The Huntsman (27 page)

*
* *

Nisha’s neck hairs rose. She stopped. Maybe thirty yards to her
right, something moved. She tried to hear over pounding eardrums. Leafy shadows
hid their secret. She resumed her advance. With a start, she froze. A twig
snapped. Leaves crackled. Something moved on the left. She moved, they moved.
She stopped they stopped.

Her finger sprayed a waist-high staccato gun burst left then
right. Leaves and dust floated on the few sunbeams penetrating the overhang.
She stepped forward. Gentle rustlings paced her flanks. Head swiveling left and
right, she pressed forward. Anything moving closer than thirty yards would have
to reveal itself to bullets. She just had to continue. They would soon run out
of forest. Once in the clearing she outranged anything. She wanted only to be
airborne.

Eyes shifting left to right then back again, she pulled out the
direction finder. From the branch above a hand emerged. Momentary confusion
jumbled reflexes as weightless feet air-walked and tree leaves moved downward.
By the hair, the hand lifted her higher. Another clamped vise-like around her
neck. Air trapped above swelled her face, turned it red. Restarted reflexes
struggled to move the rifle past obstructing branches. Panic squeezed the
trigger before it targeted. The first hand yanked it away hard enough to break
the finger inside the trigger guard. It did the same with the automatic, then
the knife jutting from her boot. Lack of air weakened Nisha.

A bigger knife appeared in the hand. It sliced her suit open neck
to waist leaving a gash that swelled red in its wake. More slashes carved away
the sleeves and leggings. Long, deep cuts that stung and burned glistened and
dripped red. She dangled naked, bleeding like a butchered carcass.

An arm shot through the leaves. Muscles bulging like steel cords
rippled beneath a shoulder. Then a neck emerged followed by a face.
“Kumārī Saha. Looking for me?” Nisha jerked harder as near
suffocation triggered survival reflexes. Her eyes bulged. Nails dug into his
wrist. Like coiled pythons, the fingers squeezed, choking off all air. Her arms
slid down to the sides. The legs hung limp, feet pointing down. Janesh grabbed
her hair and released the choke hold. Near lifeless, short, quick lung spasms
grabbed what air they could. She had no more fight, no resistance. A passing
breeze made her twirl.

Janesh lifted until her face reached his. He slapped it. Hard.
Consciousness glimmered. Eyes fluttered open, remained unfocused. Another slap.
Her eyes found his. Without strength to wretch, vomit dribbled from her mouth.
She urinated. Below, Duncan and Ronan rushed to sniff. “Who sent you?” A
bruised and battered throat sputtered then coughed. It managed only a hoarse,
raspy whisper.

“Please. Let me go.”

“Who sent you?” Nisha had no more will.

“Nicholas Koh.”

Fury seethed through Janesh and blazed from his eyes. He rose to
his feet. With the woman dangling on an arm, his lungs powered a bellow that
shook branches and loosened leaves. Beastly, primal, enraged, it carried
through the woods. Then another, and another. A languishing tiger, huge, full
in its prime, rose to the challenge. It bellowed in response then padded away
to face the impudent upstart who dared invade its territory.

Close by, bellows changed to rumbling growls. Thirty feet away its
head emerged from behind a tree. Janesh flung Nisha to the ground. She thudded
on impact, groaned, and rolled onto her back. The cat, wary and confused stood
its ground. It had heard a tiger but could not find its scent. Nisha groaned.
Aggression gave way to hunger. Cautious, alert to a trap, it lowered its body
then extended a massive paw. It stalked forward, gathered itself, calculated
distance. It sprang.

Janesh let the branch slip back in place. He leaped to the next
tree, then the next. Only the sound of crunching, snapping vertebrae reached
his ears.

*
* *

Miranda sat on the ground, back against the hut, eyes closed, legs
stretched on the cool, early-morning grass. She had listened to the resident
tiger’s territorial bellows, speculated as to the challenger’s chances, felt at
peace amid nature’s natural rhythms, appreciated being a zoologist, missed
doing it.

Though glad she had left and could no longer enrage her, she
wondered about Nisha Saha. Wondered if Janesh might have felt something for
her. Wondered if perhaps an imagined tryst fueled her jealousy.

Ronan and Duncan clouded her reverie. They had yet to return. If
they didn’t, how could she face Janesh? What if he didn’t return? She shook her
head. She had too much time on her hands. Too much time to think. She needed
something to do.

Clara walked by. She pointed to the empty hut, winked and gave her
a thumbs-up. Miranda rose to help her prepare breakfast. She blinked once,
twice. Across the clearing, tongues lolling out their jaws, Duncan and Ronan
raced toward her. Screaming for joy and almost in tears, she rushed to meet
them.

The gigantic lion-hunters bowled her over. She laughed as the two
fought one another to lick her face. Laughed harder when she tried to wrestle
Ronan to the ground and he shrugged her off with an ‘are-you-crazy’ look.
Movement caught her eye and she glanced toward the tree line. Time stopped. A
loin-clothed man emerged from the forest.

Miranda rose to her feet. Stood rock still. His body glistened in
the morning light. With every step, powerful muscles flexed and rippled. A
spear dangled from one hand, a knife hung from the waist. His hair had grown
long, as wild as the primitive savage that strode toward her.

No breath escaped her lips, no heartbeat pumped. She refused to
move lest she disturb the box that proved if he was or wasn’t. He stopped
before her. She gazed over his body, sensed his power, smelled the man of him.
She looked into his eyes. “Hello, Miranda.”

She stepped closer. Her arms encircled his waist. She turned to
press a cheek against his chest. A tear filled one eye. Her voice became a
whisper. “Oh, Janesh.” Strong, gentle, protective arms enveloped her. Fear,
relief, anxiety washed away, drained by Mother Earth. Behind them the group
smiled and waved as he led her by the hand into the forest.

CHAPTER
43                        Jungle Fever

They walked. Neither spoke or looked at the other. They honored
each moment their presence filled before absorbing the next. Primates peaked
through the leaves, squeaked and squealed then scurried away. Birds sang and
chirped or flapped and flittered. Butterflies dipped and whirled, soared and
dove. Slanted sunbeams hung like thin rods of gold. Gentle breezes brushed the
leaves and swayed the branches. The forest welcomed its own. Welcomed the Lord
of Men.

Whenever he spied a different one, he stooped and picked a flower.
A multi-hued bouquet grew in her hand. “I love you, Miranda Logan.”

“I love you, Janesh McKenzie.” They walked. Neither spoke again.
Or looked at the other.

Soon the trees began to thin and the woods’ general buzz added the
gurgling rush of water. Janesh stopped, crooked an ear. He turned to her with a
smile. “Are you hungry?” Long past breakfast, hunger had stepped back for the
moment’s quietude. Now it returned with a vengeance.

“I’m famished.”

“Do you hear that?” Miranda listened. Her frown deepened.

“Crocodiles are fishing. Come on.”

He hurried toward the flashes of blue that had begun to pierce the
foliage. They emerged under a bushy almond tree shading cool, moist grass that
ten yards ahead sloped gently down to a river sixty yards across. To the left
crocodiles blockaded a narrow chokepoint forcing fish to pool upstream while
waiting to dart past. By twos and threes the reptiles took turns swimming into
the pool to snatch slower fish. Janesh ran toward the water and dove.

Heart pounding, throat tight, her eyes snapped to every
disturbance. Swirls and splashes marked escaping fish. Crocodile tails rose,
waved, then sank again. Jaws emerged parted by struggling fish before two,
three gulps swallowed them whole. Mid-river Janesh surfaced. Hands flew to her
mouth. He pushed a flapping fish farther down the shaft then disappeared.

Moments later, like a deity birthed by the river, he walked out.
Water cascaded from his head and shoulders. His chest heaved and expanded then
heaved again, refueling his oxygen starved body. Two speared fish struggled
their last.

He stopped at the water’s edge to watch her slowly unfasten shirt
buttons. Her bra fell away to release full breasts with swollen, erect nipples
above a tight, taut belly. Unzipped shorts fell to the ground revealing panties
strapped by spaghetti-thin cords. She pulled the front down to let him linger
on her shaved, pink, engorged woman before a slow hip swivel let them drop. One
foot pushed the clothes and shoes aside before a gentle head shake cleared her
face of red tresses. Lips red with desire parted. Smoldering green eyes locked
onto his; thrilled they confirmed her body’s magnificence.

Janesh laid the fish out of the sun and closed the distance. He
stopped when her nipples formed just the lightest touch against him. Her
mocking, daring eyes still locked, Miranda undid the cords of his loincloth.
Slow caresses stroked his erection. With every squeeze she felt it harden and
intensify. She rubbed and fondled, felt its heat. Soft pulls and tugs
strengthened it. She parted her legs to place its head against her enflamed
clitoris, moved it up and down, easy then rough, rough then easy. Waves of
pleasure trembled through her thighs.

She thrust her head back and with her free hand pressed his head
down demanding he kiss her exposed neck. Hs hands rose to squeeze her nipples
between thumb and forefinger and fired another pleasure source. Moans escaped
Miranda’s constricted throat. Stark, ravenous need continued the masturbation
growing to frenzy.

Janesh’s mouth found hers. His tongue plunged inside. Miranda
released. The little death brought violent tremors that rocked her body. She
couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t think. They snatched her body, made it a
stranger she had no control over, then left it a heaving, lifeless mass.

She continued pressing his rock-hard erection against the
diminishing quivers. She kissed his neck, then his shoulder and arm. She
suckled one nipple then the other. “Since leaving Ohio”, she kissed the other
arm, “I’ve learned tomorrow is an eternity.” She kissed his stomach, sank to
her knees. Still holding him, her lips caressed in ways fingers could never
match. Her tongue licked and flirted. Tight lips let him appear and disappear.
Her passion reignited. She rose to her feet, kissed his ear, filled it with a
throaty whisper. “And the next moment may never arrive. I want you now.”

She leaned back to let him carry her to the ground.  Soft, dewy
grass cushioned her spine. Thighs bent back to the sides, opened her for entry.
She groaned, near delirious when his head eased in. His cheek pressed against
hers. “I love you, Miranda Logan.” He plunged deep and hard. A long gasp
emptied her lungs. He rose and plunged again, rose and plunged again. She
writhed beneath him relishing the sensations her vagina radiated. His thrusts
intensified. Her hips rolled in synchronized, feverish rhythm. She descended
into madness. Animal moans timed every stroke. He rode her. He drove her. He owned
her.

Her hips notched upward to take him deeper. The simmering volcano
within began to rumble. Power flowed to her arms, wrapped him tight. The
rumbles strengthened. They thrust against one another. Harder and harder and
harder still. Miranda screamed then erupted. Janesh let go.

The two became an entangled, quivering mass as aftershocks roiled
their bodies. Miranda locked her legs at the ankles holding him inside. She
trembled and shook. They panted and heaved, awareness flickered in and out.
Time did not move past the moment.

Janesh rose up on an elbow, pushed a hair away from her face. Eyes
closed, a dreamy, contented expression flushed her face. “I’ll always remember
this.” He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her brow, her chin, her ears, her lips.

“If we’re going to do this again we have to eat.”

“Oh how romantic. Who said we’re going to do this again?”

“I did.” She opened an eye and smiled.

“Okay. But I can’t feel my legs. Are they still attached?” Janesh
stood up.

“You’d better hurry. They’re walking away.”

She raised and arm and he pulled her up. “I have to wash.” He
flashed a frown.

“Sure.”

Janesh waded in and watched but needn’t have worried. The
crocodiles had eaten their fill and basked on the sunlit opposite bank. When
they waded out, Miranda stopped to stare at the fish. “Are we going to eat them
raw?”

“Dr. Logan. I’m a savage not a barbarian. But get dressed. I’ll
need your help.”

He donned the loin-cloth then waded along the shore picking out
large sized rocks. He returned to strip out grass from a small area then
arranged the stones to form a somewhat flattened roof over the dirt patch.
Underneath he stuffed twigs, branches, and dry undergrowth. He reached into his
pouch and from a smaller one retrieved a matchbox.

“You mean the Mahān Śikārī uses matches?” she
derided with feigned shock.

“In a waterproof pouch no less. The whole stick rubbing thing is
so overwrought.”

Dispelling any thought they might be voyeurs, Duncan and Ronan
trotted in to engage in brief greeting behavior then endure Janesh’s stern
warning not to touch the fish he lay near the ready-made hot plate. Their
pained expressions they might do such a thing made Miranda rush to hug them.
“Look. You hurt their feelings. You wouldn’t do that would you?”

“Oh please. Don’t let these two con artists fool you.”

Janesh scrounged about for deadwood and a few fresh branches to
stuff into the now burning kindling. “That should last long enough until we
return. The fresh wood will serve to smoke off any river scents as well as keep
away any curious critters. By the time we get back the rocks will be good and
hot. Let’s go.”

They stepped into the woods with the dogs racing ahead to take up
their usual duties as point scouts. “This way.” Janesh said. “If I remember
right, we’ll find a
Peepal
tree not too far away. On the way he stopped under a coconut palm tree to gauge
its fruit. He nodded approval. “We’ll return on the way back.”

Minutes
later he stopped before a large-leafed tree. “This is a deciduous tree. Its
leaves are water-logged and contain oils that are both phyto-nutritious and
flame-retardant. There are trees with larger leaves but this one’s closest and
serves the purpose.”

Janesh
stripped away two handfuls and returned to the palm tree. He cut free a vine,
sliced off the leaves and tied an ankle bind making it easier to shimmy up the
tree. Forty feet up he took a moment to inspect the coconuts then knocked three
off. Despite stopping for extra wood along the way, the fire still smoked and
burned.

He
looked at her, concerned. “You’re really hungry aren’t you?” She nodded.

“Starved.”

“We’re
beneath an almond tree. If you could just pick some for us we’ll almost be
there. The ones with brown or purplish husks. I prefer the purplish ones for
cooking. They’re a little riper and softer. Two handfuls will be enough.”

She
needed only minutes to pick the low-hanging nuts then sat to watch Janesh
deftly manipulate the river-soaked Peepal leaves into two funnels with the
bottoms crimped closed, serving utensils, an interlocked skillet-like shape and
a few holding plates. He pressed a finger to his tongue then the slab top. It
sizzled. “Perfect.” he declared.

With
practiced ease his fingers cracked the almonds from their husks and with his
flattened blade crushed them against a heated rock he pulled away from the
fire. He placed the pulped mass onto a Peepal leaf before turning to the fish.
The razor-sharp knife lopped off a head and skinned the scales. Dexterous cuts
carved away deboned portions that dropped sliced chunks onto the almond pulp
before the other fish followed suit. The knife next sliced off a coconut top
which Janesh held in one hand while the other placed the leaf skillet on the
rocks. It began to smoke but he quickly poured the coconut milk inside followed
by the almond and fish mix. Stirred lightly, the knife also cut the fish chunks
already falling apart in the high heat.

“When
the coconut milk begins to sizzle it’s done. Peepal leaves are flame-resistant
but not fireproof. Any longer and your meal will run out. Hold out your
funnel.” Janesh lifted the mixture off the rock top, folded an end, poured it
into her funnel, then his own. “It didn’t cook long enough to be really hot but
give it a minute. It tastes just as good warm. Bon appétit.”

“Bon
appétit? That’s not Hindi.”

“
Kripy
bhojan shuru kij yai.”

“I
see. Bon appétit.” He laughed.

“Okay,
watch me. Don’t squeeze with this hand. It’s just to keep it from unraveling.
Straighten the crimp. When you have a mouthful, close it again. Like this.” He
took a mouthful and made it look simple. With an abundance of caution, Miranda
managed to do the same. She tasted, chewed, and swallowed. Her eyes beamed.

“Wow.
This is really, really good.” Again he laughed.

“The
secret to good cooking is to make sure your guest is very hungry.”

“No,
I mean it. This is delicious.”

Miranda
finished her funnel in ten minutes, unraveled it, begged Janesh to excuse her
table manners, and proceeded to lick the remnants. He laughed and in a show of
support did the same. He lopped off the two remaining coconuts and handed one
over. She emptied it in three gulps and began to giggle. He smiled at her.
“What?” She belched.

“What
does Chatur think of your cooking?” Mock seriousness took over his face.

“This
must remain our secret. How do you Americans say, triple-pinky-swear?” She grinned
and nodded. “Say it. Triple-pinky-swear.” She rolled her eyes.

“Okay,
triple-pinky-swear.”

“If
he finds out, he’ll be sticking me in the kitchen every time he’s in a pinch.”
He stood up. “Relax, don’t move. I’ll do the cleanup.” She watched him move
with competence and grace as he scraped off the coconut husks, folded the
chunked meat inside Peepal leaves for convenient snacks, tossed the fish heads,
bones and scales into the river, buried the used leaves, then stretched out
alongside Miranda. Fed, content, and happy they let the afternoon’s shadows
lengthen.

“Janesh.”

“Oh,
oh.” She gave him a jab.

“Why
do you say that?”

“Because
whenever I hear that tone I know to answer very carefully.”

“You
don’t have to answer carefully, just truthfully.”

“I
repeat. I better answer very carefully.” She frowned and let a minute pass.

“Do
you know Nisha Saha?”

“Not
before a week ago.”

“You
didn’t know Nisha Saha before last week?”

“No.
I didn’t.”

“Are
you being careful or truthful?” He rose up on one elbow and turned to her.

“Look
at me. I did not know a Nisha Saha before last week.” Miranda looked away and
remained silent. Janesh lay back down.