She struggled against the vines binding her. Beneath the facial grime she was crimson with rage. Blade calmly speared a new hunk of meat and began to roast it.
Ooma said, «You are master. I will talk. But if you do not keep your promise and give me meat I will wait until you sleep and kill you. I promise it.»
He smiled sweetly at her. «And I promise you meat. I do not break my word. You will find that out, my girl. Now — what is a Jedd?»
«I am a Jedd. Jedd means mountain. And we are called Jedds because we are mountain people. Our Empress, a very old woman who is dying now, is the Jeddock.»
«Ah,» said Richard Blade softly, «an Empress? Tell me about that — tell me about the Jeddock.»
This, he thought, was more like it. Ooma could lead him out of the forest to something resembling civilization as he knew and understood it. Mountain people. An Empress. He listened with great attention, careful not to miss a word. When she had finished he untied her hands and gave her meat. She tore at it with cries of pleasure, gobbling and stuffing herself while the succulent juices dribbled down her chin. When she could eat no more she lay back, rubbing her belly and belching, and watching him with a new look in her green eyes.
«Who are you?» she demanded. «I have told you of myself and my people — what of you and your people? You are bigger and much stronger than the men of Jedd and much more handsome. You must come from a far place to be so different. Tell me.»
Blade would as lief remained silent, evaluating the information she had given him, but he needed her and wanted to keep her happy. He told his story, sticking as close to truth as was possible under the circumstances and keeping it simple. Ooma was not likely to grasp much about Home Dimension.
He pointed through a break in the trees at a full moon. Blood red and exactly at the zenith. «I come from another world, Ooma. Not that one, but a world much like it. I came by magic, in the time it takes you to draw a breath, though the distance in days of travel is more than all the leaves on all the trees in this forest. Do you understand?»
«No.» She scowled at him. «You lie to me. And you do not yet tell me your name, if you have one.»
«I do not lie,» he said calmly. «I have magic of my own, which I may show you if we remain friends. As for my name — it is Blade. That is what you will call me — Blade. Blade master. Try it, Ooma. See how it sounds.»
She frowned at him and showed her white teeth, but slowly she pronounced the words: «B-la-de mas-ter. Blade master.»
He nodded. «That is it. It has a good sound on your lips.»
«I do not like it. It has a sharp and cruel sound. And I do not think I like you, even though you gave me meat. You look at me strangely and it frightens me. I know what is in your mind, Blade master, and it shall not be. I will never give myself to you.»
She had a way of getting to the crux of things. Blade smiled. Though he still lusted for her, he had himself under control now. It would be criminally foolish to hurt or offend this child. He needed her more than she needed him, though perhaps she did not realize it. He tried to placate her. Without surrendering his dominance.
«You will not take that tone with me,» he said severely. «Listen. Do not fear me. I will not harm you. I will never touch you unless you wish to be touched. I want only for us to be friends, to help each other. You will guide me and answer all my questions and in return I shall take you safely back to your people.» He indicated the brooding dark forest encompassing them. «You will never get back to your Jedds alone, Ooma. There are too many dangers.»
For a moment, she gnawed at her red underlip with sparkling teeth, then nodded. «You are right. I will need you to get past the Api. If we get past them. They will probably kill and eat you and make a whore-slave of me, but I do not worry about that now. It is still four days' march before we reach the Api. So for now I will be your friend. You agree to this, Blade master?»
«Of course I agree. Have I not said I want to be friends!?»
«Then untie me. One friend does not keep another friend bound hand and foot. Or do they so in this world you say you come from?»
Blade chuckled. It was logical enough. «No,» he admitted. «In my world real friends trust each other.» No use mentioning that real friends were hard to come by and most friendship mere feigning. Things might be different in Dimension X, though he doubted it. He had discovered, at times to his sorrow and peril, that there were certain constants in all dimensions. This thought he could safely leave to the philosophers who might one day study Lord L's records. Blade had two objectives — survive and return.
He patted her sleek brown shoulder as he cut the vines binding her legs. «You are right, Ooma. I admit it and I set you free. And you need not be afraid of—»
She was faster than any cat. She had doubled and redoubled a length of vine into a heavy cord. She slashed him across the eyes with it. He instinctively fell back and in that instant she was gone out of the firelight and into the forest. Her mocking laugh floated back to him.
«Goodbye, Blade master. One think I know — they breed fools in your strange world.»
He rubbed the welt over his eyes and cursed her briefly, then began to laugh at himself. She was right. He was a fool. She had conned him but good. It was what he got for underestimating her. The Jedd brain, it would appear, was as good as his own, if not so sophisticated.
At that moment there sounded, from far off in the depths of that immensity of forest, a high-pitched shriek, an animalistic gibber, that curdled Blade's blood and prickled the hairs on his body. The awful sound was like nothing he had ever heard before, not even on Lord Leighton's tapes. There was terror and triumph in it and blood and death and the surging vibrato of life. Blade crouched by his fires and stared in the direction whence the sound came. Miles away. No direct threat to him. He smiled then, a covert smile and sly, and prepared for sleep. They would see.
He pretended sleep, his weapons close to his hand. And listened. Half an hour passed. An hour. Then a faint sound in the undergrowth. He grinned.
«B-la-de master?» An echoing sigh on the breeze. Perhaps only a trick of the breeze and he was hearing what he expected, and wanted, to hear.
But it came again. «Blade master. I am sorry. Ooma is sorry. I wish to come back to the fires.»
Blade turned over and yawned loudly. «Come back? Why? I thought you liked it out there in the forest all alone.»
«I do not like it.»
He patted a yawn to conceal a smile. «But I thought you were afraid of me?»
Silence. Then—"I am. But I am more afraid out here by myself. Let me return. I–I will let you do anything you wish. To me.»
Blade pillowed his head on his arms and emitted a mock snore. «I do not wish to do anything to you, Ooma. Not now. I have found that we are not friends and I cannot trust you. Goodnight.»
Long silence. He could hear her moving in the thick bushes.
«I beg you, Blade master. I beg. I am cold and frightened. I want to come by the fires.»
«Then come,» he snapped, «but do not bother me. I wish to sleep.»
Feigning sleep, he watched her through slitted eyes. She came slowly out of the forest and crouched by the largest of the fires. As she warmed herself she watched him intently. Blade made no sign or sound. She began to search her sleek young body, carefully removing burrs and bits of twig and matted leaf. She smoothed and rubbed her body with her hands, cleaning it as thoroughly as possible. Blade felt his loins begin a renewed stirring. Could it be?
Ooma went to the pile of wood Blade had collected and began to search through it. He was about to warn her against using up too much wood, but kept his silence. She was not tending the fires. He watched with growing interest as she broke off a branch into a short length, stripped it of tendrils and began to use it as a comb. Squatting on her heels and casting an occasional glance in his direction, Ooma began to pull the makeshift comb again and again through her tangled dark hair with a coarse rasping sound. She grimaced and shook her head as the rude comb encountered an especially hopeless tangle.