“Do not fear,” Zared said, “they do not speak or understand Elonite. They are well disposed toward you because I am.”
“Are you a sorcerer?” Lod rumbled dangerously.
Zared ignored the question. “I am very old. It has given me years to study others. In terms of age, you’re a child to me.”
Lod grunted moodily, not liking that.
“But to return to my point,” Zared said. “Apes are certainly beasts. They do not speak as men. Yet was that always so?”
Lod shrugged. He wore a leather vest and breeches, with sturdy boots, all gifts from Zared. The garments made Lod seem like a hireling of Larak, one of the hinterland tribesmen from the mountains. He’d accepted a scarlet band as well and had tied it around his forehead to keep the shaggy hair out of his eyes.
“In the beginning Adam named the animals,” Zared said. “I have heard it theorized that he could speak with them, and some beasts could speak with him. That gift undoubtedly died in the garden, as so much else perished there.” Zared’s smile waned. “How could that have any bearing on us today, eh?”
Lod had no idea, although talk about Father Adam interested him. It also made him better disposed toward Zared.
“I believe it has bearing because we have reached the farthest radius of Yggdrasil,” Zared said solemnly. “Perhaps you cannot feel it—although perhaps you can or did. It is a strange sensation…otherworldly.”
Lod sat up.
“Ah,” Zared said, “you did feel it.”
“Is that what makes the boiling sea?” Lod asked.
Zared must not have heard the question, for his gaze returned to the flames. It seemed as if the animation drained out his dark eyes and into the fire.
The flames crackled. Logs popped. Sparks showered toward the stars. Then old Zared began to speak in a low tone. Lod had to lean forward to hear the muttered words.
“I have primordial knowledge, my young friend, passed down from generation to generation. In the first days in the garden, humanity’s mother ate from the forbidden Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.”
“I know the old lore,” Lod said.
“Perhaps,” Zared muttered, “and perhaps you only know part of the story. The Serpent tempted Eve, and she ate from the tree. Then she gave to her husband, and he did eat. Their eyes became opened, and they knew that they were naked.”
“Elohim drove them from the garden,” Lod said, “and He set a guardian Cherub before the East Gate. None now may enter Eden, lest they eat from the Tree of Life and live forever.”
“Indeed, indeed,” Zared said.
“What does any of that have to do with this Yggdrasil and the great ape today?”
Zared was slow in answering. “I know a terrible truth, my friend. I have held onto it for untold years. Never have I breathed a word about to others. Yet now I feel I must. You are a strange man, Lod, spewed from the sea onto dry land. Are you a gift of Elohim to me, a helper in my hour of need? I think so; and thus I will tell you a secret from the very beginning.”
Despite himself, Lod shivered as a dread feeling worked up his spine. Who was this old man?
“Eve ate the forbidden fruit,” Zared said, “but she spit out the seeds. Before the One Above drove them from the garden, Eve scooped up several of those seeds. She carried them with her as she and Adam stumbled into the wild world. For ages she kept them. She never dared use them and she couldn’t find it in herself to cast them away or burn them in a fire. She never told Adam she had them. Probably, he would have demanded she destroy the pips. Finally, in her old age, Eve gave the seeds to Zillah, who became one of the wives of Lamech.”
“I do not know those names,” Lod said.
“Zillah married Lamech. In fact, she was his second wife, his favorite. He made his first wife Adah serve her in unhallowed ways. You should know that before that time no man had married two or more wives. A man was content with a single woman, as Elohim had shown Adam in the garden. Lamech brought polygamy into the world, and much more! Ah…my friend, so much changed with Zillah and Lamech. You have heard about the ancient Song of the Sword?”
Lod frowned. Lord Uriah might have spoken about it once, but he couldn’t remember.
“Lamech was a mighty warrior,” Zared said. “He composed and recited the first known poem.” The old man cleared his throat before saying:
“Adah and Zillah, listen to me;
wives of Lamech, hear my words.
I have killed a man for wounding me,
a young man for injuring me.
If Cain is avenged seven times,
then Lamech seventy-seven times.”
“Yes,” Lod said. “I have heard the poem before. It was many years ago.”
“Notice the vanity of Lamech,” Zared said. “Elohim had laid a curse upon Cain for killing his brother Abel, but the One Above also protected Cain by pronouncing a curse against any who would kill Cain. He would bring vengeance seven times as hard against any who dared to slay the world’s first killer. Now Lamech said he would pile on an even more dire revenge with his own hand and that for merely wounding him. In his mortal wrath, Lamech made himself to seem even more deadly than Elohim. What vain boasting. What awful pride. Where did it come from, eh?”
Lod shook his head. He didn’t know.
“They were mighty people in those days, Lod. The first ones had great vision and understanding of things we can only dream about. Lamech hoped to exceed them all. As a metalsmith uses bellows to heat flames in order to fashion a sword, so Zillah’s words enflamed her husband with vaunting ambition. Yet she bought more than mere words. She also possessed the seeds to the Tree of Knowledge.”
“The ones Eve stole from the garden?” asked Lod.
“The very same,” Zared said. “I do not know how Zillah won the seeds from Eve. That is a secret hidden in the mists of time. What I have discovered, though, is that long ago Zillah and Lamech came here, burying the seeds in fertile ground. They had to do it far away from anyone else in order to keep it a secret. Every few years they trekked to this distant land to see the tree’s progress. They waited, first spying seedlings and then a young tree they named Yggdrasil. Finally, Yggdrasil bore fruit, and they did eat. Against the advice of his second wife, Lamech gave fruit to his first wife Adah, and she also did eat.
“This fruit was not like that in the middle of the garden in the first days of Earth. It was darker, heavier and pregnant with evil power. It did not open Lamech’s eyes or that of his wives. Instead, it gave great wisdom of a dark kind to their children. You may have heard of them. Adah, the first wife, gave birth to Jabal. He was the father of those who live in tents and raise livestock. The Jogli nomads are some of their descendants. His brother’s name was Jubal. He was the father of all who play the harp and flute.”
“Are those evil things?” Lod asked, perplexed.
“When the modes of music change, so change the people’s hearts,” Zared said. “As they danced with wild abandon as drunkards, the sons and daughters of Lamech darkened their hearts against Elohim. They did not seek a future paradise in the life to come. They sought to make paradise on Earth.”
Lod pondered that.
“Zillah bore a son. His name was Tubal-Cain, and he became a mighty man, a hero of old. None could best him in a fight, and he led his brothers into savage battle, winning countless wars. He also forged all kinds of tools out of bronze and iron. Indeed, he hammered the first sword. Well, the second. The first sword was made of flame, held by the guardian Cherub of the East Gate. Tubal-Cain made a weapon in its image. It was this sword Lamech used to slay the young man who had wounded him. From the time of Tubal-Cain men began to war against each other. First, the sons of Lamech slaughtered the sons of Seth. They made chariots, bows and spears, and brought red ruin to the land. Finally, the sons of Seth forged weapons to defend themselves and fight back.
“Yet this son of Lamech, Tubal-Cain, wasn’t the worst of the lot,” Zared said. “The deepest evil came
from a woman named Naamah, the sister of Tubal-Cain. She grew in black wisdom and understanding, and she studied the forbidden lore of the stars. Her eyes were opened, and she sought for ways to communicate with the unseen world, with the spirits above. Naamah was the first to speak with the bene elohim. She had long, beautiful hair and the sweetest of charms. With seductive knowledge, she lured the first of the Fallen down to Earth, urging them to take on fleshy forms.”
Lod shuddered.
“Yes,” Zared said, as if lost in thought. “The family of Lamech has much to answer for. That was long ago, of course. Yet I believe that Yggdrasil still stands, bearing its wicked fruit, lo these many ages.”
“Do you wish to eat from it?” Lod asked.
Zared blanched, and he shook his head. “No, no, I want to chop it down and burn out the roots. I have come to destroy Yggdrasil, lest the First Born and Nephilim learn of it and come to devour its bounty. Then their plans will become greater with more sinister cunning, perhaps making them unbeatable.”
“Why is this land different from other lands?” Lod asked.
“That is a keen question.” Zared rubbed his rings against his garment, and his eyelids flickered. It took him a moment to regain his bearing. Then he began to speak again. “Perhaps certain animals have eaten Yggdrasil’s fruit, gaining greater wisdom, or their offspring have received this understanding. Or perhaps there is something of Eden in this place. Some wonder if Yggdrasil has worked a change on the land, because it is a thing of original beauty and greatness.
“What is this change, you wonder? Yes, I can see the questions in your eyes, Lod. And I see the distrust that stirs in you. I know more than you can imagine. But in any case, some hold that the tree has warped the surrounding lands like unto Eden in its pristine glory. Some believe the animals in this realm have reverted to their original ways and have regained their lost cunning and intelligence. We lie at the edge of this transcendence, and the great ape this afternoon displayed wonderful understanding. That, my muscled friend, is why I wondered if one who swims ashore in this strange land could speak with tongues of animals.”
Lod pursed his lips. The old one had repeated himself, as if he’d forgotten his first words. Was that simply a matter of great age, or was there something else at work here?
Zared reached into a bag, extracted several coals, leaned near his portable firepot, flicked open the grill and tossed in the coals. The fire seemed to leap at them, instantly igniting them. Then Zared shut the sooty grill. Afterward, the old man picked up his chalice and sipped date wine, staring off into the darkness.
Lod found himself staring at the fire. That was a strange story, yet it seemed to hold the ring of truth. In his imagination, the dancing flames took on the shapes of Zillah, Adah and Lamech. What would it have been like in those early days of Earth? How had this old man come to know such secret things?
“I have lived countless centuries, Lod,” Zared pronounced. Then he stood, and there was majesty about him, a powerful vibrancy.
The blue-tattooed warriors whispered to one another, and they hurried onto their bellies, prostrate before the ancient patriarch.
“Tubal-Cain and Naamah opened evil doors indeed. They brought great change to the world. Men stabbing and killing each other in wars was bad enough. Naamah brought down terror in the guise of fallen angels and their offspring.” Zared sighed. “The truth, Lod, is that I have grown weary of men cowering before the First Born and their dread Nephilim offspring. These celestial hybrids lord it over humanity through angelic powers given them by their blood. They practice necromancy, drinking the souls of men and women. I say that must end. That is the second reason why I have come. An old saga speaks of Tubal-Cain’s original sword, the one Lamech wielded to slay the young man. It is not as other swords on Earth, but strikes like lightning. Perhaps after all these years, the Edenic influences have burned away the corrupting evil of the sword, to turn it into an avenging weapon. Or perhaps it is time to use fire to fight fire. Naamah used her evil wisdom to call down the bene elohim. Let us use the ‘fire’ of Tubal-Cain’s sword to drive the First Born and Nephilim off the Earth.”
Lod’s heart thudded at the idea. What a glorious hope. He laughed as a tiger might if given human speech. With such a sword, he might return to Poseidonis and slay its god.
“You have a holy fierceness in your soul, Lod. I see it shining through your eyes. I mean to find the seedling of the Tree of Knowledge and perform these tasks. I am old, and I fear for humanity. Too many are content to let others face the Nephilim, while they themselves know temporary safety. Maybe Elohim sent you to aid me. Maybe you’re to be the captain that inspires hosts to do battle. I wouldn’t say this to another as young as you, but I invite you to join me, Lod. What’s more, I challenge you to dare this danger with me.”
Lod’s blue eyes blazed with visions of fire and blood, with the broken teeth of his enemies and shattered limbs. To storm Poseidonis, to slay its Gibborim defenders and its First Born aping as a god, using a sword of lightning—
Lod surged to his feet. “I would be honored to join you, Lord Zared. Yes! I accept your challenge.”
-3-
Sunlight filtered through the jungle canopy, bathing Lod in muted green light. The air was close and humid, choking his thoughts. For four sweat-drenched days they trekked through this endless maze of vines, ferns and towering jungle trees. The Holon primitives wielded heavy copper knives and hacked out a path for Zared’s litter.
A sense of unreality had grown throughout the journey, a feeling of terrible perfection. Flowers blazed in riotous hues: blood red, aquamarine blue and a yellow that challenged the sun. Vines, fronds and creepers grew in thick profusion. The plants were always strong, always healthy and radiated intense colors. Monstrous pythons coiled around mossy branches and watched the men’s passage with an eerie intelligence, forked tongues flickering. Monkeys that screamed in the distance grew stealthily silent on their approach. Parrots and cockatoos hid themselves, only occasionally peering from behind broad leaves as the party took its leave. Despite the profusion of life, for the past few days snares had remained empty, although the Holon plucked giant beetles from under rocks or off the ground and speared them onto sticks to roast in the fire. They and Lod also feasted on grubs. His hard life had taught Lod to eat whatever lay before him.
Zared did not dine with them, but ate from his private stocks. The ancient remained in his litter most of the day, content to pore over brittle scrolls, feed his firepot more coals or catch up on his sleep.
Lod began to regain his formidable strength. He had always healed quickly. What’s more, Zared gifted him with an iron knife. The peculiar blade had the heft of a short sword, with saw teeth near the hilt. Farther up it became heavy as a machete. With it, Lod took his turn chopping vines or he ripped them from the path. Unfortunately, the surreal otherworldliness of the jungle had become a psychic weight. It made ordinary actions an effort of will. Sometimes Lod found himself staring at a vine, contemplating its beauty. Then he snarled and hacked it down. More than once, he shoved a stupefied primitive, waking the warrior from his trance. The man would give him an abashed grin and slink off. Tall and gaunt, Lord Zared alone seemed unaffected.
Lod presently raised his green-smeared knife, and he paused as goosebumps pimpled his muscled arms. His neck hairs stirred at a hideous sense of evil, watching, plotting—
With heart pounding, Lod whirled around and gazed up at the surrounding trees. From a branch almost directly overhead, an archaeopteryx shifted in agitation. It had sooty-colored feathers, a lizard tail and a terrible, toothed beak. It turned its head sideways and regarded Lod with an eye like obsidian.
Lod’s flesh crawled in loathing. He felt malice and ancient cunning emanating from the bird, and something worse.
The archaeopteryx opened its beak.
Lod felt his heart thud heavily. If the bird spoke—terror swept over him. Lod clutched his knife with maniac strength so the muscled cords on
his arms rose like cables. Frozen into immobility, he stared at the weird avian.
The bird squawked harshly, its cry grating. From the branch, it leaned toward Lod as if threatening to swoop down. Lod sensed hideous danger, as if the bird had poisonous talons or as if its beak could pluck out his soul.
Lod roared wildly, shook off his immobility and lifted his knife to throw. He wanted to obliterate the bird.
The archaeopteryx exploded into flight on its broad, stubby wings. Squawking as if someone had stepped on its lizard tail, it circled through the canopy. Soon the squawks changed into taunting shrieks. It almost seemed as if the bird wanted Lod to follow.
Lod squinted as he watched the creature. His terror of moments ago…what had caused it? Lod licked dry lips. He debating going to Zared. And tell the old man what exactly?
The bird shrieked, and it watched him.
Lod rubbed his jaw. He no longer felt the terror, the oppressive evil. He shook his head. If the vile bird wanted him to follow, he would do the opposite. So Lod perversely plowed ahead in his original direction.
He hated the bird, and in proportion to that hate, a sense of expectation grew in him. At first, it was a premonition. Lod felt that if he could tear through a few more leaves, brush aside a couple more vines, he would find…a curiosity. As he progressed, a different feeling crept upon him, as if an olden treasure awaited discovery, which made perfect sense, really. Ruins from a lost age must lie about everywhere, hidden in this dense jungle.
Lod wielded his knife up and down, hacking and slashing. He advanced relentlessly, following this premonition. In time, he panted and greasy sweat dripped from his beard. He gulped painful air, and with a curiously detached sense, he felt as if he’d hacked for hours. A faint warning somewhere deep within him tried to pull him back. He wiped sweat out of his eyes and might have pondered this sense of unease. Then he spied a golden gleam. It came from behind towering ferns, a cluster of them just ahead.
Lod the Galley Slave (Lost Civilizations) Page 15