Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (13 page)

Dodging
back into the forest, Jeff skirted the meadow. “This is it! That sounded like
someone shouting a challenge! What are they going to look like?”

The
sound level rapidly increased. “Got to be some sort of fight,” he muttered.
Pushing through underbrush, visions of weird alien forms flitted through his
mind. “Hustle it up, man.” He moved as close to the noise as he dared and
carefully parted foliage so he could see.

“Oh,
no way. They look like humans,” Jeff breathed.

No
more than fifty feet away, a number of men were involved in a battle that
seethed around the head of the meadow. At the meadow apex, the river flowed
over a broad ledge adding a muted roar to the banging of shields, hoarse shouts
and snatches of song.

“This
isn’t possible!”

Jeff
could hardly believe his eyes. He felt like he had been transported again, this
time to first century Germany: blond-haired giants dressed in animal furs,
leather boots extending cross-gartered to above the calf, most wearing a form
of kilt. Battle-axes, crude swords and cudgels made up the bulk of the weapons
Jeff could make out. It was the aliens’ size that had him shaking his head.

“They’re
really tall, maybe around seven feet, but they’re incredibly massive to boot.
I’ll bet they weigh over four hundred pounds!” Jeff started to sort out what
was going on. “Looks like seven against four,” he whispered. “This can’t last
long.”

Moving
nervously behind a screen of bushes, Jeff groaned from time to time as the
smaller group lost ground. He caught himself taking sides.

“Oh
no you don’t. You know nothing about these people. This isn’t your fight, dumbhead.”

The
seven pressed the attack until their opponents were forced to the brink of the
waterfall. Suddenly, one of the four leaped forward with a wild swing of his
war hammer and broke through the semicircle of attackers. The remaining three
followed at once. The semicircle reformed and pushed them toward the woods.

“Oh,
shit!”

The
four men had suddenly turned and were running directly at Jeff’s hiding place.
He jumped back to do a quick fade, but they stopped at the edge of the woods
and fought on. Although he had drawn back, Jeff was close enough to smell their
sweat and blood, to be nearly overcome by the din of ringing weapons and
snatches of song roared out between gasps to find air. They have no intention
of running, he suddenly realized. They’re going to fight to the death.

The
effect was so strong that Jeff felt himself a part of it, felt every blow and
parry. He decided to leave on several occasions but couldn’t move. Shortly
there was no more singing, only the cries of agony as the men nearest him
fought to lift their weapons one more time. A tremendous overhand blow from a
battle-ax crashed down on the shield of one of the defenders, sending him
backward into the woods. Tripping over a limb, he fell through brush to land on
his back at Jeff’s feet.

The
warrior who had landed the blow leapt into the woods with upraised ax and
exultant shout, only to come face to face with Jeff standing paralyzed by the
moment. The warrior froze when he saw Jeff. Blank astonishment quickly gave way
to what might have been an expression of fear. They stood that way for one
mortal moment, allowing the fallen warrior to roll away.

Jeff
was utterly stunned by the size of the man, if that’s what he was. The giant
axe blade rotated and Jeff knew in an instant that he was the new target.
Ripping the saber free, he dumped the backpack in one reflexive move. Shoulder
muscles bulging, the warrior let loose a howl fit to defy gods and the ax
flashed down.

Dodging
aside, Jeff felt a breeze as the ax whistled by to thud deep into the ground.
Hoping to escape, he backpedaled into the woods. Instead of returning to the
meadow the warrior followed with giant strides. Jeff had to force his way
through undergrowth as he retreated, but the warrior moved as easily as a tank.

“Stop!
Goddamit, I’m not your enemy!”

The
warrior heaved on the axe and Jeff again dived to the side. The ax head became
entangled in vines.

“We
must talk! You must stop!”

His
words only seemed to infuriate the warrior, and he swung the axe in a vicious
arc. Jeff fetched up against a tree trunk and barely had time to twist aside
before the ax sank into the tree.

“Oh,
damn it!”

Jeff
finally accepted that words that could not be understood would not serve.
Lunging one step, he thrust over the top of the shield strapped to the
warrior’s arm and skewered him through the neck. Blood jetted in a thick
stream, but the warrior lifted his ax for another blow. At the top of his
swing, the saber fell on his neck and cut halfway through. The ax tumbled from
his hands and the warrior toppled to the ground like a felled tree.

Breathing
heavily, Jeff was overcome by what he had done and by the stench of blood and
bowels evacuated in death. Sprawled in a patch of yellow and orange flowers,
the warrior’s eyes were blue as a morning sky and filled with profound sadness.
Jeff shuddered with self-loathing

“Did
you have to kill him?”

Yanking
out the Colt, he ran into the meadow, pointed it in the air and fired.
Combatants dropped to the ground as if they had been poleaxed. Some dived behind
boulders, others tried to disappear in the thick grass. Stepping over several
warriors, Jeff picked up a broken sword and strode between the opposing
factions.

“That
makes three you’ve killed. Why not just blow them all away and do it right?”

Savagely
jamming the broken blade into the ground, he traced a deep furrow. Nine pairs
of eyes followed every move. Pulling the Colt, Jeff waved it at one group then
the other. Warriors dove in all directions to get out of the way. He pointed at
several men who had serious wounds, and gestured that their fellows were to
assist them. Convinced they were not to die immediately, the warriors looked to
their comrades all the while casting anxious glances in Jeff’s direction.

The
sun was gone and it was nearly dark. Jeff kicked some wood together, built up a
fire and set a pot of water on to boil. Tearing up what toweling he had into
strips for bandages, he set to work. When he had done what he could, Jeff
walked into the woods and vomited his heart out. The sight and blood-stench of
gaping wounds had been too much.

Feeling
weak but calmer, he returned to the battlefield only to find warriors eyeing
each other suspiciously and growling what were undoubtedly curses. Restoring
order, Jeff took a moment to consider his next step.

If
they head home now, he reasoned, most of the wounded will never make it or
they’ll just start fighting again. Jeff threw more wood on the fire. Some of
the warriors were inclined to leave until Jeff unsnapped the Colt.

The
night seemed to drag on forever. Pacing up and down between the two groups,
stopping only to put more wood on the fire, he tried to figure out a plan for
the coming morning but couldn’t shake memories of what he had done. The larger
moon sailed above the trees, encouraging Jeff to seek relief in music. He
unpacked the recorder and let his mind drift away with the notes as they soared
along cool pathways offered by moonbeams.

The
fire was nearly comatose, lending an acrid quality to the thick tendril of
smoke that found its way up Jeff’s nose. He awakened sitting by the fire in the
grip of an explosive fit of sneezing. He didn’t remember where he was for a
moment but figured it out when he noticed a forest of legs knotted with muscle
on either side of him. That and the fact that he was about to topple into a bed
of ashes drove him to his feet in an awkward two-step shuffle.

“Real
graceful,” he said around a big yawn, “I’ll bet that impressed ‘em.”

The
warriors were toeing the line he had drawn, but instead of exchanging insults
they seemed to be talking excitedly. Progress? Jeff wondered. Screw progress,
all I want to do is dunk my head.

Doffing
his hat, he kneeled by the river and submerged his head. It was so cold he
would have screamed had it not meant inhaling a lungful of water. Instead, and
vitally refreshed, he leaped to his feet with a shout.

Slinging
his head to get hair out of his face, Jeff looked around and nearly ducked. A
thicket of tree-like arms pointed toward his head accompanied by
amazed-sounding exclamations. While the words were unintelligible, he kept
hearing one that sounded like alarai. Alarai hair? he thought. Whatever, it’s
time to get these folks headed home.

Through
gestures and pantomime, Jeff conveyed the idea that they could leave. The night
before he had discovered that the wolf leader’s assessment was probably
correct: he could feel their emotions to an extent, but that was it. He let the
group of four leave first, then, two hours later, the rest. They disappeared
into the forest singing a multiple part continuo that slowly faded to silence.

Remorse
and bone-deep fatigue returned almost at once. Jeff sat around what was left of
the fire for some time replaying the battle. No matter how he looked at it,
there was no excuse for killing the warrior. He could have run. Jeff got up
with the intention of leaving but was so exhausted that sleep came first.

When
he awakened late in the afternoon, rested but feeling dirty inside and out,
Jeff stripped and plunged into the river before he could think about it. He
exploded from the water with a cry of anguish. When he could tolerate the water
for more than a few seconds, he used the nubbin of soap that remained to good
effect.

Drying
off in what was left of a sun being overcome by cloud cover, Jeff donned a
spare pair of jeans and went in search of food. He decided to set some snares,
but had a hard time remembering how to go about it.

On
his way back to camp with a collection of spring greens, he stumbled on a
bird’s nest in a clump of brush. Nestled inside were five pearly-green eggs of
good size. Mouth watering, Jeff picked up three and left before he snatched the
last two. Bedding the eggs in the greens, he hurried back to camp. The eggs
proved as good as their promise.

Sitting
around experimentally tasting the greens and trying to get sparks from various
rocks, Jeff mulled over his encounter from a calmer perspective.

“I
must have seemed like something from a nightmare. Maybe a demon. They might
even have thought the backpack was part of my body.” Jeff remembered blue eyes
that would never see again and had to fight back a fresh wave of remorse. “I
have got to learn their language, and fast, or it’s going to be nothing but one
screw up after the other.”

Jeff
let his mind wander to more comfortable territory and pieced together what he
had learned.

If
there is any comparison between this world and Europe during the first three
centuries A.D., he reflected, the prospects of finding civilization this far
north are not good. The terrain and climate are too severe to encourage the
development of meaningful agriculture. Without that they’re stuck with hunting
and no time for anything else. Maybe farther south. Some of those battle-axes
were of decent quality. They might represent trade items. If I’m going to find
settled communities or even cities, that’s were they’ll be. Have to locate a
village, learn the language, then South here I come.

Not
surprisingly, Jeff awoke to an overcast drizzling sort of day. He donned his
coat and made a quick round of snares set the previous day. Much to his
surprise and delight he had snagged a rabbit. Jeff held his breath and gingerly
pried the rabbit’s mouth open, then let it out in a gusty sigh. Normal rabbit
teeth. He dressed the rabbit, tied it to his backpack and moved out, light rain
casting the terrain into misty vagueness.

For
most of the day Jeff slogged along through wet grass, pants soaked up to the
knees. The air was humid and ground fog clung to the meadows, lending a dreamy
atmosphere to the forest. It was a relief to have his world shrink to a smaller
scale, and Jeff’s thoughts wandered far away. Automatically stepping around a
big tree, he slid to a halt and nearly yelled in fright. Sitting on his
haunches no more than a foot away, the wolf leader was nearly nose to snout
with him.

“Damn
you! Give me some warning!” He took a few deep breaths and counted to ten.
“Easy does it, lad, easy does it.”

“Good
hunting, leader.”

The
roguish mirth evident in the wolf’s thoughts confirmed Jeff’s opinion that the
meeting ground had been selected for more than convenience’s sake. Cheap-shot
comedian, he muttered deep inside.

“We
are happy to see our brother walking on two legs this day.”

“The
yellow-hairs were eager to taste each other’s blood.”

“It
is always so when strange packs meet and dispute hunting grounds.”

Jeff
put his irritation aside and got down to issues.
“This one would search out
large numbers of his kind in what are called cities.”

He
conveyed images of walled cities and a montage of variations on that theme in
the hope they would spark memories from the pack’s travels.