"You've started an orgy, Captain," she said. "I don't know what I think about an officer that lets his men get out of hand like this."
Valentine cupped her buttocks. "I'll let them be, my hands are rather full of something else at the moment."
"Is that some kind of crack?"
He explored further with his fingers. "No, but this is."
She giggled an un-captainish giggle. "Another bad joke like that and a certain marine of my acquaintance won't get his brains fucked out momentarily."
"We'll talk some more in the bushes." Valentine picked himself up and offered a hand.
"Your tongue's going to be busy elsewhere."
He slapped her mud-covered buttock and followed her into the forest, first running and then walking, until they splashed across the stream and found a clearing, a field next to an abandoned hut, perhaps a former garden. Long grasses and palmettos had supplanted the rich soil's food crops. Valentine was in no mood to search for the perfect glade, especially with Carrasca exploring his hardness from behind, using it like a divining rod to find a spot to make love.
They sank to their knees, tongues exploring one another's mouths.
He found mudless patches of her body to kiss, and explored the rest of her coated skin with his hands. "Val...," she began, and then trailed off into a Spanish-English murmur that grew more and more feral as he pressed her into his arms. She sank limp to the ground. He lay next to her, cradling her and running his hands up and down her body, lingering at her inner thighs. His mouth explored where his fingers left off, and she again took his head in her hands; she
pressed her mons up to his mouth. The salty-sweet feminine musk hardened him beyond self-control, and he rose up from her sex and positioned himself between her legs.
He felt her open for him and he moved inside her, everything inside her warm and wet and magic. Her face grew contorted as he moved in her, ever deeper and faster as their passion waxed. She raked at his back with her nails, sending chips of dried mud flying like a sculptor working with ten tiny chisels. He shut his eyes, lost in his own sensations yet still aware of her. He felt an irresistible, toboggan-ride rush of pleasure, and the draining spasms came.
They drowsed away a few moments in each other's arms, tingling as if joined by a low voltage circuit.
"Another kick in the teeth," he mused, feeling the matted-down grass beneath his back.
"Huh?"
"For Death. There's more than one way to strike a blow for life."
She furrowed her brows, and then evidently gave up trying to figure out what he was talking about. Her hand explored him.
"Blow for life ... and they say men don't come with instructions."
She moved downward, and took his limp penis in her mouth. Tongue and mouth, passionately applied, worked a resurrection.
"That's the spirit," she said, straddling him, coming up for more than air.
The Haitians showed their gratitude when it came time to fill the Thunderbolt with quickwood and provisions. Ahn-Kha and his Grogs supervised the cutting and milling of some of the trees into usable lengths. Smaller saplings were gently extracted by shovel, placed in clay cauldrons or wrapped in layers of dirt and burlap, and ported down to the beach one at a time. As a final gift during a visit to the beach, Papa Legba gave the entire ship's crew each a
leather tobacco pouch with a handful of seeds for new quickwood trees.
"Kur is a dry place," the renegade said when Valentine asked about the seeds. "These will remain dormant for years if kept out of your sun, until placed in moist soil. They grow slowly, so have patience. Let the wood mature, and take only branches if you must."
"We'll see that they end up in the right hands," Valentine promised. "Perhaps someday you'll come north and see the groves yourself."
"No, I'll stay in the warmth and the growing gardens. In a cold climate, I doubt I could survive a winter without... a different means of support."
"Maybe cows would do, or pigs."
"You still do not understand, do you, Valentine? It is the sapient mind that gives us the kind of vital aura infusion that truly satisfies. Each aura has a different flavor: a man enduring hideous tortures, a woman desperate to save her offspring, a terrified child taken in the night all have a distinct feel when absorbed. The 'rush' as you might call it varies- an aura can be consumed in the time it takes to scream, or over the course of many painful hours. There were times when my-"
"Point taken," Valentine said, instinctively balling his fists.
"I forget my manners. Would one discuss cuts of meat or beef stew recipes with a group of cattle? Forgive me, son of mine enemy."
Valentine relaxed, but wanted to end the interview. "Perhaps when I'm old and the winters feel too long, I'll come back to the islands." He met Carrasca's eyes across the glare of the sand, and she cupped the leather pouch suggestively. "I'd like to hear more about Kur, and the other planets in the Interworld Tree."