The Pearl Savage by Tamara Rose Blodgett

thousandth time,
good Guardian, life was a wreck at present.
    Sleep evading Charles entirely, he
ripped the bedding away from himself and sat up, his naked form pale
against the darkness of the bed linen. He padded over to the wall of
the sphere, its clarity allowing the blackness of the Outside to
permeate his chamber. His eyes roamed the Outside, the Great Forest
an outline of staggered black against a deep sky filled with stars,
the moon on the wane.
    Clara had seen one of them today…
a savage.
    A new thing to worry over.
    Although, curiously, she had said
she sensed no menace in the brief snippet of time they had to regard
each other.
    Their history warned clearly in that
regard, they needed to be ever vigilant with the savages. The
Time Keeper had made it known that they were a people apart, possibly
not even the same species. Charles doubted that. Early sketches
showed them looking very human…if not larger, fiercer . As a
boy, Charles had looked at many hand-written accounts and sketches of
the savages, and they were markedly similar; large men (a
female had never been witnessed), with unkempt hair and clothing (and
from what Clara had conveyed, a shocking lack thereof). Weaponry had
been noted as well: spears, knives and most prominently, bows and
arrows. Charles thought of his own sword practice. It was not
something that was required in his occupation, but was of keen
interest to him. However, there was also the matter of the airways on
the throat Clara claimed to have seen… gills, as a sea creature has. Charles could only surmise that this was in
some way an environmental response to the air quality of the Outside.
He longed to explore Outside, but it also filled him with a nervous
dread. Would he survive? Because breathe he must! Charles understood
Clara had been safe behind the security of the sphere but he had a
disquieting portent of the proximity of the savage. What could
have been the reason for his close approach? Were they being watched?
    He did not like it.
    And what if they possessed salt?
What if they knew the weakness of the sphere’s defenses he thought as
he paced the room.
    Charles went over the events of the
night and how unable he was to protect Clara. The abhorrent Queen
wielded her tyranny over Clara with a singular focus that drove him
mad. Where was her compassion for her own offspring? Charles dreamed
of dispatching her… permanently. The idea swelled in his head, especially acute after witnessing
Clara’s stiff posture. Seeing Olive’s expression, Charles knew what
had occurred. Clara dismissed his concern, accepting the rages as
part of her duties. However, what if Queen Ada lost total control,
deep in the cup as was often? Clara was a small female, her mother
was not. Charles shuddered, Clara said that it was better that
Charles had some contact with her, rather than none. “Do
nothing,” she had said, “so that we may have a friendship. Do not
defend me, or she will never let us consort.” That was all well and
good in theory, but Charles brooded, remembering the bruise that
blossomed on the whiteness of her throat, his fists unconsciously
flexing. He had never wished to harm a female; but the Queen made him
rethink himself.
    Further, Prince Frederic was of a
similar ilk, a male with the same disposition as the Queen, a
terrible reality for Clara.
    Putting a forearm against the sphere
wall, he leaned his head on it, gaze fixed on the Outside, his flesh
sinking into its permeability. How he wondered what it would be like
to breathe fresh air of the Outside; to have answers to the questions
that ricocheted around his skull! To not be surrounded by heat and
steam? He and Clara often spoke in hushed tones of escape and
exploration; she as interested as he. With a curse, Charles swung
around, heading back toward bed. He must get rest, tomorrow was a
full day in the fields with Trading Day one day hence. And…a plan
must be devised to save Clara, his Clara (before he could stop
the