The Jungle Goddess & The Tiger Men

It would be bad. Very bad. Still, she couldn't let herself worry about that until she had Carrie back. Then Carrie could get as angry as she wanted, for as long as she wanted—once she was safe, it wouldn't matter.

5.

Then they got attacked by raptors. Golden ones. Of half a dozen related raptor species, they were the Last Jungle's most dangerous breed. Cleverer and more tenacious. Also slightly larger. And their golden scales were difficult to pierce.

The gold raptors were particular enemies of the Tiger Men, because they had dominated this valley before the Tiger Men's arrival. The Tiger Men had never managed to drive them all out or exterminate them completely—Jace wouldn't have allowed them to go so far, even if they'd been capable—yet they'd reduced the packs' population from hundreds to three or four dozen. Jace knew (well, guessed—and hoped) that number was probably a healthier, more sustainable population for the creatures, in the long view. But intelligent as they were—they had a rudimentary language and culture—they didn't see it in that light themselves.

If she'd had to face them on her own, she would have been in severe trouble. She was confident enough in her skills to believe she wouldn't have let them devour her. All the same she wouldn't have been able by herself to fight through them; probably she would have needed to run away, and lost all the ground she'd gained that day. Made her grateful to have the Tiger-Men with her. They provided help where it genuinely counted, and she could accept it from them without guilt. The gold raptors were the right kind of adversary for these men—it was an even and honorable match, their spears and axes against the raptors' teeth and claws. That wouldn't be the case against Prime Evil's robo-gorillas and their horrible guns.

The raptors that sprang out were only three strong, though they were big damn buggers—the biggest she'd met. They were eventually defeated without any casualties on Jace and the Tiger Men's side; still, it took time. It was nearly sundown when the fight finally finished. The raptors had been driven off several times, but they were persistent bastards. They had kept coming back, again and again, circling around to charge from different directions, until at last one of them was killed with a spear through the roof of the mouth, and a second got crippled, a foot chopped off by an axe. The third raptor—a poignant demonstration of the sophistication of these animals—carried that wounded one away on his back. (Or her back, possibly.)

The Tiger-Men resolved to build a fire and cook and eat the dead one left behind, right there on the spot.

It was their custom. Jace knew she couldn't talk them out of it. Arguing would only delay things further, as well as risk insulting them again. Nor could she go ahead by herself. Again, they would be appalled by the suggestion. She had shared in the battle, so she must share in the meal, or she'd bring a curse down on the valley with her misconduct, or some such nonsense.

And she'd got hungry, anyhow. By her reckoning, they were a little over two thirds of the way across the valley. They still had a fair distance to cover.

Time was short—and yet not quite critically so, not yet. It should still take Prime Evil's group most of the following day to reach the Red Pyramid. He would not travel through the night. He was too overconfident for that, and also too lazy and decadent. He would set up a luxurious pavilion for himself, as soon as it got dark, and eat a lavish dinner. Perhaps have some or even all of his gorilla minions dance or wrestle for his entertainment—she'd seen him indulge in that sort of nonsense several times before. Jace was almost certain she could beat him to the pyramid with a few hours to spare, even if the Tiger-Men refused to travel any further forward that same night. She hoped she could talk them out of making camp, at least not for another few hours, but it was faint hope, because she knew they would probably get sleepy after their feast. Whole lot of lizard meat to consume.

Smelled real good, though, once it was cooked. Gold raptor meat has a spicy flavor. She'd only sampled it a couple of times—the fact they were intelligent was troubling. But only to a point. The raptors themselves certainly didn't mind eating other beings that could think and talk. In fact they even ate each other. They didn't kill each other for food, but when one of them died, the rest would usually consume the remains if they could get at them before anything else had. In fact the crippled one that had been carried off—it was likely he hadn't been taken away to heal, but only so his own family could eat him, rather than their enemies.

And as she inhaled the fumes from the roasting meat, she noticed another strong scent as well, in the air around her. At first she thought it was coming out of the wood they were burning. Only gradually did she realize that was mistaken, and that actually it was the smell of the Tiger Men themselves, enhanced in the sweat of their exertions.

It was an interesting smell they had, now that she'd become aware of it. Very striking. A strong and distinctive scent, but not overpowering. She was surprised she'd never noticed it in this way during any of their earlier encounters, the good ones and the bad ones. Unless it was some sort of new ointment they'd started using, for some reason? But she didn't think it was. Didn't seem like the kind of thing they would do, or even think of. What would be the point, the way they lived? If they decided to change their scent, wouldn't they, as hunters, want to make their smell less noticeable, rather than stronger? She could understand if they tried to make themselves smell like the surrounding plant life, or even other animals, in an effort to blend in—but this scent was doing the exact opposite thing. It was the nasal equivalent of a blazing torch, in the deepening twilight. A signal scent: "Here we are! HERE!"

Most animals, large and small, and regardless of what they eat, carry a heavy reek around them—often sickening, until you got used to it. The same is true of human beings—especially sweaty males, out in the jungle. But the smell of the Tiger Men wasn't bad, powerful as it was. Jace couldn't think of anything to compare it to. You might expect it to be a combination of the standard musky body odors of normal tigers and normal men. But it was nothing like that.

Actually as she considered it, she realized she rather liked the odd smell. Which seemed funny. These were artificial creatures. Perhaps their creators had engineered them to put out an appealing odor. No crazier or less likely than anything else about the things. Mad science at its maddest.

Then this thought—recognizing that their strange odor was weirdly pleasant, at least in her opinion—made her remember a conversation some months back with Carrie... She had been explaining to Jace about "fair-moans"—chemical signals that animals used in mating. "Sexy scents, essentially." And how scientists on Earth still debated whether humans used them or not. It seemed likely, but Carrie said it hadn't been proven. Nobody yet had identified how strong their affect was, if they existed.

The strangest implication to the theory—and also the funniest—was that if they were real, such fair-moans would be carried in body odors that modern people back on Earth considered unwholesome and did their best to wash away, or mask with artificial scents. Deodorants and antiperspirants and perfumes. Often these substances were ridiculously expensive, Carrie told her.

Carrie had suggested people might have better, no-nonsense love lives if they just let themselves stink like they were supposed to. Thus letting the funny signals mixed in work on them, and for them.

Was she picking up Tiger Men fair-moans? It was possible. Then again, Carrie had also mentioned that if fair-moans existed, the triggers probably wouldn't be noticeable, on a conscious level. A man you were attracted to because of his fair-moans wouldn't necessarily smell good, in an obvious way. His "good smell" wouldn't make you attracted to him. His BO would reek as bad as every other asshole's—at least by contemporary, civilized standards. Yet the attraction trigger would be mixed into that reek. Some researchers thought if the fair-moans worked on you—if the signal "clicked," so to speak—then the guy's stink would stop stinking, but only to you, and others with the same receptivity. You'd either start to like the reek or become acclimated and indifferent it. Stop noticing it. "I don't know about that part of it, though," Carrie had said, shrugging and wrinkling her nose, "Maybe that's how it is and I'm just too modernized for my own good. But then again maybe that's bullshit and sweaty, stinky people are always gonna smell fucking gross to me. Even the ones I really dig."

In any case, right now, for Jace, these funny guys were putting out a nice, potent smell. And whether or not there were actual fair-moans mixed into it, that nice smell was having a definite positive comforting effect on her. Like those nice candles did, that Carrie had made for them her, in their treehouse, mixing beeswax and various flowers. The smell was relaxing her, the same way. And too much, actually. Making her a bit sleepy. A bit sluggish.

They weren't going to be staying there long, if it was up to her... This was just a brief rest stop, a breather, sharing a speedy meal—they were not making camp, not if the Tiger-Men allowed her any say in the matter. It wasn't absolutely vital that they keep progressing across the valley throughout the whole night; even so it would be better if they did. If she could convince them and keep pushing them... She wanted to beat Prime Evil's group to the Red Pyramid with as much lead time as possible. It wouldn't be good enough to get there at the exact same time, or just beforehand. The more hours ahead she could get, the happier she'd be. Then she could make proper preparations. Set up a nice trap for the vile monster.

To shake off this new unwanted lethargy, she sprang to her feet, wiping meat juice off her lips and chin across the back of one hand. She realized quite a lot more sticky grease had dribbled on her belly and her breasts. Her lap, too. All over her, really. No help for it, after such a after a drippy sloppy meal. At least without a top on, she needn't worry about cleaning. "Are we about ready to move on, boys?"

Nope. They weren't, unfortunately. No chance. When Tiger Men killed a thing to eat it, they ate all of it. Every scrap of tissue, down to the bone. Then they made sure to crack all the bones and suck out their marrow. In their view it was sacrilege to do any less, letting any of the prey go to waste—an offense against the spirit of the animal they'd slain, and such a thing could never be allowed. Even when, as in this case, the prey was a gold raptor, their deadliest and most hated foes. They still would never dare dishonor the meat.

So far only half the reptile's flesh had been consumed. She must wait until they were finished; they would not let her hurry them. Bad for the digestion. She sat back down and tried to gobble a bit more, but hadn't any appetite left. In fact her stomach was upset, a little. Fluttery inside. Unusual for her. The meat had been perfectly good before, going down. And she hadn't had too much. Just a few mouthfuls. Normally that would only be enough to get her started... Now she was in no mood for more food. Not in that place, with those companions.

A moment ago she'd felt lazy and sleepy. Now all the sudden she'd turned jittery and anxious. Impatient. Jace found she could barely keep herself still. She wanted to jump up and down or sprint in circles, yelling. Like a little bratty child about to throw a wild temper tantrum. What was happening to her? It was annoying. Infuriating. She wanted to punch the man next to her, for no reason at all. Just suddenly whallop him, for the sheer mean-spirited hell of it. Or even better, hop up and kick him a good one in the ribs. Except she'd probably injure her toes, doing that, the way these sons of bitches were constructed. Sheesh. Proverbial "brick shithouses." (That was another strange expression of Carrie's.)

And then she noticed two more strange, unexpected things, one after the other...

First was that all the Tiger-Men were staring at her, with odd glints in their eyes. They seemed to be grinning at her, as well. Their faces—their snouts—weren't shaped to allow them to grin, and in any case all of them were still stuffing handfuls of dribbling meat in their mouths and chewing. Yet they all somehow seemed to be grinning at her, as they were doing that, even though they weren't. Couldn't, in fact. Yet they were. The men were smiling at her, regardless of the fact their mouths couldn't smile. The smiles were in their glinting eyes, and the tilts of their heads, the twitches of their ears... It was rather eerie. But the smiles were not mean or scary. Instead she got the feeling they were meant as friendly, openhearted, appreciative looks. Only she had no idea what they were all appreciating. It was like she'd just made a witty joke, and impressed them all with her cunning and insight. But she hadn't said or done a fucking thing. It wasn't her wit they were responding to, whatever it was.

And then she noticed the second thing, which was eerier than the eerie smiles. Much more disturbing.

All seven of them sitting around her, around the fire, had got erections. Massive erections. Their cocks were all sticking straight up out of their loincloths, against their bellies.

Jace wasn't quite as shocked as you or I might have been, at such a spectacle. You and I might in fact have been horrified. Jace's reaction, mostly, was mere puzzlement.

What had made that happen?

You might imagine this was a foolish question. Perhaps it was, but only to a certain extent. The Tiger-Men had females of their own, and though they were more human looking than the men—resembling Jace more than themselves—they were still a different species, with largely different natures. And even if the similarities outweighed the differences, so that conceivably the sight of Jace in a state of undress might be stimulating enough to arouse the Tiger-Men, why hadn't that happened until now? Why hadn't they got turned on in so prominent a fashion when they first met her? What had changed, in the course of this feast? Making her suddenly look so much sexier in their eyes?

Have you figured out the answer?

It was her own arousal, of course. Her state of undress wasn't enough to do it—not alone. But her state of excitement put them into a matching state, as soon as they perceived it. They got turned on by Jace getting turned on, though this had occurred without her fully understanding it, or fully realizing it was happening. That made it all the more exciting for them. Her bewilderment. Her semi-conscious resistance and denial of the sensations. It was endearing to them, and also amusing.

They were, thanks to their tigerish senses, better able to perceive the truth of Jace's feelings than Jace herself, at that moment.

"Which of us shall it be?" one of them asked her. "Which of us do you choose?"

"Choose for what?" she answered. She had an inkling—more than an inkling—what he was suggesting, but all the same she was startled and thrown off by the shameless blatancy of that question. As if the matter was already decided—not a question of if, but only who.

The one that had spoken only laughed, as did most of the others.

"What's so funny? Explain yourselves. I did not understand your question, or its purpose."

"Did you not?"

"Choose me!" called another, from the far side of the circle. "I shall serve you well, upon my oath, should you grant me the favor!"

"Not so well as I will!" roared another.

"Fah, do not heed either of them. Boastful fellows, we all attest. And like all such men, their deeds match not their claims. Choose any one of us but them—neither braggart, I beseech you. Even if I myself do not capture your fancy, let it at least not be him nor him!"

"I would fight you for such words. But presently I shall be better occupied. Is that not so, Lady Jace?"

"Never!" This was a fourth man, with his arm around a fifth. "Favor us, instead. My brother and I, working together in this as in all things—the joy we've gifted all our mates has long been praised 'round the campfires of the females. All know this, throughout the valley. Will any of you dare deny it?"

"I'll not deny it, no. They speak of you around their fires, it is so. But the joy the pair of you provide the women, though rich indeed and long discussed, is the joy of laughter, not of bliss! The joy of clowns, not of mates!"

"Base calumny! Shameful slander!"

"Hush, fools, all of you. Let the lady consider without your prattle."

"Good men," she said, choosing her words as carefully as she could, "and noble warriors, I mean no insult, to any of you. But I have no wish to make any such choice. I thank you for your offers, but I'm in no mood for such... such sport. I assure you."

They were not offended, at least not yet. But they looked baffled. "But this is not so. Why does she pretend it?" It was the two brothers, one asking the other—a whisper in the ear, but one loud enough, by accident or design, that all the circle could hear it with equal clarity.

"Heed me, all of you. She does not wish to make a choice based on mere appearances or foolish words. It's deeds that count! The Lady Jace is as fierce and swift and strong a creature as she is beautiful. Only the best of us might be worthy of her. She must test us, before she awards her favor! She's testing us even now!"

"Yes, you're right. How else could it be otherwise? Your wisdom was always sharper than your teeth, Farsight. How then shall we prove ourselves?"

"That is for her to say, not I."

"What shall it be, Lady Jace? Shall we grapple? Shall we race? Would you prefer a contest of spear throwing, or axes? Is it the farthest cast that most impresses you, or the most accurate? Speak! We beg you! Command your pleasure and we shall perform!"

She could only try again to get through to them. "But you must listen to me. I have no desire—no cause—to make any choice among you, of this kind. I have no desire for—for—" What would be the best word to use for it with them? "—for mating. Why won't you believe me?"

They all exchanged more puzzled looks and grumbles. "But you are aroused!" said one of the braggarts. "Why do you claim otherwise?"

"I am not, I assure you. You are mistaken!"

"We can smell it!" Those damn tiger noses. "This is foolishness. We smell your heat."

Another added, as if she needed further clarification: "The dew upon your flower. It gathers thick upon the petals. It overflows. It steams, in your heat."

"Why does she deny it, brother? She looks angry now, but why is she angry, when she desires us?"

"She is angry because we disbelieve her."

"How can we believe her when we smell she lies?"

"Perhaps she lies to herself as well."

"Why would she do that?"

"Perhaps we frighten her."

"Why should she fear us, brother? She is strong and fierce. As strong and fierce as we."

"But we are not of her kind. She fears we are as violent in our mating as we are in the hunt, or in battle."

"Ah. She may be right, to fear that."

"And she is one, while we are many. She fears our ways. And so she fears to choose among us, for what if she chooses unwisely, or worse, what if we did not respect her choice?"

"That would not be honorable, brother."

"Indeed it would not. But some men speak much of honor, yet do much that is not honorable."

"Not us, brother. Never."