Wonderland (Deadly Lush Book 2) Page 11

  She ducked another strike, a reckless feint. Careened forward from the hasty motion.

  One man's lost footing is another man's secret weapon.

  Seize the opportunity. Harness the momentum.

  Stumbling forward turned into lunging forward, thrusting her spear at her waiting opponent with twice the force she might have properly executed herself, if the move had been purely ambitious.

  When it came down to it, Tribal flesh gave to a sharp thrust as easily as refugee flesh.

  One Tribal woman fell, going slack as Shiloh shucked her quickly off the end of the crude spear. There was no time to celebrate, no time to even acknowledge the kill. She had to fight as hard and as fast as if she still faced the same number of opponents. More. She had to fight like they were pouring in from all angles, swarming out of the trees, encroaching from far and wide. She had to fight like there was a whole army, and the fate of man rested on her lone shoulders.

  And she did. She fought as if determined to cut through the masses, harsher and fiercer until she thought she might be sick from exertion, but she was out of her own body, and as far as she was concerned it could be sick later, on its own time. When she was back in the mortal spectrum.

  Another Tribal fell. Shiloh was dragged down by the woman’s collapse, momentarily, but when she came up she had the savage's weapon in her hand, adding it to her meager repertoire.

  Her imaginary Tribal army dissipated before her eyes. Mother Eve stood before her, alone. Unguarded. She did not look afraid, but she did look impressed.

  Shiloh spat blood. She felt a generous trickle of the stuff running past her eye. Oozing down her back. Squeezing out between her fingers, where she gripped her weapons so tight she trembled.

  “Is it really,” she heard herself panting, a lucid spark of wit returning to her as the strange spike of adrenaline got spent. “so much of a wonder?” It was a haughty gloat, dripping with liberated venom. And she knew the Tribal littered about the forest floor spoke for themselves, underlining her statement.

  But more words came to her.

  “Did you really think,” she uttered evenly as she approached her prime target, one taunting, careful step at a time, “that you could hunt us like animals, butcher us like animals, treat us like animals for so long without us eventually becoming what you have declared us to be?” She treaded past one set of glazed eyes, the dirt squelching with the saturation of blood under her boots. “You have terrorized us. Desecrated us. Dehumanized us...to the point of creating monsters.” The weight of the Tribal's blade was perfect in her grasp. As if she held the balance of the whole universe in this central vessel. She felt the whole world shift as she shifted, adjusting to support her, to counterbalance her subtlest of motions.

  Mother Eve shrugged an eyebrow at Shiloh's words. “Finally,” she uttered keenly, outwardly unperturbed. “A bit of sport.”

  Anger flared in Shiloh's chest, a painful jab. This woman needed to die. You cannot let her leave this clearing alive. While it had been her intent the whole time, Shiloh fully realized it, fully accepted it, in that moment. If she had to take a blade to get close enough to get a strike in herself, so be it. If she had to use her last breath to claim Mother Eve's, she would hold that breath until the Tribal Woman stopped kicking. Someone had to do it.

  She was done talking.

  Mother Eve's eyes tracked her very closely, keen to anything that could turn into an aggressive move. It was clear she was not in 'animal' mode now, but very much in calculating, wise-old-ancient mode, which had its own all-powerful, daunting quality. Nothing Shiloh said or did seemed to faze her. She was intrepid. A hundred years older, more savvy, more experienced than Shiloh.

  Yet the barbarians holding the advantage hadn’t saved Mother Eve’s two fearsome wingladies. Shiloh would do well to strike while there still might be some of that glorious adrenaline in her bloodstream. What a waste it would be to use it all on the Tribal Queen’s defenses, and fail to get to Mother Eve after those defenses were successfully vanquished.

  She lunged forward all at once, jumping back into the fray as if simply stepping back into its whirlwind. It whipped her back into its current, and just like that she and the Tribal Queen were sparring one-on-one through the forest.

  Mother Eve was, as Shiloh had already learned first-hand in the encampment, a vicious opponent. Only the supernatural affinity coursing through Shiloh rendered her a comparable glorified fighting machine. It stirred itself back up with the action, her heart pumping a fresh dose through her veins.

  Even so, it took a clever dance that put trees between her and Mother Eve on every other swing of the Tribal's blade to keep from losing her limbs in quick succession. But she centered her resolution to take a blade to get to the woman, if she had to, and made a bet with herself right then that if she didn't manipulate an opening over the course of the next dozen trees that they danced past, it would be that twelfth tree that saw her make her move, opening or not.

  With that incentive, she put everything she had, everything she hadn't known she had until that moment, into the fight. A fresh wind, a new gear, a last-ditch finale in the face of certain death.

  The Tribal Queen, of course, had another gear as well. A feral gleam flared in her gaze, followed by that milky possession that transformed her own being into the likeness of a rabid animal. She seemed to grow two inches, so prominent was the ferocity that she took on, and she matched Shiloh's feverish intensity with her own enhanced prowess.

  The predator had fully awakened.

  The battle rose to an outright supernatural quarrel, and suddenly Mother Eve was flipping backwards, monkey-like, into the branches of the trees, and Shiloh was vaulting after her. Instinct placed her feet, wielding her balance for her, making it second nature to scurry after someone and trade blows in the treetops. It was certainly a more interesting landscape, the position of the branches a wild-card element that created peril and opportunity, cracking beneath them as often as offering shield-like cover.

  Shiloh swung around a thick tree trunk in pursuit of her quarry and came face to face with a baboon-like creature, albino-white. It roared in her face, and she ducked lightning-fast out of its way, a fresh spike riding through her charged veins. She was out of harm's way as quickly as she had encountered the thing, but suddenly the trees were full of the beast's lesser cousins, scads of smaller monkeys, and they were screaming in excitement from every branch at the fight raging through the trees. Their voices rose to a piercing cacophony, and out from behind trunks came dozens of hulking white baboons to watch.

  Mother Eve was disappearing into a twisting network of silvery branches. They tunneled into a darker, twilit region of the treetops, all ancient-limbed and smooth-barked and dripping with vines.

  Vines and giant spider webs.

  They were intricate webs, some almost as lacy as snowflakes, and almost pretty enough that surely nothing frightful could crawl about their network. They were hammocks for dryads, perhaps, or just another way Paradise wove Winter through the threads of the forest.

  Then Shiloh saw one of the baboons, red albino eyes crazed and primal, going hand over hand across the roping rungs of a web. It was crossing the expanse between its tree and her, and it did not look as though it planned to welcome her like one of the fold.

  She sprinted down a giant limb past the point where the web created a bridge for the creature. It proved to matter little, however, when the beast opened its fanged jaws and spewed a new string of web to intercept her.

  Curses fractured a layer of Shiloh's tunnel vision, distracting her momentarily from her prime target.

  Sweet Eden, these things strung the webs? It was one thing for them to utilize the network, but another thing entirely for them to be the beasts responsible for the snares.

  The bone-chilling sound of howler monkeys joined the high-pitched ruckus of the little ones; deep-throated moans and grunts chortling through the trees.

  Instinct seized Shiloh’s charging leg
s, and she leaped as if jumping a hurdle over the spot where the beast was set to reach her limb. As if leaping for the very stars. Skidding through stardust as she tucked her feet up under her, high as she possibly could.

  In slow-motion horror, she saw the beast heaving itself aboard the branch beneath her, a tangle of angry-eyed fur and muscle rising to swing dangerously close to her airborne feet. She arced through the jungleous canopy, breathlessly suspended above the gathering mob for all of one second, and then she came down hard.

  She didn't stop to see how close she cut her landing, feet chopping away down the branch to put distance between her and her raging spider-ape shadow.

  Crashing through a mesh curtain of branches, Shiloh caught sight of human motion below her. Mother Eve had descended a level, sprinting away a few paces ahead.

  Oh no, you don't.

  It was otherworldly, the instinct that painted her next maneuver in her head. She was diving as if trained for this, twisting as she seized the edge of the branch like a bar and swinging down to intercept Mother Eve's progression. She collided with the savage like a wrecking ball, toppling her clear off the gnarled limb and into midair.

  Midair, and the silken clutches of a spider-ape web.

  The Tribal Queen whirled twice down the slanted net before the sticky fibers caught purchase, and then, all at once, she lurched to a stop, snagged near the center.

  Shiloh's momentum saw her follow close behind, and she likely would have ended up snared, too, if Mother Eve's form hadn't intercepted her tumble. She flung out an arm as she spun across the savage's body, grasping for purchase before she could spill off the other side and find herself strung up next to the woman. Her neck cracked as she jerked herself to a halt, her flailing legs nearly ripping her beyond her anchor. She managed to keep her hold, though, and found herself once again face-to-face with the woman she was after.

  The web strained from the weight of both women, and before Shiloh could better her grasp, a well-aimed rock-hard forehead slammed forward and connected with her face.

  Her head snapped back, the treetops spinning. The stardust she had imagined brushing in the upper reaches of the trees sparked through the canopy, raining down the edges of her vision.

  Still she managed to cling to the other woman's body, sliding lower down her torso. For a moment, with the side of her head pressed to the other woman's rib-cage, she could hear the sound of her heartbeat. To the hyper-sensitive state of her current senses, it was extra loud. Thump. Thump. Thump-thump-thump.

  Too many beats. A strange discord.

  Almost as if she had two hearts.

  Shiloh would not be surprised if she had two of every vital organ. It was probably one of the ways she had survived for so long.

  With the sound of the immortal savage's life force so close within Shiloh's grasp, Shiloh felt a renewed spark of bloodlust.

  Find your window. Get it done! Shiloh spurred herself. Before she finds a way to finish you.

  But like spiders drawn to commotion in their webs, half a dozen baboons were encroaching on the net. Shiloh saw them at the edges of her vision, and she struggled to get her bearings, to heave herself into a manageable position before they were upon her.

  They swarmed down from the spokes of the web toward the hub, and Shiloh knew she had only moments to make a move.

  Mother Eve was struggling, muscles bunching as she strained against her tethers, but she was stuck fast. Not even Shiloh's added weight could pry her from the adhesive ropes.

  The web was slanted at too much of an angle for Shiloh to drop cleanly to the ground. Free of the barrier Mother Eve created, she would stick just as fast. Her main focus had been taking out the Tribal Queen even if that meant putting her own life on the line, but by the look of the encroaching beasts, she realized suddenly it might not be necessary to ensure Mother Eve’s demise by her own hand.

  How to get down without gluing herself to the same fate...

  She had to think fast. On a moment's impulse, she seized the hilt of one of the savage's belt knives in her teeth, drawing it from her belt like a carnivore with its jaws on a hunk of meat. With one arm clamped hard around Mother Eve's body, she freed her other hand and grasped the blade, slicing her palm quickly down its length.

  Releasing Mother Eve completely, she dived for the nearest rung of web, mashing her palms together midair to smear the blood like chalk. She tucked her feet as she caught the rope, swinging tightly through the gap. The blood did the trick, creating a lubricant that canceled the web's adhesive. From the underside, she quickly descended the remaining rungs, dropping from the bottom to the forest floor.

  She landed amongst the ferns in a crouch, and glanced up into the teeming twilit treetops as the mob overtook the web. What would the creatures do to their fresh-caught prey? Devour the savage on the spot? Wrap her up for later?

  As fresh web spewed from half a dozen maws to criss-cross over the Tribal woman, it proved to be the latter. Shiloh watched, somewhat horrified, as the mummification process began. It was one thing to snuff a life out of necessity, in a clean instant. Another thing entirely to drag it out, to leave her to die a slow, helpless, torturous death.

  On the bright side, at least the act wouldn't be on Shiloh's conscience.

  And yet her conscience blanched as Mother Eve let out a primal scream of terror, or torment, or whatever savages feel when the end is upon them.

  The grating warble of howler monkeys vibrated throughout the trees, sending shivers down Shiloh's spine. The scream of the smaller primates joined in as they caught up with the action, creating a deafening chorus of morbid excitement.

  It was cool and quiet in the underbrush below, and Shiloh kept a low profile, shifting ever-so-slightly to get her footing but not yet rising. Half of her wanted to slip away while the beasts were all focused on Mother Eve; the other half could not quite rest until she was sure Mother Eve was gone.

  Only as she crouched there, blood cooling, did the strange venomous fever really start to dissipate from her system. She felt the primal fire go out of her, extinguishing into unexplained ashes that left a foreign, bad taste in her mouth. She tried to swallow it, but her mouth was dry as dandelion fluff.

  What had come over her? Her hazy departure from that expanse of Winter, and then this...

  What venom had those treacherous dandelion spores injected her with?

  Mother Eve's cries silenced as a wad of web was spewed straight into her mouth, and then the beasts made quick work of any remaining signs of resistance. They bound her from head to toe, casting all but her long mane in sticky white web. When they were finished, they threw back their heads and let out deep howls of arrogant triumph, and then slowly came down off their high-horses and dispersed back into the trees, saving their prey for later.

  The treetops quieted as they melted back into the maze of branches from whence they came, until all that was left was an unsettling hum, where a halo of agitated beetles buzzed around the head of an unrecognizable mummy in a web.

  15 – Primal Ambition

  The tribe members were still picking up the pieces – gruesome, infuriating pieces – when Velsa returned.

  One of two body guards who had escorted Mother Eve on her vendetta against the girl who had targeted her, she was alone as she stumbled back out of the trees, beaten and bloody, and collapsed to her knees.

  Ackra twiddled a playing card restlessly in his fingers where he crouched, brooding over the violence that had breached the encampment. His anger had been building, vile feelings stirred by the smell of the carnage, by the magnitude of the damage that they had been helpless to defend against. But that anger crested – centered – as he saw Velsa crawling back without the Alpha at her side.

  Where was the Mother? Velsa had some nerve coming back without her.

  Ackra watched intently as Velsa struggled to drag herself back into the encampment, his severed eyelids making his gaze ever a relentless, all-seeing glare. Think you can just come crawling ba
ck, do you? He made no move to help her, contempt flaring in his nostrils at her display. If you don't come back with the Mother, you don't come back at all.

  There could be merit in her solitary return, of course. If Mother Eve had been stricken down, God forbid, it would be Velsa's duty to inform the Tribe. For that reason alone, he rose when Velsa had dragged herself a good ten paces out of the trees, and sauntered over to meet her disheveled form.

  Using the tip of the Queen of Hearts he toyed with, he tilted Velsa's chin up where she sprawled at knee level. Her eyes, pained and unfocused, rose to his. One of the horns of her headdress was cracked off, and a split lip created a bright scarlet stripe against her white-dusted face. The powder that coated the rest of her body undoubtedly hid a multitude of other bruises.

  “Sweet Velsa,” he crooned, voice as smooth as worms sliding into mud. “You return short-handed.”

  Velsa's chest stuttered with the difficulty to breathe. “We were...unprepared.”

  Unprepared. For a green, unseasoned Crosser. “Is the Mother alive?” Just tell him that. He didn't care about excuses, or evasive details.

  “...didn't see. They disappeared into the trees... Tried to follow...”

  “Ssshhh,” Ackra whispered, placing the card over her lips. “You failed the Mother. That is all you need say.”

  A tinge of fear entered her dark gray eyes at his words, but she could have expected nothing else, using her energy to return here instead of going after their endangered queen.

  “You have failed her,” he repeated, nodding, so she couldn't protest. That was all there was to it, and she would pay the price. His fingers went to the back of her head, tangling with her powdered, raven-colored dreadlocks. He grabbed a meaty fist-full of them in his barbed-wire laced fingers, craning her head back so breath rasped down her throat. Goodbye, sister, he thought. And then with a sharp, vengeful twist, he delivered her punishment.

  Broken, Velsa's body slumped to the ground. Wide-eyed with the primal rush, Ackra stared down his nose at her. Useless vermin. I return you to the ground.