's horrific tales of cannibals. The lead pygmy stepped forward, his face an unwelcoming grimace.

E
ven Tarzan found keeping up with the Targarni tough work. The apes carried the unconscious humans on their backs and galloped across the jungle floor with surprising speed. Goyad led the way, leaving the heavy work to his underlings. Thunder Mountain's steep incline did little to slow them, and the moonless night meant they blended into the jungle with ease.

From the lofty trees, Tarzan relied on scent and sound to follow the Targarni. Without a moon to light his way, even the trees could prove perilous for the ape-man. His keen eyesight was at its limits. Once in a while he caught sight of the ghostly Goyad below, but then the albino would be lost in the shadows. Occasionally, a swarm of fireflies glowed a green hue as the Targarni disturbed them, the only other visual cue Tarzan had.

There was no doubt they were heading back to their lair, but why? He had seen Targarni hunt game before. Unlike his own Mangani family, they relished the taste of flesh in the same way he did. So why did they need live prisoners? As he dwelled on these thoughts, he became determined to thwart the apes' plans. Not to save the lives of the prisoners, who would no doubt find other ways to die in the jungle, but to anger Goyad.

Eventually the relentless pace grew to be too much for the Targarni and they were forced to stop. They chose the banks of a fast-flowing stream that ran down the side of the mountain, stepping down in waterfalls every hundred feet. The trees gave way to a stretch of rocks where the Targarni dumped their captives and drank from the dark water.

Tarzan was grateful for the respite and gently lowered himself to the jungle floor so he could get a better look at the state of the three prisoners. They didn't stir. Tarzan crouched so low his chest slid across the cool rocks as he crawled closer.

Goyad's head shot up. Tarzan couldn't see his face, but he was certain the ape was looking in his direction. Surely he hadn't been detected? The crashing waterfall masked his movements and as he was downwind of the Targarni, they couldn't pick up his scent. The white ape didn't move for several long moments before turning back around and lapping water from the stream.

Tarzan edged closer to the captives so they were almost within arm's reach. He positioned himself behind a smooth boulder that would provide ample cover if the apes chose to look up again.

He suddenly heard a sharp intake of breath from the male prisoner. Tarzan recoiled into the shadows as the man groaned and sat up, clutching his head. He said something to the other two prone figures, but they were unconscious. There was not enough light for the man to take in his surroundings, and he hadn't yet seen the dark shadows of the Targarni against the deeper black of the jungle.

Before his eyes could adjust to the dark, Goyad raced across with two powerful bounds, his jaws stretched wide as he howled. For a lesser mortal than Tarzan, the sight of the ghostly ape was enough to freeze the blood. The man was rooted to the spot as Goyad's powerful fist clobbered him across the head, knocking him unconscious again. The albino inspected the man for a moment, then, satisfied his prey was still alive, he returned to the stream.

The cold, calculating attack impressed Tarzan, who remained motionless just a yard away. The Targarni soon finished their rest and three chimps hoisted the prisoners over their backs before they continued.

Tarzan did not immediately move from his hiding place. It would be folly to further pursue Goyad in the dark; he knew exactly where the apes were heading. What value the prisoners had, he didn't know, but it was enough to warrant keeping them alive. Not so long ago, Tarzan would have recklessly pursued the Targarni, if only to provoke and annoy them, but now he felt the weight of responsibility toward his family. He had led them here, and while the Targarni were around, he couldn't risk getting injured or worse. The Mangani needed him, and so Goyad should wait.

However, Tarzan's unquenchable curiosity was getting the better of him.

• • •

T
he
pygmies surrounded Greystoke's party: expressions fierce, weapons raised. The lead figure eyed Greystoke and his companions with hostility. He walked in an arc around Jane, his eyes studying her ruffled blonde hair. She had seen that air of curiosity before with Tarzan; blonde was not a natural shade in the heart of the jungle. The pygmy's skin was a natural dark brown, camouflaged further by the dried mud he wore as war paint. His face was most definitely that of a man in his forties, but he barely came up to Jane's shoulders, and she was by no means tall. The tip of the spear moved closer toward her, and it took all her courage not to flinch. The stone blade lifted her hair, then let it fall back to her shoulders.

Lord Greystoke suddenly said something in an unfamiliar language. The pygmies' eyes widened as they recognized their own tongue and replied rapidly.

“You speak their language?” said Archie in surprise.

“A little,” said Greystoke, his face screwed in concentration as he tried to decipher what was being said. “They're Mbuti people… . Or a tribe of them. They're speaking Bantu… . But the dialect is not one I've heard before. There are some similarities… .”

Clark snorted. “Glad you're such an expert.”

“There are over a hundred and forty dialects in use,” said Greystoke tartly, without taking his eyes off the lead pygmy who was now gesturing with his spear. “Even out here, there are clans who seldom need to have contact with the outside world. I think they are claiming this is their territory.” The leader gestured angrily to the trees. “As far as I can tell, they have been forced from their own lands. Forced out here.”

“They look happy 'bout it too,” said Clark.

“Forced?” said Jane. “Who'd do that to them?”

Greystoke relayed the question and the leader snapped back a reply, gesturing to the Westerners.

“It appears I did,” said Greystoke, carefully keeping his face neutral.

Jane glanced at Robbie, who was thinking the same thing. “Do they know who you are?” she asked carefully.

“If they did, I would be dead already.” Greystoke glanced at her and Robbie. “Thinking of turning me in?”

“It crossed my mind,” said Robbie grimly.

Greystoke forced a smile on his face. “Then you would lose your meal ticket. And your own lives. They are not indiscriminate killers, but they will fight for what they believe is theirs. And they see no distinction between you and me.”

He spoke in a halting dialect to the pygmies, gesturing to himself and the others. The exchange continued for some minutes before the leader finally cast the group a grim look, then disappeared back into the forest. When Jane looked around, the other pygmies had silently vanished too.

Greystoke finally let out the pent-up breath he'd been holding. His smile dropped, replaced by concerned furrows across his forehead. “I explained we were just passing through to try and convince the people who took their land to return it. They're going to escort us most of the way.” He studied the dark trees; there was no sign of the forest people.

“So you lied to them?” said Jane caustically. “Pretended to be somebody else?”

Greystoke shrugged and returned to his tent, pausing before he climbed in to look steadily at Jane. “I saved your life. You're most welcome.” He climbed into the tent, zipping the flap up without waiting for a reply.

Archie looked to where he suspected the pygmies were watching them. “Well I suppose that means we're safe for the night. I suggest we rest. I know I need it.” He returned to his tent, yawning loudly.

Clark limped over to Jane, who still stood her ground. He spoke low, watching as Robbie returned to his own tent. “Listen, Jane. We don't often see eye to eye, but you gotta stop being so pigheaded and keep your
bek
shut. We got a good thing goin' with his lordship, and now it seems like Tarzan is down on his list of priorities, so what have you got to worry 'bout?”

“It doesn't mean I have to like him.”

“Nah, you don't. He's a pompous
rooinek
.” His South African accent became more pronounced with the Afrikaans slang. “His heart may be in the wrong place, but his wallet ain't. We need this”—Jane opened her mouth to speak but Clark raised a finger to silence her—“an' if you don't, your dad does. It's your mother's fault you're out here in the first place; don't let it be your fault he's gotta stay.”

Jane felt a stab of guilt. She knew that was exactly the reaction Clark was aiming for, but it still hurt. He limped back to his tent, and Jane swore he was deliberately making his injury more pronounced to make her feel bad. Again, the sickening feeling of guilt: a feeling that would keep her awake long into the night.

• • •

T
he
mist lingered on into the following morning, but as they broke camp and pressed on down the mountain, it slowly lifted. They were all hungry and tired. Greystoke had hoped the forest people would return their stolen food, but their enigmatic escorts remained unseen, although the group could easily feel their eyes on them every step of the way.

By lunchtime, they made it to the base of the mountain range where the trees thinned out to a small grass plain, just a few miles across. Greystoke's pace increased as he entered a code into the GPS.

“There should be a river, this way. We'll be picked up there,” he said, indicating a spot located an angle away from their current position.

The brown grass was almost as tall as they were, making it impossible to see ahead. Only the rising jungle-clad mountains lining the valley provided a point of reference; otherwise they could have been walking in circles without realizing it. Robbie noticed that Jane had become increasingly concerned since they stepped into the grassland. He was sure the pygmies were not following them any longer. However, Jane's head kept snapping up at every sound she heard.

“What's the matter?” Robbie asked Jane, catching her up as Archie and Greystoke led the way, batting aside napier grass.

“I've been here before,” she answered with a tremor in her voice. Before she could go on, there was a shout from Greystoke.

“Stop!” he yelled.

Jane froze, looking around sharply for danger. But Greystoke laughed loudly. “This is it!” he said, pointing.

The grass abruptly gave way to the red-soil banks of a murky brown river that meandered through the plains. The river was twenty yards wide and moved sluggishly, but the adventurers knew what dangers could lurk in the water, and kept their distance. Greystoke found a large rock and sat down with a sigh.

Clark looked around. “Now what?”

“We wait,” said Greystoke. “Shouldn't be too long.”

A crack in the grass got everybody's attention. Greystoke waved his hand dismissively.

“The pygmies. No doubt ensuring we leave their land.”

Everybody visibly relaxed, except Jane who kept looking around. Her skittishness was unnerving to Robbie, who had grown to trust her instincts in the wild. He tried to ignore her, but she was too distracting. Luckily, Archie broke the atmosphere as he skipped stones across the river.

“So why did you move the pygmies off their land?” he asked as casually as he could.

“They were in the way,” said Greystoke simply. “No offense to them. In fact, we employ any who wish to work for us.”

Archie threw another stone, sending ripples across the brown surface. He fished one more stone from the muddy bank, inching closer to the water.

“Dad, careful …” said Jane as his next stone bounced three times across the still surface.

Greystoke continued, oblivious to how close Archie had moved toward the river. “Lets them afford a better standard of life than our primitive jungle friends enjoy.”

Archie turned around, his eyes searching Greystoke for answers. “But it's their land, isn't it?” Clark nudged his friend. The meaning was clear: Don't argue until Greystoke pays up.

“Dad …” Jane's warning went unheeded.

Greystoke sniggered. “Who owns anything out here? They have no idea what this land is really worth.”

A deep roar and sudden flurry of movement—not from the water, but from the grass—as a flash of tawny fur landed on Greystoke, pitching him off the rock and rolling through the red dirt. It was a huge maned lion. His claws dug into Greystoke's back, drawing blood as it pinned him down. The lion roared, so loud and sonorous that Robbie felt his ribcage shake.

Clark fumbled for his sidearm. Staggering backward, he lost his balance, and dropped to his backside. His gun skittered away. He groped for it, but Jane darted forward and kicked it farther out of reach.

“NO!” she screamed. “You'll just annoy him!”

The lion turned toward her and snarled, his mouth extending wide enough to encompass Greystoke's head and shoulders. He was a massive specimen. Greystoke gibbered, tears rolling down his cheeks. Jane took a step forward, her hands raised out in front of her.

“Easy! It's me. Remember Tarzan?”

Now Robbie understood. The last time they had seen lions was when Tarzan had rescued them from Tafari's camp. Then he had been riding a lion as if it were a domesticated steed. Was this Numa? Tarzan's friend? It was certainly
a
Numa
—
Robbie was still uncertain how Tarzan named the creatures around him.

Jane bravely stepped closer and the lion roared again. Even several yards away, Robbie could smell his meaty breath.

“Numa. I'm a friend. Friend,” said Jane as she approached, then did something contrary to all common sense. She knelt down so that Numa towered over her.

“Jane!” hissed Robbie. “Don't.”

Numa pressed a paw harder against Greystoke's back, as if kneading him. The Englishman whimpered in pain. Then Numa removed his paw and took a step toward Jane. She didn't flinch, and maintained eye contact as the beast pressed close, sniffing her.