No Such Thing As Werewolves by Chris Fox Read Free Book Online Page B

in a neighboring tree no unblooded could have climbed. The sounds of the jungle washed over him, an island of familiarity amidst all the strangeness of this new world. The harsh cry of the macaw and the chattering of monkeys were familiar things, a precious remembrance of what had once been. These things had drawn him here, a place to contemplate, to plan, several days from the Ark.
    If the Mother’s predictions were correct he’d slept for time beyond counting. Two full ages, nearly half the longest count. It was long enough for time to scour away all knowledge of his people. What had survived? Was there some fragment? Everything depended on the seeds they had planted.
    Ahiga leapt again, seizing a thick limb and using it to renew his momentum. He lost himself in the rhythm, leaping from tree to tree as he traversed the jungle. His people had used the dense foliage to harry the ancient enemy whenever they were foolish enough to invade these shores. Champions could ride swiftly through the jungle even in their human forms, as he was now.   The shelter of the trees allowed them to fall upon the unsuspecting deathless wherever they were found.
    The jungle thinned to mighty kapok trees, so distant from each other that each leap taxed even his abilities. There. A great river, dark with mud and vegetation. Its course had shifted from his day, but it was unmistakable. The River of Life bisected much of the continent and had been thick with the unblooded in their ungainly canoes during his time. If man had survived, they would be near the river, still drawing from its bounty.
    Many leaps later he paused atop a sprawling root tree near the shore, its tendrils disappearing into the dark waters. In the distance a single plume of smoke wound skyward, all but disappearing into the thick grey clouds clotting the sky. He studied the area beneath the plume, though most of it was blocked by a knot of trees on the far side of the river. Several crude structures crouched near the water’s edge, each cut from weathered planks. Only one figure moved amidst them.
    Ahiga channeled a quick pulse of energy, infusing his eyes with far greater clarity than they normally possessed. The dark-skinned man knelt on the edge of a dock, tying off a frayed rope that led to a small boat cut from the same timbers used in the buildings. An odd bulky box was affixed to the rear of the boat. What purpose might it serve?  
    Ahiga leapt skyward, angling his flight high above the river. He dove into the muddy depths, the force of his flight propelling him through the water. He channeled another spark, this time into his limbs. It gave him far greater strength than any man had, allowing him to traverse the water more quickly. He swam toward the structures, careful not to break the surface lest the figure see him. The brief glimpse had certainly been less intimidating than the strangely armored warriors, but there was no way of knowing if this man possessed abilities he’d never encountered. It was best to be cautious.
    He burst from the river near the dock, landing with a hollow thud just behind the man. The stranger spun, uttering what Ahiga took for a curse. His clothing was odd, a dark pair of breeches cut just over the knee and a white shirt with colorful red markings. He reached for a long knife sheathed at his belt, but Ahiga gave him no chance to defend himself. He seized the man’s wrist in a vice-like grip, forcing the stranger to his knees, where he belonged.
    “Quien es?” the man sputtered, but the words were gibberish to Ahiga. He would correct that.
    His second hand shot out, locking around the man’s neck. Ahiga stared deep into the man’s eyes, activating his dwindling supply of energy. The world around him disappeared, replaced by a swirling vortex of memories. He sifted through them, gathering information as he journeyed through the unblooded’s mind. He absorbed many things, more than he could process quickly.
    The language was called