As that beast had scrambled animal like, tearing through the trees like a murderous hurricane; this man swept and hurtled from perch to perch so ably that she half-expected to see angel’s wings upon his broad back.
Virginia’s position in the man’s protective embrace allowed her little more than to look upon his noble face, so she could only guess at the height from the jungle floor that they traveled. Even if she allowed herself such speculation, she could feel no fear, cradled there in arms of stone, pressed against a swelling breast.
Instead, she allowed the gentle swinging motion and the blur of the passing green jungle, to serve as backdrop to this magnificent creature’s transit.
All the while she prayed he’d look into her eyes—though she feared it; for what mortal woman could meet his gaze and not fall instantly in love?
In such a way did she give in to the weariness brought on by her many torments, and in the forest angel’s arms she fell asleep.
CHAPTER 19 – Huntress and Savior
Harkon had managed to whittle the force of Bakwaniri hunters down by two more, though this smaller group had quickly noticed the disappearance of their fellows. With the terrifying jungle arching all around, it was easy for them to attribute the losses to the many beasts that inhabited the green shadows, that stalked and killed whatever moved along the paths.
This resulted in them tightening their formation and picking up their pace, which made hunting and tracking them a more difficult and challenging task. They were on their guard now, and had grown watchful.
While that made the task of killing them one by one more difficult, it also added some pleasure to it. Harkon had slain plenty of them in the years of her quest, so any change was welcome, and for those who had stolen her son to feel something of his fear...only a mother could spread such terror with a smile.
Her nerves thrummed with anticipation that they might spy her, and set a trap on the trail ahead. It was excitement of a sort that the huntress in her relished, though even she had begun to tire and her body to ache from the strain. So she was relieved when the night became too dark to proceed, and the Bakwaniri stopped to camp and rest.
Harkon had done the same, finding a place for herself in the trees where she could sleep, and keep one eye upon their distant cook fire. So it was that she had been ready, breakfasted and waiting by the time they arose to restart their trek before dawn.
They ran for most of the morning, breaking frequently to walk and share their waterskins, though the loss of their comrades had weighed heavily on them during the night, and the wary watch they kept in all directions forced Harkon to fall back in her pursuit.
Their discipline was seriously challenged near noon when they came upon something in a clearing among giant trees. Lurking in the distant green, Harkon watched as they surrounded something on the ground that was hidden from her view by the underbrush.
She longed to know what it was that had sent the hunters screaming and scrambling onto the buttressed roots of trees where they clung to what hanging vines and branches they could reach, while others better situated or more courageous sent arrows flying down at whatever was hidden by the brush.
This was a curiosity that drove Harkon up into an ironwood tree, not to hide, but to gain a vantage point that allowed her to peer down at the trampled place where she saw a great ape lay dead.
Its head had been severed and the ground around it was stained dark with its blood.
Of course, the corpse was soon filled with many arrows, and it was only when it bristled with spent missiles that the Bakwaniri clambered down to approach it with great caution.
These hunters rained punishing blows upon the body and nearby severed head using stout wooden clubs, and they did not let up until the corpse was torn asunder.
Then one of the Bakwaniri whom Harkon thought to be the leader lifted the ape’s head over his shoulders before marching around the corpse with the trophy as if he’d slain the beast himself.
The others were greatly encouraged by this, and Harkon watched them parade around their leader and his grisly prize, performing a peculiar hopping dance of celebration. With fists on their hips and elbows akimbo, the masked hunters lifted one leg after the next bent at the knee, while the flailing ankle flicked back and forth as they twirled.
Twice during their short celebration, did Harkon have their leader sighted along an arrow, but both times she withheld. The jungle shadows were dark because the sun was directly overhead, but the open space around the giant trees offered little camouflage, and the surviving Bakwaniri might notice her position in the ironwood.
Also, the long chase had been hard on her, and during the morning’s pursuit her right leg had begun aching from overuse, and she would not risk escaping the Bakwaniri on foot.
The hunters continued to amuse themselves in this way until they hunkered down and removed their masks to eat their meager rations. They drank from their waterskins and jabbered in bragging voices as they gestured at the corpse that lay near.
Harkon was growing bored as their boastful swagger continued, and she was about to string an arrow and damn the consequences, when men walked into the clearing.
Both of them were large, though the white man had a bigger and broader frame. His companion was black, and could have been of Harkon’s own tribe if not for his dark clothing which like the white man’s was of cloth and unsuited to the jungle with its many hot layers and delicate weave.
These men halted when they set eye upon the Bakwaniri. The white man drew a weapon that he pointed as the hunters donned their masks. The
