Lod the Galley Slave (Lost Civilizations) (19 page)

“Four days ago my men found you lying on a beach, tangled in seaweeds. They asked me if you were human or some spawn of a Nephilim. They’d never seen someone muscled like you or with such
burnt skin. They wanted to shove you back into the sea for the crabs to feast on.”

Lod passed a hand over his eyes. “I’m Lod,” he rumbled. “I
recently captained a vessel of war.”

The disaster crashed upon his memories: the splintered wood, the cries of his sailors and the
shock of the cold sea as he’d pitched in. With blood seeping from his scalp and blurred vision, he’d swam to and crawled upon a plank, collapsing in exhaustion. Sharks and worse sea creatures had cruised the crimson waters. Eglon was dead, torn apart by predators. Fortunately, Zeiros had remained behind in Larak. Would he ever see the moneylender again?

“I war against the Nephilim,” Lod said.

The ancient dipped his turbaned head, and Lod saw something odd in his charcoal-colored eyes.

“I’m Zared.” The ancient hesitated and watched Lod closely. When no reaction was forthcoming, Zared said, “I
myself dragged you off the beach and into the litter.”

Lod found that hard to believe. Old Zared didn’t look strong enough
for either task.

“I’ve spooned you parrot-rice soup these past days,” Zared said, “laid cold cloths on your feverish head. Other than carrying your litter,
these warriors, the Holon, want nothing to do with you.”

Lod murmured his thanks.
Before either could speak further, wild screams erupted behind them.

The copper-armed warriors shouted
; sandals pounded and anklets clashed, denoting a larger band than Lod had realized. He swiveled his legs off the silks and put his feet on the ground. Dizziness made his head hurt. He thrust himself upright just the same and then swayed, feeling nauseous.

Huge jungle trees surrounded them.
Thick vines looped from many. Ferns and fronds grew thickly. Lod became aware of the heat and humidity. The screams came from behind the dense foliage, from high in the branches. Then a piece of yellow fruit catapulted out of the trees and smashed against one of the stocky warriors. The sticky fruit dripped from the warrior’s chest in orange streaks. That seemed to be a signal. More fruit rained, along with rocks and sticks. The screams sounded simian. Then Lod spied a huge long-limbed ape swinging through the branches.

The warriors chattered wildly, point
ing at it.

The great ape clambered onto a branch about
fifty feet high. Wood creaked at its weight, which had to be more than thrice that of the largest warrior. The monstrous creature had a low receding forehead and bloodshot eyes set much too closely compared to a human. Its lips peeled back to reveal yellowed tusks. The beast bellowed and jumped up and down so the branch creaked ominously. With its grotesquely huge hands, it stripped off leaves and hurled them down. The triangular leaves fluttered harmlessly to the jungle floor.

Lod scowled, reminded of the terrible
Nephilim ape-creature he’d fought in his younger days in the primeval Zimrian Forests. The great ape up there wasn’t as big or as vile. It was a natural beast like the white apes of the Hanun Mountains.

In any case, t
he beast’s fury grew. And by an odd alchemy—the rumblings in Lod’s stomach perhaps, the lingering effects of fever and the stupefying weeks at sea—Lod had the impression that the ape cursed them in its animal tongue. It was most peculiar.

“The beast wants us to leave,” Lod said.

Zared turned with astonishment. “Do you understand its speech?”

The question startled Lod. “I understand animals.”
One of his secrets to survival long ago as bait had been because of his grimly learned insights concerning the giant canal rats of Shamgar.

“By the spirit of Adam,” Zared declared. “You speak
all
animal tongues?”

The screaming ape, the strange question and maybe the humidity
combined to make Lod wonder if he’d sailed off the Earth’s edge and onto some shadowy realm of unreality.

He
massaged his throbbing head. “No. I understand the beast’s actions.”

Zared scrutinized him.

One of the tattooed warriors gained his courage and bellowed at the ape. That warrior had the most copper bangles, and he jangled as he charged, cocking his throwing arm. He had a black spear of oggo-wood.

Zared whirled around, and by it, he show
ed more agility than someone his age should have. He barked a command.

The warrior almost cast his spear. At Zared’s voice, however, the warrior stopped
, lowering his arm. The man glanced back at Zared, and he spoke meekly.

The great ape watched
the interplay with transfixed attention.

For a moment it appeared to Lod as if the beast understood what occurred
: that the white-bearded ancient had saved its life. The ape hooted at Zared, but it didn’t seem to be a sound of derision, but apish thanks instead. The hairy beast thereupon faced the jungle, screamed and leaped for a hidden vine. He let loose another scream, an authoritative sound.

Other hidden apes quit bellowing. No more
rotten fruit sailed out of the jungle and the rain of sticks and stones ceased. In their place came the sounds of creaking branches and heavy bodies that slapped against giant leaves—the sound of the great apes retreating.

“They’re leaving,” Lod said.

“There will be peace between us now,” Zared said with a grin. “We spoke different tongues, the ape and I. But we came to an understanding.”

The feeling of unreality intensified,
as if this jungle obeyed principles oddly altered from those Lod knew. It made him uneasy, made his powerful hands twitch.

Zared nodded knowingly.

“You’ve recovered enough of your strength, I think. You can depart if you wish. The Holon have sworn to protect me to the finish, and their vows are irrevocable. Probably there is nothing but death ahead for all of us. If the legends are true, and I most certainly think they are…”

“What legends?” Lod asked.

The old one looked into his eyes, an uncomfortable scrutiny. There was a strange vitality to Zared, a hidden force of will. The old one’s gaze bored into his, seemed to tunnel into his soul. Lod wanted to shake his head, but found he could not. The gaze bored deeper still, with authority.

Zared now spoke in a low almost hypnotic voice. “You said you warred against the Nephilim. Whom did you fight?”

Lod found that his tongue and lips had become numb. Those eyes…they seemed to make it hard to think. He murmured, “We sailed for Poseidonis against its First Born.”

“What happened to your ship?”

“Kraken,” Lod mumbled. His eyelids were heavy.

“Your will is strong, Lod, maybe as strong as your muscles. Tell me about the kraken.”

Lod fought the sleepiness. He struggled against those dark eyes. They seemed to peer into him, to—No! A second time he tried to shake his head and found that he still could not. That stirred an ember of rage in him. He fanned it by a litany of silent oaths. Unreality, a shadowy realm— With a wrench of effort, Lod tore his gaze free of the old man. It left him panting, his knees wobbly and him enraged.

“I’m sorry,” Zared said, and he clapped Lod on the shoulder. “I should not have tested you so soon. But you have little time left. Even one like you—”

“Make sense, old man,” Lod said.

Zared chuckled dryly before he turned to the blue-tattooed warriors and chattered rapidly. Those
carrying bags flung them down and dropped packs. Others began to pick up sticks and others gathered the ape-thrown fruit that littered the ground.

“Are you hungry?” Zared asked.

Lod realized he was ravenous. He nodded sullenly.

“Then let us eat.” Zared clapped his hands, and the primitives hurried to their particular tasks.

***

A fire crackled. A log popped and exploded with fiery sparks that were borne upward on a heated draft. Dismal cries echoed around them in the dark, together with the whir
r and chirp of thousands of nighttime jungle insects.

Zared half-reclined upon a canopied litter set before the fire. The old one sipped yellow date
wine from a goblet and nibbled on stripes of yak meat. Despite the jungle warmth, a blanket lay over his thin legs while he propped himself upon silk cushions. Beside him sat a strange brazier, a small portable pot set on a tripod. The pot was an enclosed container of black iron with a sooty grill, and it possessed an ivory-covered handle. Embers glowed within, and two times now Zared had taken black lumps from a bag, opened the grill and tossed them within. It might have been Lod’s imagination, but the flames seemed to devour the coals with greedy speed.

Lod
sat cross-legged with the oldest warriors. He towered over them like a bear among wolves. They circled the main fire, younger warriors acting as servants and guards. Lod and the seated warriors had consumed the thrown fruit. It had a sharp but tasty tang. They had gnawed on the stringy flesh of sloth, garnished with fire-crisped locusts and downed with many cups of beer. The younger warriors had apparently contented themselves with sticky rice balls.

Lod now leaned over and forked more meat out of
a large copper pot and onto his wooden plate.

The warriors nearest him grinned and nudged one another. They seemed to delight in his prodigious appetite. Otherwise, the older warriors waited silently, at times glanced sidelong at Zared. The old one stared into the flames. The flickering light gave his
elderly features a sinister appearance, like one of the mummified dead with well-preserved, leathery skin. Only the occasional twitch of his fingers, as they gently fluffed his beard, gave any hint of life.

Lod fingered his wooden cup.
The canopied litter, the special goblet, the wine and the way these primitive warriors revered the old one—

“Are you their king?” Lod asked.

Zared blinked like one waking from a long slumber. It brought animation to his wrinkled features. His neck seemed to creak and he turned toward Lod.

“Eh?” Zared asked.

“They treat you as their king,” Lod said.

“No,
Zared said, “as their patriarch. Kings are a Nephilim invention.”

“I’ve never heard that.”

Zared smiled sadly. “There is much I’m sure you haven’t heard.” He took a deep breath, blinked again and glanced at the goblet in his hand. He set it aside, and he spoke: “You thought it strange before when I wondered if you knew the ape’s tongue.”

Lod kept his face impassive as he silently congratulated himself on picking up a knife earlier. There were too many strange occurrences here.
If his watery ordeal hadn’t left him so weak …

“I can read certain thoughts easily enough,” Zared was saying. “A man’s face is a map. It often betrays him.” He arched an eyebrow at Lod. “For instance, you’re wondering if you could fight your way free
of us.”

Lod scowled and glanced at the squat warriors around him. He could certainly defeat any three of them, but an entire band
just now… They would pull him down as a baying pack of war-hounds would a wounded sabertooth.

“Do not fear,” Zared said, “they do not speak or understand Elonite.
They are well disposed toward you because I am.”

“Are you a sorcerer?” Lod rumbled dangerously.

Zared ignored the question. “I am very old. It has given me years to study others. In terms of age, you’re a child to me.”

Lod grunted moodily, not liking that.

“But to return to my point,” Zared said. “Apes are certainly beasts. They do not speak as men. Yet was that always so?”

Lod shrugged. He wore a leather vest and breeches, with sturdy boots,
all gifts from Zared. The garments made Lod seem like a hireling of Larak, one of the hinterland tribesmen from the mountains. He’d accepted a scarlet band as well and had tied it around his forehead to keep the shaggy hair out of his eyes.

“In the beginning Adam named the animals,” Zared said. “I have heard it theorized that he could speak with them, and some
beasts could speak with him. That gift undoubtedly died in the garden, as so much else perished there.” Zared’s smile waned. “How could that have any bearing on us today, eh?”

Lod had no idea, although talk about Father Adam interested him.
It also made
him
better disposed toward Zared.

“
I believe it has bearing because we have reached the farthest radius of Yggdrasil,” Zared said solemnly. “Perhaps you cannot feel it—although perhaps you can or did. It is a strange sensation…otherworldly.”

Lod sat up.

“Ah,” Zared said, “you
did
feel it.”

“Is that what makes the boiling sea?” Lod asked.

Zared must not have heard the question, for his gaze returned to the flames. It seemed as if the animation drained out his dark eyes and into the fire.