by Inmon, Shawn
Doken-ak pitched face forward, a short bolt sticking out the back of his neck. When he hit the ground, two men reached him. The first one raised a heavy stone ax and slammed it down on his head.
Doken-ak!
Sekun-ak took one step toward his fallen tribemate when Alex grabbed his arm and pulled him on.
“He’s gone,” Alex panted. “We will be too if we don’t run now!”
Sekun-ak lingered for one long second before turning toward Alex and Monda-ak. Then they ran.
The gate behind them slowly opened and men poured out, racing toward them. They were well behind, though. Only the two guards were close enough to do immediate damage. One of them attempted to fire his crossbow on the run, which was an ineffective strategy, sending its bolt twenty feet high of its intended target.
THE SECOND MAN STOPPED, braced his feet and fired. That bolt hit Sekun-ak in the right ear, causing a spurt of blood, but no further damage.
Both Alex and Sekun-ak shed their packs. They knew that anything that slowed them even a second could mean the difference between death and returning home to report what they had found.
They sprinted toward the edge of the field and turned the corner onto the path they had followed.
Alex immediately jumped behind a tree and signaled Sekun-ak to continue on, which he did. Alex flashed a hand signal to Monda-ak, who crouched into an attack position. Alex heard the pounding of feet and held his stone hammer in his right hand. The tree would not hide him completely, but he hoped it would give him a moment’s time.
As the first man ran around the corner, Alex stepped out and swung his hammer in a low, flat arc. It connected with the man’s hip. He fell to the ground, screaming.
The second guard was not as fast and was more cautious—alerted by the first man’s screams of pain. He slowed as he rounded the blind corner and raised his reloaded crossbow. He pointed it at Alex.
Before he could release his bolt, a massive blur of fur and teeth leaped from the woods, knocking him flat. The man instinctively pulled the trigger, but the bolt whizzed uselessly into the air.
Monda-ak crushed the man beneath his weight and looked to Alex for his command.
Alex gave the hand signal and Monda-ak closed his powerful jaws over the man’s head and crushed his skull. The man Alex had hit with his hammer lay writhing on the ground. Alex stepped to him and dispatched him the same way that man had killed Doken-ak.
Alex turned to see Sekun-ak behind him with his own ax raised. Their blood was high, but for the moment, there was no one left to fight. In another moment, there would be too many for the three of them to battle.
The two men and Monda-ak turned and ran.
The rest of the pursuing Denta-ah tribesmen came around the same corner and found the two dead men. They left them and chased after their prey, although they ran more cautiously, knowing their prey fought back.
Alex and Sekun-ak ran ahead, wanting nothing more than to put distance between themselves and the Denta-ah. As they ran around another bend in the road, they were stopped by a large tree that had fallen across the trail. Standing behind the tree were six more Denta-ah warriors armed with crossbows.
Alex looked left and right. The Denta-ah had chosen their ambush spot carefully. A steep hill rose to the left and a large boulder blocked their escape to the right.
Alex flashed a hand signal at Monda-ak, who tore up the hill to their left. One of the crossbowmen turned and unleashed a bolt at him, but he had underestimated how fast the dog could run uphill. The bolt fell short and a moment later, Monda-ak was lost in the trees.
The pursuing warriors caught up and Alex and Sekun-ak were trapped.
“Weapons on the ground,” one of the men said from behind the log.
Alex and Sekun-ak exchanged a glance but knew they were in a helpless situation. They both dropped their clubs and hammers. The warriors who had been chasing them picked up the weapons and tied their hands behind their backs with cord.
One by one, the bowmen clambered over the log. They surrounded their prisoners and marched them back toward Denta-ah.
When they reached the clearing where they had been ambushed, Alex whistled three times—two short and one long. That told Monda-ak to stay hidden, but nearby. The guard behind Alex cuffed him in the back of the head.
Alex ignored the blow but looked around the open space for Doken-ak. Or, more accurately, Doken-ak’s body.
The workers who had been turning sod in the field had been reassigned and were dragging the bodies of the victims of the massacre away. Alex saw Doken-ak’s lifeless body being drug carelessly by the heels. His blood boiled, but he knew there was nothing he could do other than get himself killed.
I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, my friend.
The guard who had hit Alex pushed him along toward the gate, which was now partially open. Alex and Sekun-ak stepped through and into Denta-ah.
Alex tried to look everywhere at once.
As he had suspected, there was a platform with ladders that were attached to the log wall. Immediately behind the wall was something Alex had seen only in drawings and movies: A trebuchet. A type of catapult, a trebuchet could fling heavy objects across a great distance, causing tremendous damage.
Of course. I should have realized. That’s how they destroyed Stipa-ah. They carried it in pieces, assembled it on the lakeshore and lobbed burning projectiles onto the village. They would have no defense against that. If they tried to come off the island to defend themselves, they would face the same problem someone had attacking them—they could only do it single file. They bombed them into submission.
IN HIS MIND, ALEX PICTURED them doing the same in Winten-ah. Their caves were not as vulnerable to that sort of attack as Stipa-ah had been, but it would still be the likely end of the tribe. A single burning projectile flung into one of the large caves would kill dozens of Winten-ah.
Alex didn’t know the exact population of Winten-ah, but looking at the amount of activity and people moving around in Denta-ah, he estimated that there were five or six of them for every person in his tribe. He guessed that this open area had once been used much like the open space in front of the cliffs at home. Now, it looked more like the headquarters for an army.
The guards continued to push Alex and Sekun-ak along, while Alex dug his heels in to try and get a better look around. He didn’t know if he would ever get back to Winten-ah, but if he did, he wanted to have good intelligence to share.
On his left was a long, low lean-to filled with weapons. Back at the cliffside, there was a room he thought of as the armory, but it was mostly to keep weapons for hunting, the guards in the trees, and trips to the ocean for karak-ta eggs. This was something else entirely.
There was row after row of not just heavy spears, atlatls, and cudgels, but crossbows and what looked very much like longbows. Alex had contemplated introducing longbows to the Winten-ah, but there were no yew trees—which make the best longbows—in the area.
When he had broached the idea with Sekun-ak, he had asked why such a thing was needed. Alex hadn’t been a good salesman on the idea and so it had languished. Here, though, the idea had found more fertile ground. Alex had read once that elms could be treated to make a good longbow, but he didn’t know enough about the process to implement it.
Before Alex could look around anymore, he was pushed into a small building. Inside, there was a guard on either side of the door and a long table serving as a desk. An open window let light in on each side. On the wall beside the window was something Alex hadn’t seen since he stepped through the door: a series of maps.
They were nothing like the maps at home, but they were still maps. They appeared to be made on the tanned hide of an animal stretched tight, then sketched on with charcoal. Alex wanted to get closer, to see what was being mapped, but the guards pushed him to stand in front of the table.
The only other person in the room was the man who had given the order to execute the traveling party. He looked
at Alex with intense, bright eyes. The eyes of a fanatic.
Aside from that, he looked like any of the people in Kragdon-ah. He was very tall, with dark skin and dark eyes.
He pointed at Sekun-ak. “Take him away. Put him to work in the fields.”
One of the guards stepped forward and put an arm around Sekun-ak’s neck. He struggled against the guard and struck the man in the face with the back of his head, bringing a spray of blood. The second guard calmly stepped forward and slammed his cudgel into the side of Sekun-ak’s head. He dropped in a heap. The guard with the bleeding nose kicked him hard in the ribs, then the two of them hauled him away.
When they left, two more guards stepped through the door and took their place.
“Sit,” the man at the desk said. “I am Dunta-ak.”
Alex did not feel like sharing social niceties with a man who had just killed his best friend and ordered another one carried away into slavery.
“I know what you are. I just do not know your name.”
“I am Manta-ak.”
“Are you? You do not look like a Winten-ah. You are short. Your skin is an unpleasant color. Your eyes are an ugly color.”
Again, Alex stared at him with no answer.
Dunta-ak raised his voice and said, “Doug-ak, come in.”
The man who had peered over the wall at him entered. He was a fiftyish man with blond hair combed over to cover a balding head. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, a blue button-down shirt and khakis. He looked soft, a little pudgy. It had been more than three years since Alex had seen anyone overweight.
“Doug-ak, this man says he is Manta-ak.”
The man looked at Alex’s Winten-ah clothes and long hair. “Gone native, have you?” The man spoke in English. In fact, he had the remnants of an English accent. “Did you think you were the only one? Dear boy, where there’s one, there will always be more.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Douglas Winterborne
Alex had known from the beginning of the journey that there was almost certainly someone like this. A man who had found his way to this time and place and who wanted to change what he found. Still, sitting in front of him—seeing his mode of dress, hearing him speak in a language Alex rarely spoke—was an unsettling experience.
The man walked across the room and sat beside Dunta-ak. He glanced at him, then leaned forward and said, “Don’t worry. As long as we speak English, he can’t understand a word we say. Forget about all this Doug-ak nonsense, too. I’m Douglas. Douglas Winterborne.” He smiled at the man and touched two fingers to his forehead.
Dunta-ak returned the gesture.
“Savages. They’re all ignorant savages. Who is afraid of progress? Who doesn’t want to make their own lives easier?”
“People who know that stama nearly destroyed the world.” It was no accident that Alex chose stama instead of technology, or progress. When he had first arrived in Kragdon-ah, he had felt that the Winten-ah’s aversion to using the tools he had brought was stupid and backward. As he had lived with them and watched their lives, he had changed his mind.
He was a guest in their world. Why should he try to change what they believe?
“You really have gone native, haven’t you? What’s your background? What year was it when you crossed over the threshold?”
Alex considered not answering, but remembered he was a prisoner that could be put to death as easily as Doken-ak had been. If he was dead, then this whole journey had been for nothing and the Winten-ah would be unprepared for whatever was coming next.
“I was in the Army.”
“Specialist of some kind?”
“Just a grunt.” No need to tell him more than that.
Douglas’s mouth twitched in obvious disappointment. “Well. I see. What year did you cross?”
“It was April of 2019 when I walked through the door.”
“And how long have you been here?”
Alex didn’t care for this intense line of questioning but couldn’t see any harm in answering.
“Three and a half years ago.”
“And what have you accomplished in those years?”
Accomplished? I stayed alive, so I can get home to my daughter.
“I learned the language, the customs. I became a hunter.”
“Once a grunt, always a grunt, right?”
“That’s what I hear.”
Douglas sighed and leaned forward. “When I heard there was someone like me, I was so hopeful. I know many things, but no man knows everything. I was hopeful you would be able to fill in some gaps.”
“I’ve been a disappointment to people all my life.”
“Yes,” Douglas said, drawing the word out as he contemplated Alex. He turned to Dunta-ak and switched to the universal language.
“This man is of no use to us, aside from his strong back and weak mind. Put him to work in the fields.”
Dunta-ak said something Alex could not understand, and the two guards grabbed him from behind and hauled him out of the room.
Alex hoped that they would take him into the village proper so he could get a better idea as to the size and strength of the town, but he was led out to the fields where men and women alike were turning soil using crude shovels. He was relieved to see Sekun-ak bent over a shovel as well. A blood trail ran down his neck, but he seemed to be fine.
The guard handed Alex a shovel and pointed to a row. It wasn’t hard for him to decipher what his job was to be. He put his weight on the tool and turned the first of many thousands of shovelfuls of Denta-ah dirt.
As he worked, Alex kept a steady eye on the forest line. Before too long, he saw what he expected—Monda-ak broke out of the trees and ran straight toward him. As he dug, Alex gave two short, sharp whistles he knew would reach the dog’s ears. Monda-ak stopped and looked questioningly in Alex’s direction. Again, Alex gave the two short whistles.
Monda-ak turned, ran back into the forest and disappeared into the underbrush.
THE LIFE OF A SLAVE laborer in Denta-ah was not a pleasant one. They slept shoulder to shoulder in a lean-to outside the city gates. They were exposed to both the elements of the approaching winter and the possibility of animal attacks. Sekun-ak and Alex organized a rotating sentry detail.
Guards awakened them before first light, and they were only given a weak stew to eat morning and night.
Alex was not allowed back through the city gates for any reason.
The other slaves were primarily from Stipa-ah, and they had only been captured the day before Alex, so they didn’t know much more than he did. Some of the others had come from other tribes and had been there longer.
One tall, strong man said his village had been destroyed before the summer solstice and he had been working ever since. His first job at Denta-ah had been to help cut down the trees that made up the formidable wall. He said that when he first arrived, there was only a small fence that ran in front of the village and that it had been farther back than the wall that was built. Moving the wall out gave them additional room to work in safety.
The man said both he and his wife had been captured together, but that he had only seen her once since they had arrived. She had told him that she had been put to work creating the bolt shafts that were used by the crossbows. She also said that there were ten more just like her, working all day every day to make various weapons.
Denta-ah was preparing for a war the other tribes would not be ready for.
When they worked in the fields, they were required to be silent, but the first night, Alex found an old man who had been captured at Stipa-ah.
He asked him questions in the universal language of Kragdon-ah.
First, he found that the man thought the trebuchet, which he called the long arm, was magical.
“When they fired the long arm, did they use men to pull it down, or load it with rocks?”
“Men pulled it down. They set heavy stumps on fire, then the long arm threw them into our village.”
A t
raction trebuchet, then. That makes it easier to transport than a counterbalance. Smart.
“Did they just show up and throw fire at you?”
“Our guards saw them as they approached the lake. We watched as they surrounded us and built the long arm. We thought we were safe behind the water. Everyone was inside the village and we knew we could defend the island if they attacked us. We had never seen anything like the long arm and didn’t know what it would do. They did not talk to us. They rained fire on our village.”
“How many times did the long arm throw fire at your village?”
“I don’t know. Five times, six, seven. It was hard for us to understand what was happening. Our own defense, the water that surrounded us, trapped us. We did not know it was possible for someone to reach us from the land. We thought we were safe. When we realized we were not, it was too late. Our warriors and hunters ran to the battle, but their line was thin. They could only run single file. They were slaughtered as soon as they stepped off the path.”
“How did they kill your warriors? Did they fight them hand-to-hand?”
“No. They stayed back. They shot them with short arrows before they stepped off the path. The bodies of our warriors were piled high. We did not kill even one of them. Stama.”
“We found the bodies of the dead in the middle of the village.”
“They made us carry the dead there and leave them. They said we could carry the bodies or be killed ourselves.”
“We buried them, so the animals would not find them.”
The old man, who had been losing interest in the conversation, laid his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Thank you. That makes it easier to think about. We all will die, but I didn’t like to think about our brave men left to the scavengers.”
Each day, as Alex worked, he saw Monda-ak appear at the tree line, look at him, ask for permission to come to him.
As they turned more and more soil, they moved away from the gate to Denta-ah.
On the fifth day, Alex estimated that they were out of range of the crossbowmen who stood atop the gate. That left only the two other guards who watched over them.