by David Mason
But what troubled Daniel about the heat was the feeling that he could not be as far to the north, and as near the equator, as that. It was queer. But the cross staff told him that he was in the latitude of what would be South Africa. He cursed, and continued to calculate without success.
Watching the thick green of the shore, he saw what he had been seeking—at last, a glittering thread of water, a creek. The water tank was nearly empty.
To the disapproving snorts of the dolphins, the black boat turned shoreward, toward the gap in the trees where the creek met the sea. The oars came out; the boat steered cautiously, slowly inshore and in between the huge trees. Ahead, a broad creek opened, flooding down in a brown torrent.
Rowing up the stream, Daniel cast a bucket in from time to time and tasted the water. It grew fresher as they went on; it would not be too far before they reached the point at which they could fill the tanks.
The trees that hung densely on either side were definitely tropical, he was sure. Bright birds flashed in the green shade, shrieking; once, something large and unseen crashed among the bushes with an immense snort. The others were fascinated; all day they called out to each other, pointing out new wonders. When the water was fresh enough, the boat was moored to a tree, and, as the tanks were filling up, Lali discovered that fruit hung directly over the bow.
It was a brownish green object, which Daniel called a banana, though it did not look much like the ones he himself had known. It was sampled cautiously; it was very good.
“Fruit, by God,” Daniel muttered, peeling another one. He stared into the trees. “It’s worth having a look.”
There was more in the growth along the riverbank; plenty of the brown little bananas, and a variety of other things. Daniel pointed out the ones that seemed safest, and everybody gathered handfuls of the fruit, eating as they gathered. None of them had ever tasted food like this; the gardens of Alvanir were poor things, limited to a few plants that could grow in little sun. They gathered more and more, until it grew too dark to see.
It was too dark to go down river again safely, so the boat stayed moored. A small fire flickered on the stone slab on deck; Daniel, always cautious, told Banar to keep watch for a time, and to call Daniel for the rest of the night. Then he rolled up in the furs beside Ammi; the night was colder than the day had been.
He awoke, yellow light glaring, Banar’s wild shout ringing in his ears. He was on his feet, snatching for the spear that he kept near his hand; behind him, Ammi screamed out a warning.
Torches flared among the trees; figures swarmed close to the boat’s rail. Banar was struggling with a tall man who wore a metal helmet, and whose right hand rose, swinging an axe. As Daniel struck at the man’s axe hand, another helmeted face rose above the rail with a blood-chilling yell.
Chapter III
For a brief moment the deck was a chaos of struggling figures. Then, as Galta and Lali woke too, and hurled themselves onto the invaders, Daniel broke free from the one who had been attacking Banar; he thrust the fellow back against the rail. With a yell, he fell backward into the water, and Daniel whirled around, reaching down into a chest. He saw that the fire on the stone hearth still burned, feebly; he thrust the quill fuses into the red coals. They hissed and spat; Daniel turned and hurled the clay bombs, one from each hand.
Both explosions came so close together that they were almost one. In the thick smoke, shrieks and wild yells erupted and the torches waved about wildly; it was evident that panic was loose.
“Banar!” Daniel shouted, pulling loose the knot that moored the boat. “Row, man! Row!”
He had an oar, and thrust hard at the shore; Banar was already at his own bench, his oar thrust out into the creek. The boat lurched and turned; the current helping, it moved farther out.
Then, a heavy spear thudded into the deck, and another shot overhead. The attackers seemed hard to discourage.
“Galta, take my oar!” Daniel called out. As the other did so, he ran, keeping low, lit another fuse and threw the bomb. This one was a disappointment—it did not explode. Muttering an oath, Daniel lit another and threw it shoreward.
This time there was a highly satisfactory boom, and another wild chorus of yelling.
The stream was broader now; a cautious look told Daniel that the spears hurled from the shore were falling short. He glanced aft and saw Lali gripping the steering post; he grinned and called out to her, indicating their direction.
“Away from shore!” he added, glancing back at the dark trees to see what was happening now.
There were still several torches alight, but not many of the attackers were visible now. Half a dozen of the braver ones still loped along, following the boat and shouting, but the bombs had made a great impression on the others. Daniel wasn’t sure any of them had been killed, but they had certainly been frightened.
They looked light-skinned, big men; most of them wearing a rudimentary body armor and metal cap, and carrying round shields. They were certainly not black; Daniel saw that even by the dim torchlight. An anthropologist would give anything to be where I am, Daniel thought, ruefully amused. White Africans, and quite possibly black Europeans, or Asians, if I get that far.
He turned; the man rose from the shadow of the deck, snarling, weapon raised to strike. Daniel saw the bared teeth and the cold gleam of an edge; then, the other wheezed oddly, a vast exhalation of breath. He leaned forward slowly, the axe sliding from his hand, and fell on his face. Behind him, Ammi lowered the oar with which she had struck him down, and stared wildly at Daniel.
“I’m all right,” he said, then looked down at the prone figure. “He’s… Ammi, you’re a fine hand with that oar.” He grinned at her.
The man groaned, but apparently could not rise. Daniel took a length of line and tied his arms and legs, then left him, to watch the shore again. They had nearly reached the river’s mouth; the pursuit was slackening. Ahead, the starlight showed glimmering on the open sea, past the last trees.
I hope they don’t have canoes, Daniel thought.
As the boat came out and met the first swells, the dolphins flashed ahead; Daniel could hear the noise of their calling voices. But he was in no mood to talk with them yet; he had other things to do. He turned the prisoner over with his foot, and stared down at him.
The man was certainly white; he was as black-bearded as Daniel, with strong features, set in a furious glare. Looking up, he snarled.
“Damned devils!” he said, and spat. “Slave-catchers!”
The word, in Eloran, was not one that Daniel had learned; he stood, looking down at the fellow uncomprehendingly. But Ammi cried out, surprised, “He speaks of slaves?” Then, to Daniel, she explained, “He means… an old word. To make men work, against their will.”
He knew, then.
“Slave-catchers?” Daniel looked down at the man. “We are not that. Who are you?”
“Kama-cho, I am, of the Maka clan,” he answered. His scowl disappeared, replaced by a puzzled look. “You are not men of the west kingdoms?”
“No,” Daniel said. “We come from Eloranar.”
“Eloranar!” Kama-cho’s eyes widened; he said the name with awe.
“But it was said that none lived in the ancient land any longer!” Kama-cho said a little later; he sat rubbing his side, where Ammi’s oar had found its mark earlier.
“We are the last, I think,” Daniel said. “Why did your people attack us? Who are these westerners, slave-catchers?”
“That’s their trade,” Kama-cho said with a snarling grimace. “A dozen times they’ve come along the coast. Men in ships… much like this one, but bigger. Bowmen; they killed some people, took others with them. They want slaves, we think.”
“Do they speak the same language?” Daniel asked.
“Yes, but… not the same,” Kama-cho said, scratching his head. “It sounds different. We caught a couple of them; they said they were from a great western kingdom, on another shore. They were not easy to understand, especial
ly after we had all hit them many times. They talked about their King, who wanted many slaves; that was how we knew about that.”
The world’s improving rapidly, Daniel thought. I’ve brought gunpowder, and slavery’s already being invented.
“They are sorcerers, like you, too,” Kama-cho added. He pointed over the side. “Many sea folk came with them, as with you.”
It took a moment for the implications of Kama-cho’s statement to sink in; then Daniel stared at him.
“Are the sea folk your… enemies?” he asked.
“Those who came with the western men would be,” Kama-cho said. “We live inland; we have little to do with the sea folk, now.”
“But how can that be?” the woman, Lali, broke in. “You do not dance with the sea folk?”
Kama-cho shook his head. “Sometimes, a few of our old ones, and magicians… they went down to the sea, to dance. But not for a time, now; and for a long time, none of us from the inland tribes do that. We know it was done once…” He looked oddly ashamed. “But now… we are afraid.”
“Wait,” Daniel said sharply. He glanced at Ammi. “Doesn’t it seem strange to you? He speaks of sea folk who help men prey on other men. Are there sea folk who would do this?”
She shook her head. The others looked equally puzzled.
“I’d thought they were… well, one people,” Daniel said, half to himself; he pulled at his beard thoughtfully. “If they are not…” He walked to the rail.
The sea was dimly lit by starlight; he could see an occasional white flash of foam. The dolphins were there.
The boat rolled, gently, drifting. Ashore, Daniel could still see the distant wink of torches. He glanced at Kama-cho.
“We will bring you back to shore,” he told the man. “But first, I’ll have to learn more about what you’ve told me. Wait.”
Daniel swung his legs over and threw a long rope into the sea; grasping it, he leaped in.
For a moment he floated in the warm water, looping the line about his forearm, waiting. Then, a sleek head broke the water ahead of him, and he heard the dolphin’s thrumming voice.
“It is the man,” the dolphin said, apparently to the others. “Greeting, man.”
“I have questions to ask,” Daniel said. A wordless hum came from several directions, as though he floated in the center of a circle of the beasts.
“Ask.”
“A man from the shore tells me that other men came, doing evil things,” Daniel said. “These men killed, took slaves away with them. There were sea folk with the men. Why did this happen?”
The hum deepened. But for a moment there was no answer.
Then, in a changed voice, the dolphin spoke again,
“It is true,” he said. “Those from the Western Sea came, to help the men of Iskarth and Esmare. They have a compact, with the king of those men, to help them in certain ways.”
Daniel’s voice was angry. “I had thought there was a compact between all sea folk and all land folk, everywhere. Does the song mean nothing?”
“Man, those of the Western Sea…” The dolphin’s voice stopped for a moment. “They say they wish to take a new way,” he went on. “They say there is not enough sea any longer. They desire to find a way to make… more sea, less land.”
“How can that be?” Daniel demanded.
“The wall you call Narr’s Wall,” the dolphin said. “It was made so that there would be land for your people. If it is broken, the sea will come into the Middle Land.”
The map, Daniel thought. Narr’s Wall; Gibraltar. The Gates of Hercules… in an ancient myth, broken, so that the sea rushed in and drowned men and their cities. And all around the Mediterranean, the myths of flood; Noah, and Deucalion and the rest. Drowned Atlantis… he shuddered, floating in the warm sea.
“The western ones,” the dolphin said. “They will do this thing, with the hands of many men, as it was built by men in the beginning. Only, because of Numith, they cannot, yet. And the Morra-ayar have said they must not; but they will not obey. The kings of Iskarth and Esmare, the western kingdoms of men, make ready, with slaves and armies; the folk of the Western Sea bring payment to the kings…”
“I thought the Morra-ayar were your gods,” Daniel said, grim-faced, as he stared into the darkness. “Do these others disobey them?”
There was a low chuckle. “We are all free,” a dolphin voice said, but there was a note of sadness in it. “We are not like you, obedient.”
Another voice came, “If we were not able to disobey the wise old ones, they would not be wise, and we would not be free.”
“That is why you must speak with them, man,” the first voice came. “It is said that you hold the key. If you do not, then the song will truly become nothing.”
“Man and sea folk will dance no more together…” Another voice chanted, infinitely sorrowful.
“The bond will be broken, all living things will grow enemies one to the other,” the first voice sang. “You were our children, and you will be our slayers. Death will come, death will come… and you will fear the sea, your mother… you will kill the sea itself. This is what the wise old ones say, this is what will come, when Narr’s Wall is broken…”
“The oldest one will swim free,” another said. “He is locked away, he cannot speak with the others. He is alone, and madness is with him.”
There was a prolonged keening sound, a music of such pain and sorrow that Daniel cried out, clutching the rope; the agony seemed to strike into his body, out of the dark water around. For a moment he almost lost consciousness, then the wail ceased.
“Damn it, explain!” Daniel shouted, throwing back his head to gasp deep breaths of air. He glared into the starlit night. “Who is this oldest one? And for God’s sake, why me? Why am I important to you?”
There was a murmur all around, but no words. He shook water from his hair and cursed again.
“I’m a man!” he shouted. “Nothing but a man, not a… key, or a messenger, or whatever you say! What can I do?” He gasped, feeling a growing vast agony that rose within him; he was weeping, clutching the rope. “It wasn’t my doing! Damn it to hell, I didn’t make the world! Do you expect me to… unmake it? Who do you think I am, anyway?”
Above, at the ship’s rail, voices called: Daniel’s face turned toward them blindly. He could hear them calling out but he could not seem to understand what they said, somehow.
Then his brain cleared; he hauled, pulling himself up, and came dripping onto the deck, where he stood, staring at nothing for a long time.
“A wizard,” Kama-cho was muttering, gazing at Daniel.
“The sea folk sang, strangely,” Galta said. His hands touched his harp and let go again. “If I could sing that song…”
“I’m glad you cannot,” Ammi said. Tears shone on her face. She grasped Daniel’s arms and looked up at him silently.
After a time, he put his arms around her and gripped her for a moment, then he turned away and put an oar through its opening.
“We’ll row back,” he said in a grating voice. Silently, the others set their own oars in place. The boat moved toward the dark shore.
Before Kama-cho could make himself understood, several more spears had flown, falling short; but then, his voice was recognized. The warriors ashore passed back the word, shouting from one to another along the river bank; the boat came in, at last, and was moored. Out of the darkness, slim canoes appeared.
“Lucky they didn’t come down river earlier,” Daniel said, watching them.
“You could have slain them all with your lightning,” Kama-cho said. He grinned; he seemed a resilient sort. “You are truly a great wizard. See, there is Ark-sha, looking as if he had been dipped in a cooking pit.” He pointed at one warrior on the shore, helmetless, his beard scorched away, glaring at the boat through a sooty mask. The warrior turned away, obviously still angry, but Kama-cho laughed.
“He will have a tale, in the villages,” Kama-cho said. “How he was struck by lightni
ng and lived. The lightning was very frightening, Daniel, but it killed no one. You are very skilled in magic, it seems.”
Privately, Daniel was pleased to hear that his bombs had killed nobody, this time. If the shore people wanted to believe the failure was intentional, so much the better, he thought. The damned things weren’t much better than oversized firecrackers, anyway.
But Kama-cho was excitedly talking about a great feast and how all the chiefs of clans from many miles about were to be called, to see the strangers and wonder at them.
Ashore, drums thundered, echoing along the river, signaling their passage up. The canoes paddled on either side, and ahead, as the black boat rowed on; aboard, several of the locals were excitedly and inexpertly aiding in the rowing.
Beyond the point at which they had first been attacked, the river widened again; ahead, a bend appeared. There was a high palisade of logs and gates; towers appeared along the log walls, and thatched roofs beyond. All along the banks, people were beginning to crowd, staring at the ship and shouting excitedly. The flotilla rounded the curve and came to a long strand, beaching canoes among an even denser crowd.
Surrounded by warriors, the five newcomers pushed into the throng and up into the big village. The uproar was deafening now; Ammi pressed closer to Daniel’s arm, looking up at him a little nervously, and the others glanced at the crowds from time to time, uneasily. None of them had ever seen huge crowds in their old home.
They reached a great log structure, ornately carved with painted wooden figures; and passed inside.
Here, several older men, and others wearing gaudy feather headgear and many ornaments, came forward. They were chiefs and important men from a number of clans, some from far off villages. There were long formal recitations of ancestry, and speeches were made, but the noise was almost too great to hear anything.