The Elder Gods

by David Eddings

  “Maybe it’ll slow down when the tide changes,” Ham-Hand suggested hopefully.

  “I wouldn’t make no big wagers on it,” Ox replied, working the tiller back and forth to get the feel of the current. “This one’s moving faster than any current I’ve ever come up against. I don’t think the tide’s got much to do with it. The seasons might, but it’s a long time till autumn, and we could end up a thousand leagues from home afore winter gets here.”

  “We’re making purty good time, though,” Ham-Hand noted.

  “Are you trying to be funny?” Ox demanded angrily.

  “I just thought I’d mention it,” Ham-Hand replied. “You want I should tell the oarsmen to stand down, Cap’n?”

  “No. Have them swing her so that she’s going bow-first. If she keeps going sideways like this, a good ripple could swamp her. Then have the oarsmen ship their oars, but keep them in place. If we swirl in behind an island or a reef, I’ll want them to dig in and pull us clear.”

  “Aye, Cap’n, if that’s the way you want it,” Ham-Hand replied, tugging his forelock in a salute of sorts.

  It didn’t happen that way, though. The Seagull continued to rush in a northeasterly direction for the next several days, moving farther and farther into unknown waters. The crew was growing more apprehensive as the days slid past. They’d been out of sight of land for more than two weeks now, and some tired old stories involving sea monsters, the edge of the world, demons, and vast whirlpools began to surface. Ox and Ham-Hand tried to stifle those stories, but they weren’t very successful.

  Then on one bright summer afternoon, the current slowed without any warning, and then it stopped, leaving the Seagull placidly sitting on a flat, empty sea.

  “What’s our plan, Cap’n?” Ham-Hand asked.

  “I’m working on it,” Sorgan replied. “Don’t rush me.” He looked at Ox. “How much water have we got left?” he demanded.

  “Maybe a week’s worth—if we ration it.”

  “How about food?”

  “It’s a little skimpy, Cap’n,” Ox reported. “The Fat Man’s been complaining about that for a couple of days now. The Fat Man’s not the best cook in the world, but he does know how to pad up the beans and salt pork with seaweed if things get tight. I’d say that water’s our main problem.”

  “Maybe it’ll rain,” Ham-Hand said hopefully.

  “ ‘Maybe’ don’t drink too good,” Ox said in a gloomy voice. “We’d better find some land, and we’d better find it fast; otherwise . . .” He left it up in the air, but the others got his drift.

  2

  The crew of the Seagull was on short rations for the next few days, but then, on a steel grey morning before the sun rose, Kaldo Tree-Top, the tallest man aboard, shouted, “Land ho!” from the topmast. A shorter man might have missed the low-lying smudge on the eastern horizon, but Tree-Top, well-nigh seven feet tall, saw it quite clearly.

  “Are you sure?” Ham-Hand shouted up to the gangly lookout.

  “Real sure,” Tree-Top called back. “Two points off the port bow, and three, maybe four leagues away.”

  “Go wake Ox,” Ham-Hand told Rabbit, the small, wiry crewman standing nearby.

  “He don’t like to get woke up this early,” Rabbit replied. “It makes him real grouchy.”

  “Just kick his foot and then run,” Ham-Hand suggested. “He’ll never catch you. That’s how you got your name, isn’t it?”

  “I can outrun my own shadow,” Rabbit boasted, “but if I happen to trip and fall, old Ox’ll tromp on me for the rest of the day.”

  “Shinny up the mast,” Ham-Hand advised. “Ox don’t climb none too good. I need to let him know that we’re about to make a landfall.”

  “I’d really druther not, Ham-Hand.”

  Ham-Hand clenched his huge fist and held it in front of Rabbit’s nose. “I’d do a quick turnabout on my druthers if I was you, Rabbit,” he said ominously. “Now, quit complaining and do as you’re told.”

  “Don’t get excited,” Rabbit said, backing away. “I’m going.”

  Ox, however, surprised Rabbit with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. Of course, Ox required a great deal of food and drink because of his size, so an unexpected landfall brightened his entire day.

  The Seagull was at least as fast as her namesake, and by the time the sun came up, the coast ahead was clearly visible. “Go tell the cap’n that we’ve made a landfall, Rabbit,” Ox commanded.

  “Why me?” Rabbit whined.

  “Because I said so. Don’t stand around and argue with me, Rabbit. Just go.”

  “Aye,” Rabbit replied sullenly.

  “He spends a lot of his time complaining, don’t he?” Ham-Hand observed.

  “He runs fast, though,” Ox replied. “He’s sort of timid, that’s all. He’s got a real wide streak of cautious that runs down his back, but if you lean on him some, he’ll do like you tell him—sooner or later.”

  Captain Hook-Beak came forward immediately with a relieved look on his face. “Has anybody happened to see any towns on that coast?” he asked.

  “None so far, Cap’n,” Ox replied. “If we want anything to eat, we’ll probably have to chase it down without no help.”

  “Better find a river or a creek first,” Hook-Beak decided. “Let’s get the water casks filled before we go hunting. Hungry’s bad, but thirsty’s worse.”

  “Not by very much,” Ox said. “If my belly starts growling any louder, the people hereabouts will probably think there’s a thunderstorm coming their way.”

  “Would you look at the size of them trees!” Ham-Hand exclaimed, staring at the thickly forested shoreline. “I ain’t never seen trees that big afore!” Ham-Hand was perhaps a bit overly excitable, but this time Sorgan could see his second mate’s point. The forest stretching up from the beach consisted of huge trees that were twenty to thirty feet through at the butt and rose like huge pillars to a height of at least a hundred feet before they sprouted a single limb.

  “They do seem just a bit overgrown, don’t they?” Ox agreed.

  “A bit?” Ham-Hand said. “You could carve two Seagulls out of one of them trees and still have enough wood left over to cook breakfast.”

  “We can’t eat trees,” Sorgan told him. “Let’s get the water casks filled and then go hunt up something to eat before Ox starts chewing up the sails or the anchor.”

  The Seagull sailed south along the forested coast for a league or so until Ox spotted a wide creek that emptied out into a small bay. Ham-Hand swung the tiller over hard and beached the ship on a sandy strip nearby. Then most of the crew went to work filling the water casks while Ham-Hand led a small party back into the forest in search of game animals.

  The hunting party returned empty-handed along about sundown. “We seen some tracks, Cap’n,” Ham-Hand reported, “and some pretty heavy-traveled game trails, but we didn’t jump nothing worth wasting no arrows on.”

  “We can get by this evening, I expect,” Sorgan told him. “The Fat-Man put out some setlines right after we beached the Seagull, and he brought in some pretty good-sized fish.”

  “I ain’t all that fond of fish, Cap’n,” Ham-Hand said.

  “It beats eating leaves and twigs,” Sorgan said, shrugging. “Did you happen to run across any signs of people back there in the woods?”

  “Nothing I could swear to, Cap’n. Nobody’s been chopping down trees or building bridges or such. There might be folks hereabouts, but they ain’t left no sign. I don’t know as it’d be a good idea to leave the Seagull beached overnight. Might be better if we anchored a ways out, just to be safe. If there do happen to be folks living around here, maybe we should get to know a little about them afore we let down our guard. I sure don’t want to be the main course at no dinner party.”

  “Good point there,” Sorgan agreed. “See to it.”

  The Seagull moved carefully southward along the coast for the next few days. The crew found game animals—wild cows and a very large variety of deer—but the
y didn’t encounter any people.

  “There’s got to be people here someplace, Cap’n,” Ox said one afternoon about a week after they’d first made landfall.

  “Why?” Hook-Beak said.

  “There’s always people, Cap’n—even along the coast of Shaan.”

  “Let’s hope they ain’t like the Shaans—if there are people here,” Ham-Hand put in. “I could go for a long time without meeting folks who eats other folks.”

  “It might just be that we made landfall too far to the north,” Sorgan said. “It’s still summer here, so we don’t really know what winters here are like. It might just be that any people hereabouts live farther south.”

  The Seagull continued south along the empty coast, but an hour or so later Tree-Top called down from the topmast. “Ho, Cap’n!” he shouted. “There’s a village on up ahead. I don’t see no people about, but there’s smoke coming from some of the houses.”

  “You see, Ox,” Sorgan said. “You worry too much.” He looked up at the topmast. “How far off is that place, Tree-Top?” he shouted.

  “Just on t’other side of that sand spit on ahead,” Tree-Top called back. “I kin see some skiffs hauled up on the beach, but nobody’s anyplace near them.”

  “We must have scared them off,” Hook-Beak said. “I think we might want to go in sort of slow and easy. We don’t want to stir anybody up.” He turned. “Ho, Rabbit!” he called.

  “Aye, Cap’n?” the little man replied.

  “Go get that horn of yours and blow it a few times. There’s a village just ahead, and I’d like for the people there to know that we’re coming and that we’re peaceable.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Rabbit said. He went below for a moment and emerged with a large, curled cow horn. He put it to his lips and blew a long, mournful-sounding bleat that echoed back into the dark forest.

  Hook-Beak and the others listened intently, but there was no immediate reply.

  “Try again, Rabbit,” Sorgan said. “See if you can make it sound a little more cheerful this time.”

  Rabbit blew a high-pitched note that ended with an off-key squeak.

  “I think maybe Rabbit should practice some,” Ox said critically. “That one sounded a lot like a cat who just got her tail stepped on.”

  Then from somewhere back in the forest there came an answering note that was quite a bit mellower than Rabbit’s squeak.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Hook-Beak said. “Keep blowing, Rabbit,” he instructed. “Try to make it sound a little friendly, if you can.”

  “I’m doing my best, Cap’n,” Rabbit whined. “Nobody on board likes it when I practice tooting, so I’m sort of rusty.”

  The Seagull rounded the tip of the sand spit, and the crew gathered near the bow to look at the village crouched at the head of a shallow inlet.

  “Not too fancy,” Ox observed. “Mostly sticks chinked with grass.”

  “You weren’t expecting palaces, were you, Ox?” Sorgan asked. “I’m just as happy not to see stone walls and such. We’re only one ship, so we don’t really want to find folks with all kinds of civilization to back them up. It looks to me like we might have found this place before the Trogites did. Tell the crew not to start waving swords and spears. We don’t want to make these folks nervous. Those woods are pretty close to the edge of that village, and I’d rather not sprout a dozen or so arrows while I’m trying to talk to the head man. Take the Seagull on into the bay, Ox, but we’ll drop anchor a little ways out from the beach. I’ll take the skiff on in a little bit closer and then stop. I expect the villagers’ll get my point. I want to talk, not pick a fight.”

  Ox grunted and eased the Seagull on into the inlet. When she was about a hundred yards from the beach, he ordered the crew to drop anchor, and several crewmen lowered Hook-Beak’s skiff.

  “I’ll stay within bowshot,” the captain said to Ox, “but tell the crew to keep their weapons out of sight—unless things start getting sticky.” Then he climbed over the side and lowered himself into his skiff. He set his oars in place and rowed on in a ways. Then he stopped and waited.

  Several people from the village came down to the beach, and they seemed to be holding some kind of discussion. Then a tall, lean man with long blond braids and wearing leather clothing got into a kind of canoe, and the other villagers pushed the canoe into deeper water. Then the blond man paddled out to where Hook-Beak waited. He seemed to be very skilled at it. As he came closer and the men on the Seagull could see him more clearly, Sorgan felt a brief chill. This was quite obviously a man to be taken very seriously. He was quite lean, and his face was hard. It was his eyes, however, that had so chilled the captain of the Seagull. There was a sort of determination there that Sorgan had seldom seen before. When this particular native wanted something, he would almost certainly go to any lengths to obtain it. Sorgan was fairly certain that it was time to walk very carefully.

  “What do you want?” the stranger asked. He didn’t sound particularly belligerent, and Hook-Beak took that to be a good sign. He was just a bit surprised that the other man spoke the language of the Maags. That should make things a lot easier. “We aren’t here to cause any trouble, friend,” he said. “We’re strangers in these parts, and we don’t know exactly where we are.”

  “This is the Land of Dhrall,” the other man replied, “and this is the Domain of Zelana of the West. Does that answer your question?”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of Dhrall before,” Sorgan said. “Of course, we’re a long way from home, and that might explain why. Is this Zelana your king, or something along those lines?”

  “Not exactly. You’ll be meeting her before long, I expect. You’re Sorgan Hook-Beak, aren’t you?”

  “How did you know that?” Sorgan was startled.

  “Zelana of the West told us that you were coming. She said you wouldn’t really know much about Dhrall, so I’m supposed to answer any questions you might have.”

  “How could she have possibly known that we were coming?” Sorgan demanded. “We certainly didn’t intend to wander off this far from the Land of Maag.”

  “But a sea current caught you and brought you here. Wasn’t that what happened?”

  “You seem to know a great deal about us, stranger, and I don’t even know your name yet.”

  “I was just getting to that, Sorgan Hook-Beak,” the tall man said. “I am Longbow of the tribe of Old-Bear, and Zelana of the West instructed me to direct you to White-Braid, chief of the village and the tribe of Lattash. There are three tribes between here and Lattash, and they’ll build fires on the beach to guide you. You can count as far as three, can’t you?”

  “Of course I can.” Sorgan was more than a little offended. “How is it that you came by the name ‘Longbow’?”

  “I’m somewhat taller than the other men of Old-Bear’s tribe, so my bow’s longer.” He held up his bow to let Sorgan see it. He didn’t move it very fast; there was no arrow anywhere in sight, and he was not holding it as if he intended to use it. Both Longbow and Sorgan were being careful not to make any quick moves, since there were probably several dozen arrows pointed at them right now.

  “Nicely crafted,” Sorgan said.

  “It does what I want it to do,” Longbow said modestly. “It hasn’t yet missed at any range.”

  Sorgan assumed that the blond man was boasting, but he sounded so sincere that Sorgan wasn’t entirely certain. “Just how far south is this Lattash place?” he asked.

  “As far as a man can walk in ten days,” Longbow replied. “After you pass the fires on the beach, you’ll come to a narrow inlet that leads on into a fairly large bay. Lattash stands at the head of that bay, and Zelana awaits you at Lattash.”

  Sorgan squinted at the water, making some calculations in his head. “I’m just guessing, but I’d say that the Seagull—that’s my ship over there— should make it in three days.”

  “I wouldn’t take much longer, if I were you,” Longbow advised. “Zelana’s imp
atient, and you don’t want to irritate her. I’m supposed to ask you if the word gold has any meaning for you.”

  “Oh, yes!” Sorgan replied fervently.

  “I wouldn’t know myself, but Zelana told me to say ‘gold’ to you. Have you enough food and water for three days? I don’t think Zelana will let you stop again on your way south.”

  “How’s she going to stop me?”

  “I don’t think you really want to know, Sorgan Hook-Beak. We’ll probably meet again, but for right now you’d better move along as quickly as you can. Things will go better if you do.”

  3

  Did he have any weapons aside from that bow, Cap’n?” Ox asked when Sorgan returned to the Seagull.

  “He had a bundle of arrows and a spear in the bottom of the canoe,” Sorgan replied. “He didn’t touch it, but it was right out in the open where I could see it. I’m pretty sure he wanted me to know it was there. The funny thing about it was that the spear point wasn’t iron. It’d been made from stone instead.”

  “The people who eat other people in the Land of Shaan make their tools and weapons out of stone, too,” Ox said. “That don’t make me feel none too comfortable, Cap’n. Just the idea of getting et makes me go cold all over.”

  “I don’t think these people are that kind, Ox,” Sorgan said. “The fellow in the canoe seemed to be almost friendly. He knew my name, and he wanted to be sure we had enough food and water on board. There’s a place called Lattash about three days south of here, and there’s a woman named Zelana there who wants to talk with us. Longbow told me that there might be gold involved in the discussion. That sort of suggests that the Zelana woman wants to hire people who know how to fight, and she’ll pay good gold to get them.”

  “I ain’t about to start taking no orders from no woman, Cap’n,” Ham-Hand protested.

  “Don’t worry about it, Ham-Hand,” Sorgan told him. “You’ll take your orders from me, just like always. I’ll be the one who deals with this Zelana woman. Hoist up the sail, and let’s go south. There’s a lady down there who wants to talk to me about gold, so let’s not dawdle.”