Читать книгу Time Castaways - James Axler - Страница 10

Standing on the lee of the rocky shore, a blonde woman lifted a wooden flute to her lips and began to softly play.

Made of whalebone, the delicately carved musical instrument had been a parting gift from her father, just before Mad Pete threw her off a cliff.

The music slowed as she almost smiled at the memory. Oh, it was true that the old man had been triple crazy. Yet he was also oddly wise, and always gentle. It took years before the child could understand that her loving father had acted more insane than he really was to keep the baron from taking her to his bed. Not a marriage bed, just the one he kept hidden from his wife in a stone shed behind the Citadel, where nobody else could witness what happened to other young girls in the dark of a foggy night. Named Victoria by the baron, but called Summer Liana by her father, her first lesson in life had been that deception could be more useful as a knife. Mad Pete had taught the young girl many secret things in the privacy of their hut, patiently waiting until she became an adult of eighteen winters before casting her into the world to live free or die. It was cruel, but necessary.

May the moon goddess bless you for that brutal act of kindness, dear father, Liana prayed silently in her mind. As a well of raw emotion made her throat tighten, she accidentally blew a sour note on the flute. Instantly the subtle motions in the lake stopped.

Frowning, the teenager redoubled her concentration, blocking out the bittersweet memories of her lost childhood and the fierce stabs of hunger in her belly. Thrown into the sea wearing only the rawhide dress and soft slippers of a slave, Liana now wore a warm robe made of moose hide and waterproof beaver-skin boots. A grass rope was tied at her waist, and a large wooden knife was sheathed at her hip, with another tucked into her left boot. A spear rested in the dirt nearby. There was even a flat stone with a razor-sharp edge hidden under her rawhide dress in case of emergency. Such as, if somebody got a look at her eyes. A woven bag of river reeds hung across her back, bulging with everything she possessed, which sadly wasn’t very much.

There had been no berries to be found on the mountain bushes, potatoes in the fields, frogs in the swamp, snails, or even eggs in the bird nests hidden along the north cliffs. Liana was accustomed to feeling hungry, as food was always in short supply for a runaway slave, but this winter was particularly lean and the teenager knew that she had to learn how to forage for herself or else join her beloved father on the last train west.

As her stomach grumbled loudly once more, Liana forced her mind to relax, and the music flowed clear and sweet across the misty bay. The wind ruffled the long blond hair hanging across her face, almost pushing it aside, but the lard carefully rubbed into the strands kept them in place. Since her birth, nobody had ever gotten a good look at her face, which was why she was still alive. Her eyes revealed the awful truth, and throwbacks were slain on sight.

Soon there was an answering tug in the back of her mind and she almost smiled at the sight of a black snake rising to the surface and coming straight toward her. Excellent!

Stepping back slightly, Liana continued to play the flute. The snake blindly charged her, going over the edge of the small pit and tumbling to the bottom. Startled, the snake lashed about, trying to get out, but the sides of the hole were much too steep. Hissing in unbridled fury, the snake eventually calmed, moving to the rhythm of the music, and then bizarrely fell asleep.

Overjoyed, Liana could not believe the sight. The song was working! Her father had been right once again. While he could see the future, she was able to command the lower animals. Never again would she be hungry. What a glorious day!

As a young girl, Liana dimly remembered her grandy scoffing at the notion that she could summon snakes with a musical instrument. “Snakes ain’t got no ears!” she raged, waving her walking stick. “I’ve eaten enough of them to know that! How can you summon a thing with music if it can’t hear?” And it was true, the snakes had no discernible ears. Yet her father had insisted that someday they would come to her call. Nothing else, just snakes. But that was enough to fill her belly, even in the bad times after the acid rains came to burn the land clean.

Wishing to test the range of her new ability, Liana played on, using her mind to probe into the murky depths of the cold sea. She found more snakes, and several eels, a rare delicacy reserved purely for those of royal blood. What a feast she would have back in her little cave!

Deciding that she could not wait that long, Liana tucked away the flute and yanked the spear from the ground. Stabbing a particularly fat snake in the pit, she hauled it out impaled. The dying creature thrashed for only a few seconds, then slumped and went still.

Using her belt knife, the young woman carefully peeled off the valuable skin and placed it aside, then scooped out the guts and tossed them into the weeds for the creatures of the field. Nothing bloody was ever allowed to fall into the lake, as that could summon a kraken, the most horrible creature in the world.

Using a piece of flint and some dry grass, Liana soon started a fire and fed the tiny blaze sticks, then branches, until it was a roaring campfire. Savoring the warmth, she stuck the snake on a greenstick and put it over the flames, the delicious aroma of roasting meat a tantalizing torment. Her empty stomach rumbled in anticipation, and she stole a tiny piece of the raw flesh to hold it in abeyance for just a few more minutes.

Humming happily to herself, Liana only vaguely heard a whooshing noise from behind when there was a terrible pain at the back of her head, and blackness filled the universe.

She never quite fully lost consciousness, but she fell helpless to the ground, the snake falling into the flames to disappear in an explosion of embers and smoke.

Dimly through the hammering in her ears, Liana could hear the sound of boots crunching on loose pebbles, and rough hands flipped her over. Dark shapes stood nearby, and she tried to speak, but could only manage a sort of wet burble. Her tongue felt thick and the world kept spinning around.

“Hot damn, look, boys, it’s a slut!” A man chortled. “Guess we got a meal, and a ride!”

Cold horror exploded in her guts at the casual pronouncement of rape, and Liana blinked to try to clear her vision. The savage pounding at the back of her head made it difficult, but she ordered the pain away and suddenly could see once more.

There were ten of them, large men with beards, wearing dirty robes of mismatched furs. Their hair was matted with sticks and mud, with grisly necklaces of dried human ears hanging around their throats. Each was heavily armed with stone weapons, knives and axes, plus each carried a crossbow slung over a shoulder. Goddess protect me, she prayed. These were Hillies.

Kneeling alongside her, a redheaded man was binding her wrists with lengths of rawhide, while another cleaned the blood and hair off a boomerang on his sleeve. Dimly, she recognized it as her own blond hair, and cursed herself for a fool. Struck from behind! Hunger had distracted her for a few minutes, and now she would have to pay the ultimate price.

Feebly, she tried to resist and the cold edge of a stone knife was pressed against her throat.

“Stop wiggling or I’ll gut you like a fish,” a Hilly snarled, displaying rotten teeth, his breath fetid with shine and wolfweed. “That won’t ace ya, but you’ll sure wish it had. Savvy?”

Liana nodded her understanding, her mind racing to find some way to get loose, get free, escape. But if she struggled too hard, it might show them the truth, and death would swiftly follow.

Finished binding her wrists, the Hilly began running his hands over her clothing, taking away everything in her pockets, and then cutting away the rope belt to spread open her coat. Shivering from the rush of cold air, Liana felt sick at the leering faces of the mountain savages looking down at her.

“Hey, lookit there. Bitch has got a whole pit full of snakes,” a blond man muttered, kicking some loose dirt into the hole. The snakes awoke and hissed angrily. “How the frag did she do that without a net?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” a bald man said. “Ask her after we’re done, but I wanna start pumping right now.”

“Wait your turn, gleeb,” the redhead barked, sheathing his blade. “Now strip the bitch, and make sure she ain’t hiding a blade.”

“We already know what she’s hiding!” the fat Hilly said, rubbing a hand across his mouth.

Trying not to burst into tears, Liana winced at their raucous laughter, and the stone knives slashed away her clothing, soon leaving her exposed on the cold, hard ground. Filthy hands fondled her as the last of her clothing was removed, then the Hillies jerked away as if she had suddenly become red-hot.

“Well, nuke me,” a tall man whispered, tossing away a shredded piece of her rawhide dress. “Looks like we got us a runaway slave!”

“That’s the mark for Anchor ville,” another said in wonder, rubbing a finger along the chained eagle burned into her shoulder. “The baron there will pay a fortune in steel for this little bitch.”

“I…am a singer,” Liana croaked, knowing there was nothing to try but the truth. “I can summon snakes. All you want, at any time. I’ll…I’ll be a good slave. Y-your ville will never go hungry again!” She swallowed hard. “But don’t send me back. Please!”

The faces of the Hillies underwent a variety of expressions as they considered the matter from every angle.

“We got enough food,” the leader said, loosening the belt around his waist. His pants fell away, revealing that he was more than ready. “Grab her legs, boys, I’m going in!”

With those dire words, fear filled her mind and Liana knew that her only escape would be on the last train west. So be it. She could at least rob the bastards of their fun. Shaking her head as hard as she could, the woman felt her long bangs shift and the Hillies recoil in horror.

SLOSHING OUT OF THE OCEAN, the cresting waves knocking them forward, the bedraggled companions staggered onto the shore, panting for breath and drawing their blasters.

Weakly shuffling behind some boulders for cover, the friends caught their breath as yet another droid rolled off the balcony of the warship and plummeted into the water, only to vanish beneath the surface and then violently explode. A few moments later, a boiling geyser erupted upward, only to come back down to spread outward as a warm and gentle rain.

“Triple stupe feebs.” J.B. sneered in disdain, lowering the Uzi. “If that keeps up, there’ll soon be no more droids on the bastard ship.” The man was drenched, his hair and clothing steadily dripping water.

“Lake bigger than ship,” Jak agreed, his white hair plastered to his head, giving him a vaguely corpselike appearance.

“The bastard comps must have gone haywire over the decades,” Ryan said, fighting a shiver.

“Personally, I was thankful for the wash,” Doc stated, visibly trembling. “I was starting to name my flies.”

It was an exaggeration, but everybody understood the feeling. The past couple of redoubts had not possessed working showers, only hot water in the kitchen, and the companions had washed using the kitchen sink. But in spite of that, they had started to become noticeably ripe. A dunk into frigid water was no shower, but it would do for the moment.

“We need a fire quick, or we’re going to get sick,” Krysty stated, her soggy hair flexing as if trying to dislodge the water droplets. “There’s enough driftwood about, but this wind is going to ace us eventually.”

Just then, another droid rolled off the ship, the machines still in hot pursuit of the invaders. There was the usual underwater detonation and rain.

“Okay, these things aren’t going to be troubling us any,” Ryan decided, shouldering his Steyr longblaster. “Let’s get into the forest and find some bastard shelter before we freeze solid.” Flexing his hands, the man gently rubbed a finger under his eyepatch. The cold was making the old wound ache something fierce.

“Shelter and coffee,” Doc countered, holstering the useless LeMat. The Civil War handcannon had many positive attributes, but it was not waterproof like a modern-day blaster. After their immersion, the black powder in the cylinder was dribbling out of the barrel like dark blood. The weapon would be useless until thoroughly dried, cleaned and reloaded. The Ruger was still in his frock coat pocket, but he was saving that until needed. There had been no chance to thoroughly clean the blaster yet, and it was possible that pulling the trigger would be the very last thing his right hand ever did in this world.

Taking hold of his walking stick, Doc twisted the lion’s-head newel to unlock the mechanism and draw his sword.

Starting to offer a suggestion of digging a pit, Jak caught a movement in the air and smiled. A bat! Spinning, he strode toward the nearby cliff and there it was, a large opening in the side of the rock formation.

Whistling sharply for the others, the teenager drew his blaster and butane lighter, then carefully proceeded inside. Caves were natural shelters, and also one of the most dangerous places in existence. Aside from the possibility of a cave-in sealing a person inside, or tumbling into a cavern, or getting lost, bears liked to hibernate in caves, as well as rats, bats, lions, wolverines and a host of muties who delighted in eating human flesh.

However, Jak soon saw that the precautions had not been necessary. The cave ended after a hundred feet or so, narrowing into a crevice too small for anything larger than a mouse to traverse. Obviously the bat had not come from this particular cave. Fair enough. With all of those boulders outside, the cliffs were probably honeycombed with caves and tunnels.

Off to the side of the cave was a small pool, only a few inches deep, the crystal-clear water full of albino crayfish. Since the companions had plenty of food, Jak ignored the tiny creatures, leaving them in peace. A real hunter never aced for pleasure, but only to put food on the table.

Suddenly there came a whistle from behind, and the teenager answered without even turning. Soon, there came the sound of boots on stone.

“Dear God, it feels good to get out of the wind,” Mildred said, playing about her flashlight. “Any occupants in here, Jak?”

“We alone,” the albino teen replied, then gestured with his blaster. “Right now, anyway.” There was the remnants of a campfire and a few gnawed bones tossed into a corner. Clearly, somebody had used the cave as a campsite once.

“Looks fine,” Ryan said, studying the smooth ceiling. “Good job, Jak.”

The teenager shrugged. “Easy find cave, know how.”

Softly in the distance, there came another watery explosion.

“Well, I’ll cook dinner if somebody else gets the firewood,” J.B. offered, easing his sodden munitions bag to the rocky floor. The spare blasters clattered as they came to a rest.

“We better find something to block the mouth first,” Mildred corrected. “Let’s try to roll one of the smaller boulders in first to help block the wind.”

“And keep in the heat.” Krysty laughed weakly, then she frowned unexpectedly.

“Something wrong, lover?” Ryan asked, pausing in the act of removing his fur-lined coat. Soaked with water, the garment felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Her hair flexing in a wild corona, Krysty said nothing as she looked around the cave, then suddenly lurched back outside with a drawn blaster in her hand.

“Krysty?” Ryan repeated in growing concern, joining her outside the cave.

The woman gave no reply, lost in a private world. Just for a second, there had been a flutter in her mind. Screwing her eyelids shut, the woman blocked out the distractions of the world—the sound of the ocean, the cold wind, even the voices of her friends, concentrating solely on the ghostly sensation.

However, strain as she might, nothing more could be felt. Then she heard a faint cry from the direction of a low dune. Surging into action, the woman pelted in that direction. Whatever was happening, that had not been a cry of surprise or gladness.

A steep embankment formed a dune that sloped upward to a grassy plateau. Krysty took it at a run, her breath visibly puffing as she reached the top. The rocks were slippery under her muddy cowboy boots and she nearly fell several times before reaching the top of the steppe. A split second later Ryan and the others arrived, staying quiet and letting her take the lead.

Hesitantly, Krysty moved forward, a blaster in each hand.

The area was thick with scraggy grass, along with tall reeds. To the left was the forest of pine trees, the air sweet with their scent. That seemed a logical place for somebody to make camp, but the cry had come from the right, so she raced back toward the lake.

Bushes and reeds blocked her view, but the woman cried out in pain once more, and then there came the curse of a man.

Redoubling their speed, the companions crested a low rise to come upon a small clearing filled with hairy men surrounding a blond woman waving around a fishing spear. She was completely naked, her body covered with bruises, but the men were slashed in a dozen places, blood trickling from shallow cuts in their fur coats. Her wrists were lashed together, but the men seemed to be getting the worst of the fight. One big man had missing teeth, his jaw still dripping blood, another had a broken nose, and a third was missing a large patch of hair, his scalp oozing a clear fluid. Every time they tried to get close she would jab for their hands, and the men retreated, sucking the wounds. However, they did not go very far.

Forcibly holding Krysty back, Ryan went low in the reeds to stay out of sight for a moment to gauge the situation. Rushing into the unknown was a good way to get aced. This looked like a gangbang, but things were not always as they seemed. The blonde could have been a gaudy slut bought for the night and the men had caught her stealing. Acing her would only be justice. On the other hand, this could be a trap to lure in passing travelers.