Harkon had a predator’s special knowledge of traveling the jungle vastness, and was often willing to sacrifice speed for surprise. In dealings with the Bakwaniri, she preferred attacking from the rear since it was the only way to succeed against greater numbers.
The large collection of hairy trophies affixed to her belt suggested her method of attack was superior to the ape-man’s.
So quickly had Gazda carried her through the trees that Harkon began to think it possible to reach the Bakwaniri village before nightfall. So she had been alarmed when he suddenly veered from the pursuit of their enemies, abandoning the trail below and hurtling to the south.
They had been flying through the canopy, Harkon riding Gazda like he was some magical beast from her grandmother’s stories.
Sitting astride the ape-man was exhilarating, even if the first miles were needed for Harkon to trust his incredible strength, and physical sturdiness.
She had quickly learned that she need not worry about hurting her mount as no grip that she had put upon the ape-man had done more than dent his ivory flesh. At one point as he scrambled straight up a vine, she had hung from his neck with a hold that would have strangled a normal man, but instead it had felt like her arms were wrapped around a solid tree branch.
That was why she had been shocked when just after leaving the Bakwaniri trail; a sudden lethargy came upon him. One moment, he’d been managing incredible feats of strength and agility, and the next, his entire body quivered with muscles growing slack and flesh going cold.
The ape-man had struggled on until he’d barely been able to explain what was happening, relying instead upon simple pantomime that showed he needed to sleep at that very moment, and there would be no debate about it.
So Gazda had started spying about the jungle heights as though he recognized the individual trees by sight, and soon he swung to a massive old iroko that had been struck by lightning. The top third of the jungle giant was dead, and many years of rain and weather had eroded the heights into a labyrinth of hollows and wooden caves.
There, he had quickly found a hole that offered a place for Harkon to camp upon a broad and heavy bow, and with barely a gesture more he had hidden himself within the trunk.
Harkon had made herself comfortable on the high branch, and slept as she could with the forest soaring all around her.
Then random thoughts of her dwindling tribe, and her missing son had added seething emotions to the mix of her dreams and brought her awake with tears upon her face, or roaring and slashing out with her weapons, searching for enemies to kill.
The torment usually followed her into waking moments and left her hopeless.
For even if Harkon could find her son and the others who had been taken, she knew their freedom would be short lived, for as long as the Bakwaniri existed in the jungle they would have their need for slaves, and taste for human flesh.
So long as they lived.
The only other thing Harkon and her people could do would be to leave the forest altogether, and find a new place in which to live. But the old tales also spoke of distant lands and other tribes that were as fierce and proud as her own people had been, and as protective of their territories, and there were stories of savages worse than the Bakwaniri.
So revenge and extinction might be the only thing left for Harkon and her people—and there had been days she wondered if some small moment of joy could ever find her spirit again.
Shifting on her rough seat, she pulled up the braided line of Bakwaniri hair that hung from her belt, and let it blow in the wind as she counted the dead.
Her fierce expression broke around a toothy grin. Revenge would have to do.
She was certainly in the right company for it.
Gazda had a fire in his eyes whenever the names “Bakwaniri” or “bone-face” passed his lips. He was a formidable man and powerful fighter with strength that Harkon could only compare to the tales of old—and it was clear that he hated the cannibals with all his heart.
But he was one man, and with her, only two warriors were on their way to fight an entire tribe. The Bakwaniri were degenerate and deserving the death she hoped to bring them, but against so many, there could be but one outcome.
She sighed, moving on her lofty perch to rub her aching knee.
Death then...
So long as a Bakwaniri died screaming by her hands as death came, then Harkon would be pleased. A strange legacy for the last survivors of a people who had once laughed, loved their children, and enjoyed good company.
A sudden quiet thump coming from within the hollow tree at her back told her that Gazda had awakened with the falling sun and soon would join her.
With night coming on, she expected that they would be forced to travel by land. She knew the ape-man passed through the treetops after dark, but she could not imagine it possible if he carried her as a burden.
Harkon hoped the river was not far. Of course, the huntress had no way of knowing the distance that they had traveled through the trees for she had never ridden an ape-man before.
CHAPTER 28 – Signum draconis
Mrs. Quarrie and Virginia knelt by Lilly’s bed as the sky darkened outside the small window. The governess had remained there since she’d returned, barely taking the time to change into fresh clothing.
She held a cool compress against the girl’s forehead while Mrs. Quarrie rubbed her heated wrists. Lilly’s comely features remained normal, even radiant, as her grandmother had observed, though there was nothing normal or healthy about her condition.
After a terrible chill, Lilly had grown increasingly warm to the touch. Her skin felt tight and dry,
