Savage Lands (7 page)

It was a woman, tall and slender with long dark hair adorned with luminous specks of lichen. She wore a long robe that looked as if it had been fashioned from many other garments. From this distance he couldn't guess her age, but she moved with utter confidence amongst the Targarni, who seemed to consider her one of their own. She waved her arms over the victims and spoke aloud, her words unintelligible as they echoed around the cavern. Whatever was said drove the apes into a cacophony of wild hooting that rumbled across the broken city.

The woman retrieved a metal sword from the floor. Even in the dim light the polished blade gleamed. She held it above the female captive who screamed louder than ever.

Tarzan was transfixed by the spectacle as the robed woman brought the blade down across the unconscious man's throat. The sight didn't phase the ape-man in the least—he had done far worse with his bare hands—but the captive woman's wailing rose in angst as she was splattered with blood.

Tarzan enjoyed eating raw meat, but something inside him had always cautioned him not to eat ape or human flesh. Instead he satisfied himself on the animals he found foraging in the jungle. Still, even knowing the value of fresh meat, Tarzan was surprised when the robed woman cast the man's severed limbs into the yowling mob of Targarni. The apes shrieked with bloodlust as they scrambled for the tastier morsels, causing waves of motion in the crowd. Tarzan felt his stomach knot; some deep primal instinct told him this was wrong.

The woman was saving the tender internal organs for herself and Goyad. Tarzan knew that if he hesitated any further, the female prisoner would be their next kill. He had no intention of letting Goyad or the strange woman have any further barbaric enjoyment.

Tarzan quickly descended the steps and, hunched low, ran to the cover offered by the ruins. A cautious glance assured him that the Targarni were still indulging in their feast and none was looking in his direction. The robed woman had almost finished her macabre act and Tarzan sensed it wouldn't be long before she turned on the female. He had to work out a way around the mass of apes. His gaze followed the rough natural cave wall up as it curved toward the giant snake statues. The gap was wide, but he was sure he could make the leap between them.

With agility honed over a lifetime, Tarzan scampered up the wall. His feet and fingers found uneven edges just wide enough to balance on. His toned muscles pulled him higher and higher. Never once did he consider what would happen if he fell—that had never happened before and the idea had never crossed his mind. In no time at all he had reached a narrow ledge some forty feet up. It provided just enough purchase for him to crouch tightly. He sprang into the void.

The Targarni below had no reason to look up; instead they were following the blade in the woman's hand as it danced over the female captive. The apes howled in anticipation of the feast, some baring blood-coated fangs in rictus grins. They didn't see Tarzan land on the curved stone body of one of the statues. His feet slipped on the smooth surface and for a moment he was in danger of sliding off and dropping into the throng. With honed reflexes, Tarzan's hand shot out and grabbed the carved crest that ran the length of the snake. His feet cycled in the air, but his single-handed hold prevented him from falling. With every sinew tensed, Tarzan pulled himself up, planting his feet firmly on the statue's curves.

With his free hand he snatched the vine rope from his waist and swung the lassoed end up to the flaming bowl, snagging it on one of the ornate carvings on the plinth that supported it. The loose end he tied around his waist with a simple knot. His mind had already plotted the route he needed to take, so he didn't have to think. He braced himself against one snake, then leaped across and down to the opposite statue. With minimal effort, Tarzan zigzagged his way down between the statues as the robed woman lifted the sword. In the same moment, she looked up. The dazed, almost sleepy expression on her face suddenly transformed into absolute shock as she saw the wild man bear down on her.

Tarzan landed just behind the woman, shouldering her into Goyad just as the ape recognized Tarzan. With a grunt, Tarzan lifted the stone block from across the captive female's hands. It was surprisingly heavy, and he had to brace himself to fully lift it aside. It was covered in intricate carvings, which were in turn covered in long-dried blood. He noticed two hollows had been carved from the block, designed to perfectly restrain the victim's wrists. He hauled the female over his shoulder and spun to face the riled Targarni, who were only just recovering from the unexpected rescue and waiting for a cue to attack.

Tarzan faced the horde and bellowed the deep challenge of a male bull ape. It was enough to make the apes pause—and it gave Tarzan enough time to yank the rope fastened around his waist. With a mighty rumble, the flaming bowl started to topple from the plinth. Tarzan had caused hell to rain down into the cavern.

A
lbert Werper leaned on the table with one hand, the other carefully tracing a finger over the detailed geo-survey maps Lord Greystoke had retrieved from the plane wreck. Greystoke's archeologist lifted a magnifying glass and leaned closer, examining a contour and double-checking the maps' color-coded legend. He breathed through his narrow nose, so his nostrils flared and whistled every time he came across an interesting feature.

After examining the maps for close to thirty minutes, he stood up, his back cricking as he stretched. Then he scratched his scalp, the brown curls now damp with sweat and flat against his skull. He didn't look at the other occupants in the room, but stared dreamily into space.

“Well?” Lord Greystoke prompted. He sat in the corner of the modern cabin, logging details of his previous adventures on a rugged laptop. The site nurse had treated his wounds and declared him to be fit, though he had insisted on bandages being wrapped around his midriff and wore his shirt open, sporting the bandages as a brave war wound.

Werper watched Archie and Clark, who sat at one table finishing a meal. Jane was asleep in a chair, her head slumped awkwardly on the arm. Robbie slouched in another corner, watching Werper intently. The moment he had met the man, he disliked him. Albert Werper was ferrety, his eyes constantly shifting, never focusing on the person he was talking to. When he spoke, it was often curtly, as if he had more important people to speak to. Even with Greystoke he was often snappy and aloof, but the English lord gave no outward indication that he was annoyed. Greystoke had introduced him as an archeologist, but said little more.

Greystoke sighed, and snapped the laptop's lid down with a thud to get Werper's attention. “Are they of use?”

Werper nodded, then paused. “No, there's a problem,” he suddenly countered.

“They are my uncle's maps, correct?”

Werper paced the room, gazing thoughtfully through the window. “Yes … Well, you found them on their plane, didn't you? I hardly think there's room for duplicity here. They're very accurate, marvelous detail.” He paused again, internally working through the problems.

“So … ?” Greystoke prompted warily.

“So the landscape is intricately recorded—rock strata, rivers … even coltan deposits.” Werper's eyes narrowed mockingly when he saw Greystoke get excited. “But there are no markers, no features we can readily identify. They could be maps of any jungle in the world.”

Robbie smiled inwardly, careful not to look at Clark who made a disappointed huffing sound. Annoyance flashed across Greystoke's face and he crossed to the map, studying it intently.

Werper didn't turn around. “Oh, there are ruins marked on the map. Opar, I can only presume. What other civilization could have created them?”

Greystoke found the ruins marked on the map—nothing more than three tiny squares. A handwritten legend across the area read “Savage Lands” in small letters. “So these mountain ridges, valleys—all we have to do is transpose them over the maps we have. Surely that will reveal the location?”

“We have satellite imagery, but nothing showing these contours. Nothing this accurate.”

Robbie allowed himself to relax a little as Greystoke grew increasingly frustrated. With luck, this whole venture would turn out to be nothing more than a wild goose chase and they could return back to the camp, leaving Tarzan at peace. During his time spent with the ape-man, Robbie discovered an affinity with him. His life had been in Tarzan's hands so many times, yet the wild man had asked for nothing in return… . Unlike almost everybody else Robbie had encountered in the past.

“There are rivers here,” said Greystoke persistently. Clark rose and limped across to look at the map.

Werper's laugh contained no humor. “Do you know how many rivers are out there? Most haven't even been mapped. This is a fool's errand, Bill.” Greystoke flinched at the common use of his name. Werper didn't care; his temper was rising. “Do you know what it's like to be this close to something you've searched for all your life”—he held up his thumb and forefinger fractionally apart—“only to have it tease you? Prove impossible to achieve?” His hands bunched into fists and it looked like he wanted to punch something, but was too timid to try. “Maybe … maybe it's all wrong. Maybe Opar is nothing more than a Mbuti myth.”

“Then why mark it on a map?” said Greystoke. “My uncle was not prone to flights of fancy. I have never met a more boring man!”

“What's so special about Opar?” said Robbie as casually as he could, but inwardly his curiosity about uncovering lost riches was burning. “It's just some old city. You always hear about lost treasure—it never turns out to be true.”

Werper spun around, giving Robbie the full power of his piercing blue eyes. He suddenly became animated, hands gesticulating as he spoke. Robbie was unsure if it was passion or madness.

“This is not just some lost city. This is a civilization that fell through the cracks of history. As big as the Mayans, as mighty as the Egyptian pharaohs … now only a legend passed down verbally in pygmy culture. A city of untold riches run by a cannibalistic ruling clan who spilled more blood than the Aztecs, who worshipped animals as their gods. What happened to them? Why their mysterious decline?” Werper spread his arms out as if offering himself to the Oparian gods. “If I was the one to uncover a new civilization … my name would echo amongst the greats… .” His hands suddenly dropped to his side with sadness, his gaze becoming unfocused again. “If only we could find it… .”

Clark tapped the map. “What about this?”

Greystoke glanced at the tightly packed contour lines. “Mountains. There are plenty to choose from out there.”

“I can see that,” said Clark testily. The thought of any riches slipping through his fingers was galling. “But this curve 'ere. Doesn't it strike you as odd?” He traced a finger around a cylindrical edge. Greystoke leaned over, his brow knitted. “Looks almost volcanic to me.”

“A volcano …” mumbled Greystoke thoughtfully.

Robbie crossed to the map to get a better look. The mountain's contour lines were indeed distinctly circular.

Werper snorted. “Do you know how many volcanoes are out there? This whole region is a tectonic nightmare. There are eight known volcanoes in the Democratic Republic of the Congo alone, Nyamuragira being one of the most active on the planet. There could be eighty more out there, hidden by the jungle.”

Clark shrugged and limped back to his seat. Greystoke continued studying the map, then noticed the smirk on Clark's face.

“What aren't you telling us?”

Clark enjoyed being the center of attention and picked at the food on his plate. He gave Archie a calculating look that clearly showed he had just worked out how to turn the situation to their advantage. Robbie began to feel his heart sink.

“Our deal was originally to unite you with your long-lost cousin.”

“And that still stands, should we come across him,” said Greystoke slowly.

“And I believe half the cut was mentioned for leading you to the aircraft, right?”

Greystoke stiffened slightly, turning his head to one side as his neck cracked. “I am a man of my word, Mr. Philander,” said Greystoke with a cocky grin. By using Clark's real name, the one he hated, he'd subtly revealed he knew more about the loggers than he had let on. “Or do you prefer Samuel?” he teased. “So before you try to blackmail me, please remember your own position.”

Clark's smug smile dropped and his eyes narrowed slightly. “If we help you find it, Archie and I deserve a cut at whatever's in Opar. Agreed?”

“A cut,” said Greystoke carefully, exchanging a glance with Werper. “Agreed. But since we are laying down demands, here are mine. If you should try to renege on our deal, then I won't hesitate to expose you and your logging operation to government authorities.” Clark and Archie exchanged worried glances. Lord Greystoke continued. “If we are in this, we are in it together. Agreed?”

The room fell quiet, save for the constant background thrum of excavating machinery outside. Werper had his back to the conversation and was poring over the map to see what he had missed. Robbie noticed Jane hadn't moved, but her eyes were half open as she listened.

“Agreed,” said Clark as he climbed painfully to his feet to offer Lord Greystoke his hand. They solemnly shook. “Y'see, there is a volcano about a day or so away from where their plane crashed. She's been there.” He nodded toward Jane. Robbie noticed her eyes were closed again. “An' I 'appen to know which way she went, with your cousin, no less.”

Greystoke's eyes flicked between the map and Clark. Then he nodded. “It's worth a try. If you're right… .”

Clark held up his hand reassuringly. “I reckon I am right. So, let's talk numbers.” He grinned like a shark.

• • •

R
ed-hot
coals rained down across the howling Targarni as Tarzan heaved on his vine rope, pulling the huge flaming bowl off the slender stone plinth. The coals, huge chunks of black volcanic rock, came first, smashing to the ground in a fountain of sparks that singed the fur of the slower Targarni.

The robed woman stared at Tarzan in surprise, the sword clanging from her grip. Her eyes went wide and she staggered backward. Goyad leaped between them, teeth bared—which looked all the more terrifying due to the fresh blood smeared across his snout. There were only five yards between the two, and Tarzan knew his speed would be restricted with the weight of the female over his shoulder.

Goyad was ready to spring as the huge flaming bowl hit the ground with a terrible crack of stone on rock. Tarzan tensed, unable to judge which way the heavy stone would fall. His heart pounded and the floor under his feet trembled when the rim of the bowl sliced between them. Tarzan let out a snort of victory as the concave bowl rolled away from him, spilling a mass of flames toward Goyad. Blazing rocks burned patches of the ape's fur away to the pale skin beneath. He howled in pain and raced away from the flames spreading across the floor. With a powerful kick, the albino ape leaped for the sanctuary of a wall projecting from the nearest ruin.

The huge stone bowl continued rolling on its rim and Tarzan ran with it as it scythed through the lines of Targarni. They ignored Tarzan, more concerned about avoiding the fire or being crushed as the bowl steamrolled toward them. Tarzan saw several unfortunate Targarni fully ablaze, rolling on the floor screaming as they tried to quell the flames. He grinned—he couldn't have planned a more destructive revenge. Tarzan made it across the plaza and vaulted up the steps two at a time with ease, even with the female thrown over his shoulders.

Halfway up the steps the bowl finally teetered over. It managed one mighty grinding spin before thundering to a halt. By this time Tarzan was already in the cavern above and sprinting across the narrow stone bridge.

• • •

T
he
Targarni did not follow. Tarzan was panting heavily as he raced up the final steps between the lion's claws. He could not afford to rest now. Goyad might not have immediately given chase, but Tarzan was sure the ape and his cohorts would soon be scouring the area. He didn't see the point in testing his luck any further.

He checked the female he had saved. She had been unnaturally quiet during the escape and when he carefully laid her on the forest floor her head slumped to the side. Tarzan hoped she wasn't dead; other than annoying Goyad, that would have made his entire adventure a waste of time. But he did not know the woman, so if she lived or died Tarzan would accept that nature had chosen her path. There were few beings he cared for outside his tribe and, as he examined the woman, he was reminded it had been some days since he had last seen Jane. Moving to new feeding grounds with his family had been a necessity, and he only hoped Jane hadn't got into any trouble while he had been away. He tried to put that distraction from his mind as he focused his attention on the woman.

He felt a pulse in her neck; it was slow but strong. She must have passed out from sheer terror at the thought of what was about to happen to her. Her hair was black, her skin darker than Tarzan's own, and she wore the familiar khaki uniform most jungle explorers chose. As far as he could judge, she was older than Jane, but not by much.

Tarzan listened for any signs of pursuit, but only the jungle's twilight chorus could be heard. The sky was already growing dark, and the first stars appeared in the deep blue, shining their ancient light. But there was another glow to the air, a tinge of red reflecting from the few clouds. And now that he was listening for it, Tarzan could tell the continuous rumble from the mountain was a little louder. Perhaps it was angered by the chaos he had caused deep below?

Carrying the woman over his shoulder, he trudged on through the jungle, back toward the Mangani. The mountain's business with Goyad and the apes was not his, and he didn't care how much the earth grumbled. He was lord of the jungle. He had nothing to fear.

• • •

R
obbie
had been more than irritated when Clark suggested he and Jane leave so the adults could discuss business terms with Lord Greystoke. It was clear he thought they would try to sabotage negotiations, and the others were still unaware that Jane had been awake during the entire conversation.

The smarmy Edward had appeared and guided them across the mining site to another set of cabins. Floodlights lit the site, attracting swarms of insects, but allowing the workers to maximize their workday. Edward kept to a wooden walkway that spanned the mud. Streams of dirty water ran beneath them. Off to one side, a group of Mbuti pygmies stood up to their chests in the dirty water, hauling large dishes from the brown murk as if panning for gold.