by K. T. Tomb
John dumped the sack filled with meat that he was still carrying on the beach as the party of five crossed the tree line. He thought better of it, and replanted the opium and now quite stinking meat into one of the pits the crew had dug for a cooking fire and loaded up the kindling again. The opium wrapped in the meat was useless for sale now, at least he thought so. Burning it as an offering seemed primitive, but there was a sense that it was the right thing to do nonetheless, this strange primal meat mixed with the black gold that so many men had fought and died to control and export and import and exchange for silly pieces of paper. Burn it as thanks to whatever lived beyond the window, burn it in the traditions of the ancient Jews, burn it to Allah and Vishnu and Shiva the destroyer.
Out to sea, the Nannie Dee bobbed at anchor, the incoming storm apparently veering away to the south shortly after Sykes and his party had entered the forest bordering the beach. Unmolested by the tempest, the dozen crewmen left behind had made excellent time with their repairs to the ship’s mast and were sure, they said, that by the morrow they could be on their way. As the sun set over the beaches to the west, the late light was joined by a single flame on the sands which illuminated the last row boat of men to leave this land of the dinosaurs, and flickered across the great decomposing corpse of the giant predator they had slain. The dinosaurs could keep their sanctuary land, their second Eden. No man would speak of it that bore witness—who would possibly believe such a tale, if it were told?
Epilogue
The Nannie Dee coasted over sweet seas with a stiff wind from the west, running before the breeze and showing no signs of suffering after her maimed main mast had been replaced.
As she tacked on the wind, the crew saw the isle that had cost them so many of their fellows recede. From a distance in the daylight of the new dawn, they could see it was indeed an island, part of no chain as far as they could see; a remote speck in the Indian Ocean that would be overlooked by most ships and a death for any that landed to exploit its wealth. The crew of course had to switch to double shifts to maintain the captain’s required watch pattern, but if they resented any of it, John heard nothing as he worked the sails with his team, scrubbed the decks with Rajeev and ate from Montgomery’s table.
The first night at sea saw the return of the familiar stars, and the crew celebrated with as grand a feast as their supplies would allow. Food was not a great issue in the stores, seeing as there was a diminished crew, but with a number of the men for whom alcohol was haram, fresh water was always an issue. By the tenth morning, there was barely a thimbleful for each thirsty mouth, and yet the land that Captain Sykes was sure must lie to the east was nowhere to be seen. He spent most days poring over his maps, and despite now having at least some idea where they were; somewhere around the equator, and heading north by northeast, there were still no signs of the anticipated landmasses of Indo-China. His brow furrowed more and more regularly, and the crew became disheartened to see their captain so vexed. Dr. Pikeham tried his best to assist him in the mathematical calculations of latitude and longitude, but with no idea where the island of dinosaurs lay all of their guesses were words in the falling wind.
Becalmed at sea is the worst fear of the seaman. All sailors had heard tell the legends of sailors being trapped without wind, without water, without land for so long that they slowly go insane through dehydration and hunger until, inevitably, murder takes the mind of men with cannibalism on its tail. John had heard these stories from his crew mates as they had set out from Mangalore and had at first laughed despite himself, through his nerves, which did not endear him to his stonily faced new comrades. His own laughter rang hollow in his memory. Many of the men who had spoken of those tales at port were now dead, destroyed by the dinosaurs. What would they do now if they were here? The water would have run out long ago, and the parched, split lips and raw throats would have been doubled. Would any of them have slit John’s throat now to become the abomination in order to survive? He hoped not, for the sake of their karma, and his own if he had been turned into the beast himself in their stead.
On the fourteenth day, Little Gupta came down from the crow’s nest. The last of the supply of water was used to refresh his throat enough so that he could speak. After some minutes and with all the crew surrounding him, he said two words. “Land ho.” A thin trail of smoke appeared visible to the east over a shimmer of green heat haze. Civilization, at last. The Nannie Dee bobbed achingly slowly toward salvation, toward life and fresh water.
From the shores of the island, many eyes looked out to sea from branches of trees as her sail appeared. Glances, hoots and hand signals were exchanged, and troops of warriors spread the word. Humans were coming.
The End
The adventure continues in:
Ape Island
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APE ISLAND
by
K.T. TOMB
Islands That Time Forgot #2
Ape Island
Published by K.T. Tomb
Copyright © 2015 by K.T. Tomb
All rights reserved.
Ape Island
Introduction
Abedour Castle
Fife, Scotland
Savannah Summers had already spoken for forty-five minutes and to everyone in attendance at the lecture; it was clear that she was just getting started.
“As I mentioned before, Oliver Pikeham was an author. It is true that he had worked very closely with Darwin on almost all of the famous anthropologist’s literary works up until that point, but writing scientific journals was not Oliver’s passion. No, he was a creative man who enjoyed the folkloric tales and poems. The Mabinogion, the Prose Edda, the ancient mythical stories of Greece; they all fascinated him and his writing style was formed by these great works.
“His favorite, of course, was the poem of Beowulf, which Oliver quoted relentlessly and to the despair of anyone who was around him for too long. Many of us know the original form of Beowulf to be mentally exhausting to read much less comprehend. But as he put his pen to paper sometime during the year 1867, our founder created a story that was well ahead of its time and nearly broaching on the prophetic.
“He wrote of a time when technology had overrun and destroyed the lives of men as they had known it, plunging them into a strange, post-apocalyptic era in which the Earth was spoiled and very little resources remained.
“In a desperate need to even the scales, magic had made a resurgence and there were people who could once again harness the forces of nature. Still, Oliver could not leave the words and lessons from his favorite poem behind and, at every chance he could, he drew parallels between what was happening in this brave new world and that which had taken place in Beowulf.
“In his novel, the people are desperate to escape the invincible beasts that threaten them and find a new home for themselves. They send out scouting ships in hopes of discovering new lands which are not ‘spoiled.’ Their very survival depends on the success of one of these voyages.
“But, as is common in human society, bureaucracy and fear seem to have paralyzed those who lead them, and it will take someone standing tall to finally get something done.
“Enter, Captain Jarreth, a man who is already on a thin line with the law. He must decide whether he would rather break the rules in order to find the safe haven his people need so badly—or risk never fulfilling that destiny in the name of playing it safe.
“As explorers, scientists, technicians, specialists and so on, that is a challenge we all face every day and a choice we make more often than we’d like to admit. It doesn’t always work out the way we hope it will, but it’s very interesting to see how things worked out for Jarreth and his crew on Ape Island...”
Prologue
When our Teutonic ancestors migrated to Britain from the continent of Europe, they brought with them the heroic songs which their minstrels were accustomed to, celebrating the deeds of their kings and warriors. It is a practice that has been taken up by
every walk of humanity the entire planet over at one point in history or another.
Various social practices of the times are recorded in such works and often there can be found short descriptions of the recitations at feasts made by important persons in attendance at these kinds of lays. Perhaps as early as the seventh century of our era, after the introduction of Christianity, an unknown poet gathered material from these lays and composed the epic of Beowulf.
Besides the stories, he took from the older songs their metrical form and many features of style; but how far he retained their actual language there is no longer any means of knowing. He must have added a good deal of comment and reflection; and the structure of the epic is certainly due to him. He did not sing or chant to a harp as his predecessors in the treatment of this material had done; he wrote a book to be read. ‘Beowulf’ is thus not folk-song, but belongs to a much more conscious and developed stage of art than the popular ballad.
The exploits narrated in the poem belong to the life of Germanic peoples before they crossed the North Sea, and at least one of the characters can be identified with a historical personage. Hygelac was the Danish king, Chochilaicus, who was killed in a raid into the countries near the mouth of the Rhine, around 520 A.D.; and as he was the uncle of Beowulf, this fixes approximately the date for the historical prototype of our hero. But the events of the poem are legendary, not historic. The fights with monsters and dragons, which occupy so much of the poem, are clear evidence of the large extent to which the marvels of popular tradition had attached themselves to figures whose historical identity had already become shadowy.
Some scholars have even tried to interpret the persons and events of the poem as mythology; and while one cannot deny that mythical elements may have become interwoven, the poet believed his hero to be thoroughly human, and his foes to be such ghosts and monsters as are still believed in by the peasantry in many parts of Europe.
Chapter One
Jarreth looked down at the log book in his hands.
He examined the coordinates one more time. Straight off the prow, the air shimmered and rippled. The particular veil he was seeking was one for which he had spent years searching. As the captain of a black crew, he was responsible to no one. The life as a renegade suited him fine. He was free—free of giving away his hard-earned knowledge, treasure and discoveries.
My freedom is the source of my wealth. And my sorrow. And is the reason I’m here. Again. Let’s hope this ends better than the last time.
He gave the signal to his sentient. They had complete faith in one another, as only a captain and a sentient could. The sentient held his peculiar compass in his hands, tilted his head back and slightly to the right and focused. The air around the sentient began to shimmer and ripple as well. Indeed, he had started to reflect the veil. All of a sudden the Veiled Lady—the name of Jarreth’s ship—began to inexorably move forward. Slowly, deliberately, the ship was pulled into the veil. The crew could feel the pressure increase around them, and all they could see were the ripples of color flashing violently through the air around them. Streaks of flame-red and burnt-orange along with the broken, desolate yellow of desert sand were like raptors streaking through the deep, gray-black murk that surrounded them.
The ship shuddered as the prow pushed through the other side of the veil. Every member of the crew, from the three warrior triplets—Haervy, Ingarum and Yvo to the record keeper, Kaerl—were forced to their knees, save the captain and the sentient, as their beloved ship emerged on the other side.
“Gods below, that was one of the worst crossings ever, Cap’n,” said Willem.
Jarreth surveyed the rest of the crew with a comical eye.
“We’ve been through worse. Gather round the main mast now. One final time round the peg the hoop went,” he said in a conspiratorially soft voice.
Hugh, the Sentient, was one of the last to approach. Something about him looked wrong to Jarreth. Jarreth cast a quizzical gaze toward his closest friend, and was met with a tight smile, a nod and a straightening of back that reminded Jarreth of the way the best bows of yew bend and flex and then straighten out again. Strength and flexibility. Aye. Hugh was one of the best, the captain thought to himself.
“Alright,” Jarreth addressed his whole crew as if they were his family. And in a way, to the captain, they were. “We’re through it, right? But that doesn’t mean we’re home yet. In fact, it means the opposite. Hugh, great job getting us through that veil. That’ns a nasty piece of work, and that’s sayin’ somethin’ comin’ from me. Here’s what we do when we land. Haervy and Ingarum take point. Yvo you stay a couple paces further back. Hugh’n me will bring up the rear. Ok. Let’s go,” Jarreth finished.
“Hold up one secon’ there quick-like,” Yvo said. “I’m good with a bow an’ all but here’s th’thing. Wha’ exac’ly should we be ‘spectin’?” he asked.
“Yah—I’m in wi’ me lil brother Yvo there,” Haervy chimed in. “I want tae know wha’ we’re up agin, an’ for ya to make no mistake.”
“Here it is plain,” said Jarreth. “The last time I was here, we found all kinds of…treasure. Gold in hunks the size of wilds wolves. We found gems the size of your fist. And it’s all just out there as if… as if the beings here don’t put any value on it at all.”
“Aye, and those—” But before Hugh could finish, Jarreth silenced him with a look.
The three brothers looked at each other, the gleam of potential riches in their eyes.
Without further discussion, they quit the ship, rowed into the shore, and then preceded through the realm; their feet hot against the soles of their insulated boots as they trekked forward. The world they were in had a strange, red tinge to it, and the air singed their lungs.
“Fill up the chest quick. And once that’s done, prepare to get them back to the ship, with all haste,” Jarreth said.
The crew, looking down, saw that there were rich, wide veins of gold streaking the ground. The rocks, when broken open, were full of gems.
“This place—this is a realm of treasure,” Zeke said to Fatty Squirrel. No one in the crew knew what Fatty Squirrel’s real name was—only that he was short, round, and buck-toothed, which was how he got his alias.
“That it is, Zeke, that it is!” Squirrel replied.
“Would you two shut it and help me to fill up this chest?” Zerra asked.
The two looked at each other, nodded in quick agreement and scrambled to do as she ordered.
The crew filled their chest and began to drag the carts back to where the skiff was beached. They loaded them on board to make the short trip out into the water where the ship was anchored. Out of the reddish gloom loomed a shape that swiftly took off Zeke’s head. An arrow twanged from somewhere behind Zerra, who moved to duck behind her shield, and was impaled on a set of claws twice the length of her thigh. The arrow struck the creature, sending sparks flying into the air. The creature didn’t seem to even notice.
A pair of similar creatures appeared behind Kai, who heaved his treasure-laden chest at the two swiftly approaching reptiles with all his strength. The heavy projectile hit one directly in the midsection, driving it back a few paces.
“Get the rest of ‘em outta here!” he shouted at Jarreth. “I’ll cover you as long as I can!”
“We won’t leave you to face those alone!” Jarreth cried.
“Go!” Kai shouted. “Just go!”
The crew began dropping their filled crates, discarding even their personal sacks of treasure as they made quickly for the Veiled Lady.
As they retreated, Kai turned to face the bipedal reptiles in a direct confrontation. His first two blows came in quick succession, but the hides of the reptiles were hard, oddly pliable—they stretched under the impact, when normal hide would have torn—and almost impenetrable. Destroying his rapiers, Kai discarded the remaining hilts and pulled his single-edged great sword from its scabbard which was draped across his back.
He took a defensive stance, feet shoul
der width apart, the sword held in both hands, directly above his head. His first slash came as a blur. The immense speed behind the blade was generated by the force created when Kai used his body as a fulcrum for the arc of the swing. It bit deep into the shoulder of one of the reptiles and wedged in bone.
The crew made it back onto the ship and Jarreth shouted, “Kai run! You can make it!”
Kai turned to bolt, but the reptile, though still impaled, lashed out with unbelievable speed, knocking Kai off his feet. With a scream of pain and rage, the reptile managed to pull the sword from its shoulder. He then bit down on the back of Kai’s neck, and shook Kai once. The motion was so intense, so purposeful, that Kai’s head was removed immediately from his body.
Chapter Two
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.