Upon a Savage Shore Ch. 16

Author's Note: Chapter 21 is nearly written so I thought I would go ahead and submit 16. Hopefully this one will not take as long to be approved as 15 did. If you ever want to know what progress I am making, just look on my profile. I've begun posting updates there. Please be assured, I am going to finish this story. I have the plot worked out and I know how I will be wrapping it up at the end. It's the last few chapters that are giving me trouble. I have to tie everything together and have it all make sense. Often I write half a dozen paragraphs and realize they don't serve the story and end up deleting them. It takes time to get things right. I have no wish to just throw words on the page and let it go. Rambling stories irritate me and I will not write one. I could easily update faster, but I don't think people would enjoy reading this tale if I did.

Many thanks to those readers who have left comments or sent messages. Those sending messages, though, should understand that this is a story with a plot. I'm not going to put in more sex scenes just because you tell me I should. As I have stated several times: If you want that kind of story, either look elsewhere or write your own.

Again, thanks for all the comments and messages. They do keep me motivated to finish this tale.

Out in the western valley, on the hillock where Liam had been struck by lightning, he stood on almost the exact same spot, facing the nomad's camp. Liam did not try to conceal himself, but Tem'Ma'tel lay in the grass behind him and to his left. Her field-gray shipboard fatigues blended well enough with the long grass to make her virtually invisible. Even her ruddy gold fur did not particularly stand out. In her hands was a fero-plas pistol, its stock folded. Though clad in his armor (freshly cleaned to make a better impression) Liam carried only his EP 12s and his knife. They'd chosen their armaments for practical reasons. If there was a fight, these weapons would be more than enough to counter anything the nomads possessed. If there was no fight, these weapons were less threatening than the large fero-plas rifles. And if they had to run the pistols were less likely to get caught in any undergrowth.

Liam watched as a hunting party of nomads stalked a herd of antelope. Today they had come closer to the villa than they had since the first encounter. The hunters moved stealthily, as they always did. Short bows and bolas were all they carried, but as Liam had seen before, these were enough to get the job done. They took down three antelope in rapid succession. Only after the kills were made did the hunters spare any attention for the strange figure on the hillock.

One, apparently the leader of the hunt, gazed up at Liam, assessing him for threats while the others prepared their kills for transport. Before they finished the leader turned and called to one of the hunters. He gave some command or other and made a gesture back towards the nomad's village then turned his attention to Liam again. The hunter darted off at impressive speed, making for the village.

Liam continued to watch the hunting party, tracking the progress of the sprinting native with his sensors and scope. In less than ten minutes the runner entered the village. Liam kept track of what was going on there, but did not dare focus his attention on it while the hunters lingered so close. He knew M'pel E'kmel and Clot'ilda would be watching for any threats from atop the wall, and they were more than capable of dealing with them. It wasn't long before a group of riders came at a canter, making for the hillock.

"Here they come," Liam said to Tem'Ma'tel. He did not turn his head or otherwise indicate she was there. If the shit hit the fan she was his closest ace in the hole and he did not want to give up any portion of his advantage.

The group from the village reined in next to the hunters. In the lead was the nomad wearing the blade-beast cape. Today he sported a cluster of feathers between his horns, also. Liam decided he must be the chief or headman. Half a dozen other riders milled about as the chief questioned the leader of the hunt. Liam could not be sure, but from their body language it seemed the two did not like each other very much. As best he could tell, they were about the same age and roughly the same size. Maybe the leadership of the tribe was in contention between them. Or maybe they just didn't like each other.

After a brief exchange of whistles, chirps, clicks and gestures the riders dismounted and as a group the nomads climbed the hill, stopping a few meters down slope of Liam. The chief said something in their strange, musical tongue, all flowing syllables, tongue clicks and whistles.

"I don't speak your language, but we figured it was a good idea to come out and introduce ourselves," Liam replied.

The strange words confused the High Grass folk. Chief Seschiqal looked to his cousin, but Keeper of Wisdom Sneisqlik only shook his head.

"Is it alive?" Seschiqal wondered.

"Beetles are alive," Sneisqlik replied. "It looks like a giant beetle. It makes the noises like Stolk described. Stolk is young, but he tells the truth."

"Should we not approach and stand on equal ground with it?" demanded Stilmnah the huntsman.

"It is not your place to ask," Seschiqal said dismissively. Always Stilmnah pressed for more than what was his right. Always he wished to be seen as more than the leader of the hunt. One day, Seschiqal knew, Stilmnah would challenge him for the tribe.

"I am the Huntsman," Stilmnah replied coldly. "I found it. I called you only out of courtesy. I could have killed it and brought it to the village. That would have been my right and place."

"You surrendered your right and place when you sent for us," Sneisqlik replied mildly. It was not his place to stand for his cousin, but as Keeper of Wisdom it was his place to render judgment on laws. "And I think you would not have been able to kill it."

"Stolk, come here," Seschiqal ordered the young hunter who had ridden with them from the village. When Stolk stood close Seschiqal asked, "Is this the same one you told us of?"

"It sounds the same, Seschiqal, but it looks very different," Stolk said. He squinted at the large thing which seemed even larger on top of the hillock. "The face looks the same, though it was not covered in amber before. The rest is different."

"Are you alive?" Seschiqal asked the huge, dark figure slowly and a little louder than necessary.

"I don't speak your language," Liam said again. He reached up and removed his helmet, revealing his bearded face and shaggy hair. "I don't mean you any harm."

"It comes off," Stilmnah said, impressed with how clever the creature was to cover itself with the strange headdress. "Does it still look the same, Stolk?"

"That is the same creature that gave us the antelope," the young tribesman confirmed. "There were three others with him that were very different. I think they may have been his pets. A mated pair and a young one."

"Yes, Stolk," Sneisqlik said wearily. "You told us three times already."

"Him?" asked Seschiqal. "Why do you call it him?"

"It's male," Stolk replied simply with a pop of his lips, a shrug in the manner of the grassland folk.

"How do you know?"

"It doesn't smell female," the young hunter said.

Seschiqal and Sneisqlik exchanged a glance and then both leaned forward a bit and sniffed.

"No. It does not smell female," agreed Seschiqal.

"But it does not smell male, either," Sneisqlik said, wiping his nose. He found the scent of the thing unpleasant.

"It is a male," the Chief said irritably with a chop of his hand. "It is male until we learn otherwise."

"So be it," Sneisqlik conceded.

"Stolk, you said there were others. Where are they now?" Seschiqal asked, glancing about. "Hunters, spread out. Do not let one of them sneak up on us."

Liam shifted his stance warily when the hunters opened up their formation. Several placed arrows on their bows and Liam laid his hand to the butt of his pistol.

"I didn't come here for a fight," he said grimly. "But I'll kick your asses up between your ears if you start one."

"He growls," Sneisqlik cautioned.

"It will attack!" Stilmnah said, readying his bow and taking two steps forward, placing himself ahead of his leaders.

Liam drew his pistol, but did not train it on the edgy nomad. He was certain the bow lacked the power to even scratch his armor. He was pretty sure, though, that at this range the Faun could put an arrow through his eye.

"Lower your bow!" snapped Seschiqal. "He has not made to attack us. He speaks. A foe would not speak. He grows nervous with so many of our folk and their bows."

"May I approach him, Seschiqal?" Sneisqlik asked. "Perhaps I can make myself understood."

Seschiqal considered that. His cousin was well known for speaking three languages. The path of the High Grass folk frequently crossed with the paths of other tribes in the south. Here in the midlands they rarely saw any but their own folk. Perhaps this strange being had come down from the north out of the forests. Very dangerous things lived in the forests and that was likely the reason he wore the beetle shells. Seschiqal gave Sneisqlik a nod and his cousin stepped up the hill to stand just below the creature.

"We are the High Grass folk," Sneisqlik said carefully. "We do not speak your tongue. Can you not speak ours?"

"Like I said, buddy, I don't speak your language," Liam told the Faun he dubbed the ambassador. Liam pointed his pistol at the aggressive hunter. "Tell Elmer there to back down the hill before I shoot him. It's jackelope season and I'll fill my tag, starting with him."

"He threatens me!" snarled Stilmnah and raised his drawn bow.

Seschiqal smacked the weapon aside and shoved Stilmnah down the hill, kicking dirt on him as a sign of displeasure. All the nomads looked at the two elders as their chief berated the huntsman.

"Not your place!" snapped Seschiqal. "Peace! We will have peace with this being until we do not. Rise but do not give me cause to strike you. I will not be gentle."

"I guess that settles that," Liam said to the ambassador. He lowered his weapon and gave a nod to the leader in the cape. "Thanks, Chief."

"He approves," Sneisqlik said softly.

"Is that a weapon he holds?" asked Seschiqal, returning to his former place on the slope.

"Perhaps a small club," Sneisqlik said, looking at the black thing in the stranger's hand. "There is another on his belt."

"Why is it here alone?" Stolk asked, though he had not been given permission to speak.

"Stolk!" Sneisqlik scolded.

"No. Let the young hunter speak his thoughts," said Seschiqal. "He led the scouts. He was first to speak to this creature. Let him speak now."

With a respectful bow of his head to both his elders, Stolk said, "He was here with the three animals that walk like folk. Now he is here alone. Why?"

"He is not here alone," Sneisqlik said suddenly, edging back from the lip of the hill pointing into the grass behind the dark figure. He had caught Tem'Ma'tel's scent in an eddy of wind. "There is something laying in the grass behind him."

Liam saw the look in the ambassador's eyes and knew what he was pointing at. Tem'Ma'tel had been discovered and his ace in the hole was gone.

"He knows you're there," he said over his shoulder.

"Stand?" she asked.

"Stay down," he replied. "Don't spook them. Be ready. Watch the flanks."

"Yes SarJ'ant," she said, not liking the situation much. She could not see the nomads from where she lay and would have to move forward to the lip of the hill to get her weapon into the fight if something went wrong. SarJ'ant would be exposed to their weapons for the instant it would take her to get into the fight, and that was not a good thing.

"He speaks to his pet and the pet speaks back," Sneisqlik said in awe.

"Perhaps it is not a pet," Seschiqal said. "Perhaps it is his mate?"

"Or a guardian," Stolk put in. "The three furred ones spread out before this one offered me the antelope he had taken in their hunt. And the furred ones killed more than he did."

"The antelope," whispered Sneisqlik, looking at his cousin. "We should give one of ours to him. That would be a sign of peace."

"We killed them!" snapped Stilmnah. "Our meat. Not his."

"He made the same offering to our hunters," observed Sneisqlik reasonably.

"He did," acknowledged Seschiqal. "The hunters did not have to eat any of their kills when scouting this place for our people. Get one of the antelope, Stolk, and make a gift of it."

Liam watched as the young hunter went down to where the carcasses lay, then dragged one of the fresh kills up the slope and said a few words, gesturing at the carcass and then at Liam.

"Yeah. Sure, I'll accept it," he said, waving the hunter forward.

Stolk cautiously climbed the last few paces and laid the antelope near the thing in the shell. He was about to back down the slope when he caught sight of fiery golden eyes and red-gold fur in the grass a few paces away and froze.

Tem'Ma'tel made no move, though her muscles bunched, ready to spring to her feet should one of these people make a hostile move. She thought the one that had dragged the antelope up the slope looked familiar and drew in a slow breath through her nose to confirm this was the one they had previously encountered.

"Go on, kid," Liam said gently, waving the young hunter away. "She won't hurt you. Just go back down. It's alright."

"Stolk, come back to us," Sneisqlik said. "It gestures for you to return. Come back."

"It seems it does not want a fight," Seschiqal observed.

"Stilmnah said it stood in plain view during the hunt and did not spook the antelope," Stolk reminded them when he stood behind his chief again.

"Perhaps we should invite it back to the village," Sneisqlik suggested.

"No. We do not know it well yet," Seschiqal said firmly. Then over his shoulder he said, "Bring me a staff. We shall mark this as a place of talk. We will return here to speak with it more another day."

Liam watched as the chief took a length of white wood with three dark red stripes circling one end from a rider and stepped up the slope to stand a meter in front of him. The chief said a few more words and then thrust the staff into the muddy soil of the hilltop, forcing it deeper into the ground with a twisting motion. He then drew a flint knife from his belt and offered it hilt first to Liam. Liam holstered his pistol and took a small piece of steel from his belt. It was as long as his hand and had been part of the nacelle that had broken off the scout ship during the crash. It would make a poor knife, but given how rare metal was on this planet, he figured it was a good gift to demonstrate his peaceful intentions.

"What does it give in return?" wondered Sneisqlik curiously.

"The god tear," Seschiqal said reverently. "It is a god tear! See how it shines? It is heavy and straight. I have never seen a god tear like this."

"Hey, kid," Liam said and then whistled and clicked his tongue in his cheek, doing a passable imitation of the young hunter's name. All the folk looked to him with wide eyes. "This is for you."

Liam tossed the young hunter a palm-sized piece of black flint. It couldn't hurt to let the others know he approved of the kid.

"What does it give you?" asked Seschiqal, eyes narrowed. He wondered how the thing had been able to pronounce Stolk's name when it had been unable to understand any of their tongue.

"It is flint," Stolk said, blinking at the large flake. "It is very good flint. See how dark it is? There are no veins. Just smooth black. I can make a fine blade and several points from this."

"It should be mine," Stilmnah grumbled.

"If you were meant to have it the creature would have given it to you," Seschiqal said coldly. He was tired of the huntsman's surliness. "We will leave now. This is a good beginning. Peace is made. We will not molest this creature nor his companions, whatever they are. No hunters will go beyond this hill nor cross the stream. We will live in peace here."

Liam was pleased to see the look on the young hunter's face. He couldn't be certain what every alien expression meant, but it wasn't difficult to understand the open mouth and blinking eyes. He was also pleased the meeting had gone so well. The chief was making a speech and gesturing around at the hill and the stream that ran below. Probably telling everyone this was neutral ground or something like that. Good. He and the females should be safe for the time being.

The chief turned back to him and said a few more words then bowed.

"Still don't know what you're saying," said Liam, returning the bow. "We'll keep to ourselves and if I want to talk, I'll come out here again."

The hunters and riders moved back down the slope and, after gathering up the kills, they made off across the valley to their village. The chief gave him a wave before turning his mount away and Liam breathed a sigh of relief.

"Looks like we're on good terms for the moment," he said into his suit mic.

"So we see," M'pel E'kmel said from atop the villa's wall. "It looked as though one of them was not pleased with you."

"Yeah. Elmer didn't seem happy at all," Liam agreed, helping Tem'Ma'tel to her feet. "I think they've got issues to address. Not really our problem as long as they don't come gunning for us, though. Keep an eye out until we get back to the villa. We're bringing a fresh kill, so there's meat on the menu tonight."

"We will have the fire laid before you get here," the commander replied, sounding lighter of mood than she had been when Liam and Tem'Ma'tel had left the gates that morning. All was safe for the moment and that was a very good thing.

***********

"The flint should have been mine," snarled Stilmnah under his breath as he crossed the kraal to his hut. Stolk, the young upstart, hadn't earned a place of leadership yet. The only reason Stilmnah had placed him in charge of the scouting party was that he hoped the young hunter would fail or maybe even get killed. Instead, he had met with good fortune and now this thing that dressed in beetle shells had made a noble gift of fine flint to him. "It should have been mine and I should not have sent word to Seschiqal."

Stilmnah ducked as he entered his hut and moved to the shadows in the back where he set aside his bow and bolas. He did not wish to go and butcher the antelope with the other hunters, but his place had been damaged enough with the rebuke Seschiqal had given him. If his hunters saw he was unwilling to do the work they would begin questioning his right to lead the hunts.

"You have returned," said a soft voice from the doorway. "Do you wish water to be brought?"

Stilmnah turned to find Sscuha kneeling just outside the hut. Young, attractive and desirable, Sscuha was not his wife. Rather, she was his ward and his burden to bear. Her husband had been killed during a hunt and the tribe, blaming Stilmnah, had placed the responsibility of seeing to her needs on him until her son was old enough to take care of her. Stilmnah resented her presence now more than usual. Her deferential posture and meek words meant nothing to him. She and her son were daily reminders of his greatest failure and he was certain that failure had cost him the leadership of the High Grass tribe when the old chief died.