James Axler – Demons of Eden

The ground suddenly trembled under the impact of many hooves.

“Riders,” Jak declared.

Ryan and the others raised their weapons as the dull thudding grew in volume.

“Wait,” Joe said. “They are my people.”

Illumined by the white disk of the moon, a band of horsemen galloped toward them from the distant, flickering firelight. The half-dozen men wore buckskin leggings, and, like the Wolf Soldiers, were armed with lances, bows and arrows.

They pulled up their horses sharply, and a burly man slid from his steed and strode toward Joe. They clasped forearms and spoke in rapid-fire Lakota. Ryan recognized him as Little Mountain. Joe gestured for the others to step forward.

“This is Little Mountain, who brought me word of your arrival in Amicus. He will escort us to the village. We must hurry. The Wolf Soldiers are massing for another attack.”

The warriors exchanged fierce, gloating words, nodding toward the bound and muzzled Blood-sniffer. Twice, Ryan heard them say “Sisoka.”

Before he and his friends remounted, they ran quick examinations on their wounds. J.B. had taken a cut on his left arm, but it was superficial. Doc was bruised from his fall, though not really injured. However, his eyes were disconcerted as he gazed at the bound wolf.

” Loup-garou ,” he whispered.

Jak, who knew the legends of the Cajun people, was startled. “Men that change to wolves? Old story for old stupes, Doc. Surprised at you.”

Overhearing the exchange, Joe said sharply, “Mount up!”

Everyone swung onto horseback. Blood-sniffer was slung across Little Mountain’s pony and tied to the saddle with thongs.

As they trotted across the rolling sward, Ryan knew there was no way he could reconcile the valley of Ti-Ra’-Wa with the rest of Deathlands. This hidden pocket of Earth had existed long before the nuking and sky dark, its people living an ancient way of life, unaffected by the outside world. Or perhaps notthe old ways seemed to be moving toward a climax of conflict as a direct result of the presence of him and his friends. They had brought Deathlands to the valley.

He doubted the intelligent animals were the mutated spawns of radiation. Biochemical warfare and fallout had created a host of genetically twisted monsters across the devastated face of America, Europe and the eastern republics, but the beasts of Ti-Ra’-Wa appeared to be throwbacks, survivors of a dim time in prehistory when humanity and animals had coexisted as equals.

He didn’t really believe that, and he hoped the uncanny community of beasts and men had another explanation than that the animals were as intelligent as humans.

The party rode down a gentle slope toward a collection of structures near the banks of the valley’s timber-bordered river. Ryan had expected tepees or bark lodges, but what he saw was so dumbfounding, he suspected hallucination.

The village was built into the forest, in some ways a part of the forest. Massive hollow tree trunks served as lodgings, giant boughs were like arboreal footpaths and low-hanging branches were so intertwined they formed roofs and shelters. Light shone from within many of the trees, through windows that didn’t look cut, but formed out of the living wood.

Here and there, supported by frameworks and lattices of branches and limbs, were crystal disks, giant duplicates of the ones on Joe’s golden wafer. They shimmered and glittered, reflecting the firelight. The interlocking facets gleamed with multicolored sparks, like prismatic pieces of a rainbow cut from the sky.

“My God,” Mildred breathed in wonder. “This placeit’s like it doesn’t belong on Earth at all.”

Mildred had voiced Ryan’s own thoughts, or his fears. He felt a rising sensation of xenophobia, as if he had stumbled into a city so alien it very well could have fallen from another planet. The air was aromatic with the scent of unfamiliar resins and oils.

Following Joe’s lead, they reined their horses to a walk and rode through the crystal-and-forest-entwined village. There was little underbrush. The great trunks loomed like the pillars of ancient temples he had seen pix of in books. The moonlight, what little of it pierced the multilevel overhead tangle of branch, limb and leaves, was tinted green, as if they were underwater.