Dark Matters_ Ghost Dance (Book 2) - Christie Golden [62]
Chakotay had been right. He should have just used the pot, should have taken a lamp. He had done neither, and now he was lost.
"Ah, come on, Tom," he said, simply to hear the reassuring sound of his own voice in the still darkness. "The moons are nice and bright, and you can't have walked more than a few meters from the encampment."
But the moons' light, bright as it was, stopped when it hit the upper canopy of the thick rain forest.
It didn't filter down here, where moist leaves sucked at his booted feet and every twining vine and branch looked like every other one.
A low, soft sound made him stop dead. His heart began to thud in his chest He listened, straining, wondering if he could hear anything over the boom-boom of his own alarmed heart.
Yes, there it was again. A soft crooning sound. Paris closed his eyes briefly, trying to calm himself. It didn't work. Matroci and Soliss had spoken with him and Chakotay about the dangers of the jungle mat began almost at their very door. There weren't many-very few poisonous creatures, only one or two species of large predators who were shy of humanoids and who seldom came near the edge of the rain forest. But there was one they did warn the new members of Sumar-ka about, and that was the iislak. It was large and furry and, from the description Soliss had provided, resembled a cross between a pig and a cat It was carnivorous, and notoriously silent.
"We see its prints," Matroci had said, "and its dung, but very seldom the beast itself. Sometimes there is a warning, a faint noise as of a woman singing a babe to sleep. If you hear that sound, consider yourselves blessed by the Grafters and leap for the nearest tree."
Tom remembered that advice, and immediately looked up. A nice, thick branch dangled invitingly overhead. He sprang upward, ignoring the pain of his broken bones and, wrapping his good arm about its thick, welcome bulk, he kicked his legs up. Grunting, he squirmed, hoisting himself up onto the
branch. It was moist with the evening dew and twice he nearly lost his grip. Once he was secure, he did not gloat in his victory. He looked for the next highest branch.
Another sound split the silence, a kind of bleating noise. It was similar to the first sound, but with a frantic, higher edge to it. Once Paris had secured the next branch, he risked looking down.
It was hard to see at first. The moonlight and darkness conspired to camouflage the creature almost perfectly. Then it moved, and it was as if a shadow had come to life, a shadow with large, lambent eyes that fixed on Paris.
It opened its mouth, emitting that bleating noise. "No," Paris whispered. Oh, no. It was a baby iislak, separated from its mother, and it was right at the base of his tree.
It did look like a cross between a pig and a cat. Its body was small, the fur appearing baby-soft Large paws adorned comparatively short legs. A stump of a tail twitched. It was kind of cute, in an ungainly, ugly sort of way. It opened its mouth, situated at the end of a lumpy snout, and again called for its mother.
The crooning sound came again, closer this time. Paris gulped and decided that the next set of branches, higher up, would provide a much better seat from which to view the no-doubt touching reunion.
He was just reaching up when the crooning sound turned into an ear-splitting screech and the tree shook violently. Paris lost his footing and grabbed for a branch with both hands. Again came the awful
noise, and again the tree shook. Paris clung on desperately, finally managing to get one knee hooked over the branch. His head dangled down and he couldn't help