Lod the Galley Slave (Lost Civilizations) (6 page)

This is a tale of such a beast.

-1-

A ponderous great sloth shuffled through the primeval jungle. He had curved claws of such massive size that they forced him to slide his front paws forward on the sides. It was an awkward gait, not made for speed. The great sloth had the shape of a bear and the size of a mastodon. Like a bear, he could stand up on his hind legs. At such times, he hooked his claws around a tree’s branch and often yanked it lower so he could nibble on the choicest leaves. He stood then over twice the height of a two-legs. He had shaggy fur and skin tougher than link-mail. With his heavy molars, he crushed leaves and tender branches. He had also been known to drive leopards off their kill. Then he scavenged the carrion.

In his passage through the
jungle, the great sloth crushed ferns, snapped branches and brushed off bark as his tough hide scraped against trees. He panted, having shuffled for many hours. The pant was a heavy sound, and saliva dripped from his pink tongue. Despite the slowness of his shuffle, he moved fast in great sloth terms.

He brushed against another giant tree
. The tree groaned and bark trickled down like snow. A loud squawk rose from the great sloth’s shoulder. In the shadows of the primeval jungle, it was hard to determine what had caused the noise. The great sloth turned his head and moaned. It almost sounded like an apology. He tried thereafter not to brush against trees, at least not on that side.

He was not just any great sloth
. He was Old Slow, the King of Great Sloths. Distinct from beasts elsewhere on Earth, Old Slow reasoned in a way akin to two-legs. Perhaps as incredibly, he knew that he and his kind were different. All the higher beasts of the jungle within the radius of the celestial isle, within the radius of its otherworldly magic, had this reasoning capacity. The thinking beasts prized their elevated station. Although they had no script like the two-legs, their ancient legends told of the time of the celestials and the war on the isle. It was in the aftermath of the battle that had brought about the great change. The higher animals here also knew that someday evil-workers would attempt to take away their unique gift. The wisest among them had reasoned that only offspring of the celestials would dare try. Those offspring must surely die so that the beasts of the great primeval jungle could continue to reason, lest great sloths, leopards, wolves and others fall again into the brutishness of their kind in the outer world.

The call had gone out
, for the feared and prophesied day of evil had finally arrived.

Why did it have to be in my lifetime
? Old Slow wanted to know. He didn’t have many years left. He didn’t want this terrible responsibility. Yet he had accepted the mantle of kingship many years ago when he had defeated his father in the mating battle for the queen. Old Slow knew there were younger great sloths eager to fight him for the new queen. Soon one of them might match him in power. Not this year and not the next, but in the year after that he might lose. None of that mattered now because the evil day had arrived.

Intruders had smashed their way through the
jungle. Guardian leopards had died under a hail of spines and barbed darts. Old Slow had snuffled a leopard carcass a day ago. He had sniffed the spines. Worse, the feel of celestial magic had lingered in the air. Old Slow knew then that the messenger had been right. The intruders had brought slave beasts, creatures bound by magic to do the will of the celestial offspring.

Old Slow burst through a clump of ferns and into a riotous field of gorgeous flowers
. The bright colors hurt his eyes. The flowers blazed as if the petals were gold, ruby and sapphire.

The celestial magic from the isle not only gave the higher animals reasoning power, but it had changed the trees, the ferns, flowers and grasses
. They grew perfectly, and the closer the vegetation stood to the isle the healthier they remained.

The squawk earlier made sense now
. An ancient archaeopteryx rode on Old Slow’s right shoulder. The archaeopteryx had a toothed beak and colorful feathers. Its old talons clung tightly to sloth hide. The parrot-feathered archaeopteryx had been the messenger, and now guided Old Slow to the intruders’ camp.

The King of Great Sloths slowed as his head swiveled
. He noticed a gray scar that cut through the field of flowers like a scab. It seemed wrong here, a ribbon of earthen ordinariness in paradise.

The ancient archaeopteryx, three times Old Slow
’s age, squawked a complaint.

Old Slow grunted and increased his pace
. He shuffled through the flowers, crushed the juices from moist stalks. He panted. The flowery odors in his mouth suffocated him, too rich, too intense when all he wanted was fresh air. His eyes stung by the time he reached the gray scar, a stone road. Ancient builders had fitted cyclopean blocks into the earth as if constructing a wall in the ground. No blade of grass or weed grew between the cracks, so tightly fitted were the blocks and presumably so deep did they go. The road was wide enough for three great sloths shuffling shoulder to shoulder.

Old Slow stopped
and stared at the dirt churned upon the road. Animals never stepped on those stones. He spied footprints in the dust and he spied wheel tracks. The intruders had used the road. That was sacrilege.

Old Slow bellowed
, a hoarse sound. Then he continued to shuffle, picked up speed, tore plants and made dirt fly. He soon crested a rise and shuffled down a gentle decline toward a strange object.

He saw
an obelisk of black gneiss, with golden marks inlaid upon its glassy sides. The obelisk jutted upward half the height of the trees. Bones lay around it, gleaming bones and bleached skulls. Wolves often dragged half-eaten carcasses there, leaving the remains as an offering to the Old Ones. Old Slow considered it a barbaric practice, but on that score, the wolves were immune to argument.

The golden marks on the obelisk were cruciform, wedge shapes that were a form of
two-legs writing. The obelisk had four sides and a pyramidal top. Old Slow used to have no idea what the golden script said. None of the animals had, not even the ancient archaeopteryx.

One
of the celestial offspring had read it, however. Several days ago, he had spoken aloud the ancient words. A crow hiding in a nearby tree had overheard. The crow could mimic two-leg speech and was a master of languages.

The words read:

For a distance of one month and twenty-six days, I—Azel—have devastated the districts of Pildash. I spread salt and thorn-bush (to injure the soil). Sons of kings, sisters of kings, members of Pildash’s royal family young and old, prefects, governors, warriors, artisans, as many as there were, inhabitants male and female, big and little, horses, mules, asses, flocks and herds more numerous than a swarm of locusts—I carried them off as booty to Babel. The dust of Tubal, of Heshbon, of Er and of their other cities, I carried it off to Babel
.

A delegation of crows and the ancient archaeopteryx had conferred
. What did the words mean? The key was the name “Azel.” That could refer to no other than Azel the Accursed, the long-ago chief of the
bene elohim
. Azel the Accursed had surely raised the obelisk in his days of glory. The other named places must have been ancient kingdoms destroyed by Azel and his hosts.

With a dip of his head, Old Slow acknowledged what he considered the Wolf Shrine
. The King of Great Sloths knew the old prophecy.
When the golden squiggles of the shrine make sense, then the days of deadly battle lie near
.

Old Slow shuffled past the shrine
. He must reach the others. He must see the intruder camp. Then he would lead the attack.

Why did it have to be in my day
?
I don’t want the responsibility
. Those were thoughts unworthy of a king, but they were his thoughts. He must fight in order to save this unique reasoning capacity for future generations of great sloths, leopards and archaeopteryxes. Old Slow roared hoarsely, seeing no way out of the responsibility. Then he set his head down and shuffled with a will.

-2-

With his massive claws, Old Slow moved a branch. He lowered his snout and squinted into the distance. His eyesight wasn’t what it used to be. He saw the stockade. He also saw movement along the top. Those were indistinct shapes. According to the archaeopteryx, those were soldiers in red armor. It didn’t seem right that the ancient archaeopteryx should see better than he did. The parrot-feathered bird was three times his age. The toothed archaeopteryx—the only toothed bird Old Slow knew—would probably survive many years longer, too.

Old Slow grunted as a chill swept through him
. He hadn’t felt such a thing since his early years as a young male. The older males then, as now, fought for the privilege of mounting a choice female. His loins had stirred back then as the ripe musk of a female in heat had played havoc with his higher thoughts. As a younger bull, he had shuffled out of hiding and challenged an old bull for the privilege of mating with the gorgeous female who had wriggled her rump in a clearing. It had been a short fight. The old bull had smashed him back and forth until Old Slow had bawled in terror. When the old male let him up, Old Slow had slunk away in shame. The feeling he had felt then smashed one way and then another by that great old bull…some of that awful feeling returned now.

From within the
jungle, Old Slow squinted. The brown monster out there had the shape of a great sloth, but moved faster and seemed more dangerous. The beast was huge and moved with a rolling gait.

The archaeopteryx had given Old Slow a name for the creature: cave bear
. The wise old bird had also told him that there had never been a creature like that before. That cave bear was unique, a beast altered by magic.

A few of the dire wolves had seen the
monster several days ago. The wolves believed that big as the bear was that a hardy group of great sloths could slay it.

That was wolf thinking, all right
. Gang up and attack. Old Slow had never ganged up on anyone. But then again, since he had become the old bull, he had never faced creatures bigger than himself. The cave bear out there…

The leopards had agreed with the wolves, which was a first
. The reasons were easy to remember. The offspring of the celestials had strange powers. With enslaving magic, the offspring controlled creatures. The offspring had built that wooden palisade in a day and would shoot spines from it. Unlike porcupine spines, those spines killed.

The leopards wanted revenge for the guardians slain several days ago
. Old Slow just wanted the invaders gone. The cave bear would be a problem.

The longer he stared at the stockade, the more Old Slow came around to the leopard plan
. The stockade was similar to a sea turtle’s shell. To eat the soft meat, one had to crack the tough shell. To kill the two-legs, they had to crack the stockade. Old Slow believed he could tear down those upright logs. Let him get his claws hooked around one and down it would go. The problem would be timing, and if they should wait for more great sloths to arrive. The celestial offspring tore vines off the ancient galley. Once they floated the galley in the bay, it would be too late to stop them from reaching the sacred isle. There they would remove the magic-that-gave-animals-thought.

The giant cave bear waddled into the stockade
. Soon, the gate swung shut with a boom.

Old Slow realized the attack might cost him his life
. He was the king. He had to lead. He had to fight in the front. What he really wanted was to go home. He wanted to mate again, one more time before he died.

A feeling of mortality rose up
. Old Slow almost roared at the pain of it. Death was forever. Never again would he—he eased the branch back into place. What good did mooning about the attack do him? He had lived long. He had been king for many years. Now he must make certain that his sons and daughters would live aware, as he had lived aware all his life. He had to make sure the celestial offspring never floated the ancient galley in the bay. They could not be allowed to reach the sacred isle.

Old Slow shuffled through the
jungle, away from the enemy camp. It was time to make the final adjustments. Near dusk, they should attack after a hard day’s work for the two-legs. They should so this before his desire for life overcame his feeling of kingly responsibility.

He still couldn
’t believe the size of that cave bear.

-3-

Old Slow led the attack. Behind him, seven ponderous great sloths shuffled their paws sideways, tearing apart clods of grass and dirt. They bellowed. They moved like slow-motion rhinoceroses. Old Slow felt pride at their daring. Several were his sons and daughters, one was his granddaughter. The great sloths of the jungle would make sure that no two-legs ever again thought about entering their special land.

The wooden fort reared before them
. It was the shell protecting these soft-skinned, puny two-legs. Old Slow felt the defenders’ terror. The soldiers up there on the ramparts shouted back and forth. Some wore armor. Some were bare-skinned. Those tested bows. Old Slow had listened as crows had told him what bows and spines could do. Two-legs were always clever concerning their toys. They always used tools to aid them. They often laid traps, too. Today, as dusk settled, the wild animals of the jungle would trap the two-legs in their giant bolt-hole.