But the scientist stopped him.
“Revenge is not for you, my friend,” Van Resen shouted through the downpour, one hand on the captain’s corded wrist. “Your passion is needed by the living! We are not out of danger.”
“Why tell him she’s dead. Why the lie?” Seward asked as the scientist helped him to his feet with the woman in his arms. “And what did you say to him?”
“I lied because I believe he would kill us all in time,” Van Resen started forward. “So I took a great risk, and hoped to turn his vengeance and violence upon those who will follow us. To do this, I needed to raise his innate pride and self-possession. The man he was before would not suffer such an outrage as Miss James’ or Lilly’s murder. I pray I did not awaken the monster he became.”
“Before?” Seward said, hefting the girl. “How do you know him?”
“I only read about him after his death,” Van Resen said, looking away to help the ranger as the slippery trail rose underfoot.
At the head of the group, Harkon turned as the shrill sound of a dying man’s scream cut through a lull in the thunder, though overhead the rain still battered the high branches.
She smiled, recognizing Gazda’s handiwork as another man shrieked his last across the jungle darkness—weeping and screaming the unfortunate’s voice rose higher until it was forever silenced.
Working forward with her hand clasped around little Anim’s arm, Harkon stopped atop a subtle rise to look back. From that elevation she could just make out the side of the Bakwaniri village on the riverbank etched there against flame and billowing steam.
She gasped when the main gate swung shut, the ominous drumming stopped and a sudden nightmare chorus rose up to fill the air. Harkon nodded grimly at Gazda’s friends as they carried the injured woman toward her on the muddy trail.
The huntress led them on into the deluge.
CHAPTER 37 – Salvation by the Sea
After three wearying days of travel through rain, heat and hunger, the group stopped just east of the moonlit clearing when they saw the yurt through the trees. The castaways had wanted to make camp hours earlier, but Harkon knew they were close to the coast, and had pushed them on into the night.
She did not know the place they indicated, only the direction, but she had easily read the spoor as she retraced the Bakwaniri trail from it. The big moon had helped by adding a faint glimmer to the foliage, and revealing parts of the trail. Even now, the faces of her companions were dim, but visible.
“Good idea grabbing up that savage liquor, Doc,” the old ranger said, limping at the scientist’s side. He was coming up lame in his right leg. Everyone in the group was suffering blisters, sprains and bruises.
“A moment of inspiration as I was searching for weapons,” Van Resen answered, pleased to have been able to use the potent drink to energize his companions. Even their guide “Harkon” had partaken despite first refusing, relenting only after seeing its effect upon the others.
“The taste grows on you, too,” Seward said. “It’s a little like my tequila!”
Van Resen and the castaways thought that the huntress had accompanied them so far because her people lived that way. They hadn’t supposed she’d grown to like them because her dour expression and demeanor had been easy to read.
In truth, she was acting out of duty more than anything. She had expected Gazda to overtake them on the journey and when he had not, Harkon continued in the lead because she knew his people would not live long in the jungle without her to protect them.
Of the ape-man there was still no sign, but it was too early for her to think the worst. She could not believe the Bakwaniri capable of overpowering such a creature.
Harkon planned to journey north along the coast, and then trek in an easterly direction to where her people had once had homes. And there was no hurry. The time upon the trail was good for Anim, and for the others who had suffered in chains. As former slaves the free air of the jungle would heal many scars that their degenerate masters had left upon their souls.
The huntress halted with her people and pointed toward the clearing, shaking her head to indicate that she would go no farther.
“Thank you for helping us, Harkon.” Van Resen stood with the others and bowed formally, as did all the men. She had introduced herself on the first morning after their escape. Sadly, they could not understand her language, and the rest of their communication had been confined to terse gestures and pantomime.
Harkon returned the bow and then put her hands out, and moved the palms slowly toward the ground before she said, “I see that you are like the Bakwaniri that have killed my people. They also came from another land and needed aid, but gave only death and slavery in return.”
The castaways smiled, listening politely to words they did not understand.
“Get out of my land! You are not welcome here.”
The huntress could read from the growing astonishment on their faces that the castaways could not even guess at her meaning—though they must have picked up her tone.
Her lips curled up with disgust before she said, “Where once I hunted masked men, I will now hunt your kind if I see them here again. We have enough darkness and death of our own that we do not need yours. Go away!”
Gazda’s people all nodded patronizingly, and bowed again, and with great smiles of gratitude upon their faces they said many things that the huntress did not understand.
However, their friendly faces would not change her mind as her eyes lingered over the thick hair upon their heads.
With a grim smile, Harkon the huntress melted into the jungle with her people.
“A most fascinating woman,” said
