Primitive Nights (8 page)

Damon remained where he stood. Tinjtol would bait and prod. Then he would attack. As expected, his brother was impatient and lunged again. Prepared as Damon was, Tinjtol’s agility surprised him. A sharp pain sliced across Damon’s leg, and when he looked down, blood trickled from a cut at the thick muscle over his knee.

“Why do you play games, Tinjtol?” He fought the urge to drop to his knee. If he ended this now, took the banishment from his tribe, he would be spared the agony of killing Tinjtol. But as leader, he had to think of what was best for all, and that did not include leaving them under the leadership of his brother. “Are you afraid of me?”

The taunt seemed to infuriate Tinjtol. With an angry snarl, he raced forward again. Damon jerked to the side at the last moment and brought his leg out to hook it behind Tinjtol’s with a hard kick. His brother lost his balance and stumbled forward, nearly knocking over one of the torches.

Damon moved in the moment he fell and pressed a knee into the man’s back. He slid his knife to his throat and held it pressed there, solid, unmoving. “End this, bother. Without death. Surrender and leave.”

“No.” The denial came with a strangled roar of anger.

Damon pressed harder. His mind raced and the blood ran cold in his veins. “Tinjtol, beg off. Now, or you will force me to kill you.”

Tinjtol dropped flat to his belly. The motion threw Damon off balance. He toppled forward, catching himself before he slammed into the ground. When he spun on his knee, Tinjtol was ready to slice at him again.

“Stop!”

Tinjtol jerked slightly at the high-pitched yell.

“This must stop now.” Michelle pushed her way through the crowd. “The white woman is gone, Tinjtol. Ask Damon, he understands now. He disposed of the woman. She is no longer a threat to any of us.”

Damon’s heart sank. Disposed of? What had she done? “Mother, explain yourself.” He swept the crowd, looking for Seiret.

She planted her hands on her hips. “I’ve watched enough barbarism from this tribe to last me a lifetime. I do not want to see more.” She looked at Tinjtol before her eyes met Damon’s again. “Neither of you should have to die because of that woman.”

Tinjtol growled, and his eyes shifted to Damon. “Does she tell the truth?”

He had no idea. Had his mother truly gotten rid of her? If she had…how? Fear lanced through him, tightening his chest. Surely her hatred had not crossed the bounds to madness. Whatever her reasons, he believed Myla was no longer within the tribe.

He spoke to Tinjtol. “Yes. She is gone.”

Tinjtol straightened and walked to the center of the circle. “I claim the right of
bajluk
.”

The crowd around them remained fixated on the spectacle they presented. There were nods of agreement, though they were heavily outweighed by the members who supported their current
bajluk
. It gave him hope.

Damon shook his head. “You will lead our people to certain death as
bajluk
. I cannot let you do that.”

“Then we finish.”

The color drained from his mother’s face. “No.”

He looked away from her. He needed to end this and find out what she had done to Myla. He turned to Tinjtol. “Come brother. We finish this now.”

Tinjtol flew forward in a flurry of slashing arcs, moving with deadly precision. His knife sliced across Damon’s chest. Damon leaned back, deflecting most of the blow. He followed his brother’s motion around, and as he passed, Damon wrapped an arm around Tinjtol’s neck. With a harsh tug, Damon drew him back, locking his wrist to press tight against his brother’s throat.

The offensive move stalled Tinjtol’s forward motion and jerked him to a sharp halt. His legs sprawled out before him as Damon dropped to the ground, increasing the pressure of the hold. Tinjtol flipped his knife around and brought it back sharply where it sank deep in the muscle of Damon’s thigh.

Pain radiated up from the wound, but Damon clenched his arm more, bearing down on Tinjtol’s windpipe until he wheezed for breath. Damon squeezed, hating the gurgle of desperation as veins bulged at Tinjtol’s temple. “I have no wish to kill my own brother.” He looked around at the people watching. “Let Tinjtol leave us with his life.”

Tinjtol shook his head, his words a raspy growl of anger. “Finish this, Maglayo. You will not shame me this way.”

Damon closed his eyes. There was no honor in this death. “No. I will not kill you.”

He released his hold and stood. Tinjtol sat back, his eyes sparked with fury. He remained silent and pushed up from the ground instead to walk to the elders who stood near the edge of the circle. With a respectful nod, he dropped to a knee. “Maglayo has refused to fight. This is weakness for
bajluk
.”

“My son is not weak. He shows mercy.” Michelle’s heated words drew numerous nods of agreement.

Damon pointed at her. “Stop. You have intruded already where you should not have. Silence yourself. Now!”

She clamped her mouth shut. The six elders exchanged glances before Goloruk, the eldest, stepped forward. He raised a hand, and the gathering was silent. “Maglayo has shown brother Tinjtol compassion and mercy. I believe he understands that brother Tinjtol has the good of our people in his heart and has spared his life.” He paused to look at Damon. “This is the mark of a wise man. But Tinjtol carries anger in his heart. And so he must leave.”

A low rumble of shock moved through the group. Damon tried to contain his relief. With Tinjtol’s banishment, peace might be found. The elders might finally listen to him, to Myla. In this one decision, Damon’s hope for their future burgeoned.

Tinjtol stalked from the circle to disappear into the jungle. With a quick nod at the elders, Damon accepted a
bajluk
coil from a young woman and laced it into his hair. Then without waiting for another disruption, he turned and grabbed his mother’s arm. “Come with me.”

“Don’t be angry with me. I did what was best.” She struggled against his hold.

“What did you do?” He let go and grasped the rough handle of the knife still lodged in his thigh. Pain lanced through his leg as he pulled the blade free. He stared at his mother. “Where is she?”

She shrugged. “I sent her into the jungle.”

“What?”

Her dispassionate response fueled his anger. He slashed a hand through the air. He had never struck a woman, but the urge to do so was strong at that moment.

Seiret ran from the trees. He stopped before them, panting. “She is gone.”

Damon nodded. “This was my mother’s doing.”

“Better that she dies than you.”

“I will find her, Mother. And you better hope she is alive. If she is not, or if she is harmed, you will pay dearly for it.”

Her eyes widened with fear before thinning to slits. “Are you threatening to harm me?”

Damon shook his head. “No, Mother. But if anything happens to Myla, I will take you to the white men myself and leave you there.”

He walked away, and Seiret’s soft chuckle followed. “She did not like your words?”

Furious, Damon dragged a hand through his hair. “She meddles.”

“Her intentions were good.”

He understood that fact. Knowledge however, would not alter the danger Myla would face on her own. “I wonder at the intelligence of your insight. For now, I must find Myla.”

When he would have walked away, Seiret stalled him. “I think it would be best for you to care for that first.”

Damon glanced at the knife wound in his leg. That explained the pain.

Myla turned in a slow circle. The jungle surrounded her. Trees. Nothing but damned trees. God only knew what else. Every noise made her heart race. Skipping the crash courses on jungle survival was coming back to haunt her—with interest. It was one thing to have a qualified escort through the dense foliage. Someone to tell her what to watch for and where to go. On her own, the jungle seemed more of a death sentence than anything.

“So stupid.” Not that she’d had any choice.

She’d kept her voice to a whisper but it still bounced around the trees. She glanced at her surroundings again then pressed her fingers to the muscles at the base of her neck, strained by the repetitive motion. This was ridiculous.

She’d followed the early sun’s direction for what seemed like hours. The longer she walked, the more unsettled her thoughts became, the more her leg ached. The more she questioned her decision. She’d had to leave. Damon’s safety had been compromised by her appearance. It seemed the tribe suffered some dissension already, and her presence had made it worse.

A sudden movement caught her eye and she crouched behind a cluster of thick foliage. In the distance, she could make out a small group of men. They were native men, heavily covered with painted markings all over their bodies. Two of the men pushed through the thick brush with a long stick slung over their shoulders. A large boar dangled upside down from the stick. The group passed quietly, their soft chatter fading into the jungle.

Relief washed over her and she sat back against the base of a tree. Taking a water skin out of the bag Michelle had supplied, she splashed some on her tender hands and wiped the cool water over her face. Even under the canopy of trees, the heat was stifling.

She replaced the corklike stopper and set the skin aside. The bag held several fruits as well and she’d nibbled on them through the day. Another bite was all she allowed herself. After all, there was no telling how long she would be on her own, and her knowledge of the native vegetation and water supplies was extremely limited. It would be important to preserve what little she had.

Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she sighed. How in the world had she gotten herself in this mess? But she knew. It had always been John’s dream, not hers. She’d followed him blindly on his quest.

Somehow, during the months of listening to John talk about Damon’s tribe, she’d come to believe in the cause. Everything the members of Endurance International held as their mission made perfect sense. She’d found a sense of purpose here. A place where she was needed. A place to belong. Those same men and women had welcomed her, taught her and now depended on her for the information she’d gained.

Stashing the fruit and water back in the bag with renewed vigor, she pushed up from the ground. Her muscles ached and the heat had drained her to the point of dehydration, but she knew there was no way she could keep herself safe for long, especially with night coming. And the people at E.I. needed the information she’d gathered. She had to keep going.

Darkness was blinding by the time it fell in earnest. There wasn’t a star to be seen, no torches in the distance, not even a single firefly to give her hope that something lay beyond the inky black swallowing her. She tucked her legs up against her chest, huddling in a fetal ball on the small formation of rock she’d found. She hadn’t been able to start a fire, so God only knew what critters remained in the crevices. She’d kicked and banged and shifted everything she could to scare away any wildlife, but her mind was getting the best of her just the same.

The palm fronds she lay on helped fractionally. She’d used more of the fronds to cover the opening in the rocks and had smashed a few pungent plants to help mask her scent. If luck held, she’d make it through the night.

For all that she couldn’t see, the jungle kept its presence abundantly clear with a cacophony of sound. The hum of insects, the rustling of small creatures and the twitters of birds or bats surrounded her from all directions. It was impossible to sleep, or even close her eyes. She prayed for even the slightest form of sight, then immediately wished it away. There was no telling what sorts of creatures lurked nearby, and seeing them would probably send her heart into an arrhythmia. She pulled the sharp stone she’d stolen from Damon’s hut out of her bra and clenched it tight.

Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt so scared. So utterly alone.
 

Even living with her father’s cold treatment, she’d had her mother. They’d stuck by one another when he was at his worst. It had been a rare occasion that he actually hit her or her mother, but the threat was there in his harsh words and the terror he created in their home. Her brother Connor had taken the brunt of their father’s anger. On more occasions than she cared to recall.

Her mother had also tried to shield them from the worst of his behavior more often than Myla had realized as a child. When he’d died, her mother’s kind spirit and happy smiles had opened Myla’s eyes to what she had lived through for all those years.

Connor had left. He’d joined the Army. She’d known even then that he’d left to escape their father. She hadn’t seen him in years. He called home from time to time, but he’d never come to see them. When Myla had decided to go away to college, she’d been able to call home for anything, even to talk in the middle of the night. She’d been so blind to her mother’s pain. Her sacrifice.

She missed her. The simple thought of her mother gave her a sense of calm. She envisioned her childhood home, the scent of apple pie or brownies drifting through the windows as she played with her friends in the large front yard. Or as a teen, and the way her heart had raced when she saw John drive into the driveway. Her mother had waved as they pulled away. Then they would go to the lake. The memory of his kiss warmed her.