The golden glint came from about twice his height. He noticed that this circular area was devoid of jungle trees, and it made him hesitate once more. He no longer heard the Holon. That was odd. Ever since meeting the sooty-colored bird…
Like a sleepwalker, Lod approached the ferns. For a languorous moment, he contemplated lying down. He yawned, and a rich, cloying scent made his nostrils twitch. One part of him counseled flight. The other—
Suddenly recognizing the strangeness of his own reactions, Lod roared and hacked at the ferns. The heavy iron blade cut through foliage and clunked against stone. This was the treasure. Something in him knew it with a greedy thrill. He ripped aside the tall plants to reveal glassy black stone, gneiss. He furiously chopped ferns until an obelisk towered over him. On it he saw golden hieroglyphs remarkably similar to those on Zared’s rings.
Lod studied the hieroglyphs…and then his eyelids grew heavy. The symbols wavered as if he viewed them through a haze. He wanted to know what they said. He yearned to speak them aloud, and his lips parted as if he would mouth them despite his lack of understanding. How long he stood like that, Lod had no idea.
Eventually Lod stirred. He heard…distant shouts. That seemed—with an oath, he backed away from the obelisk. It made his throat convulse. Sweat beaded onto his dried skin. With agonizing slowness, he turned and croaked a cry. No one would hear that. Gathering his determination, taking a deep breath, Lod bellowed. It left him limp and drained, and he faced the obelisk. It was so beautiful.
Lod only grew aware again at the sound of footfalls. He rubbed his eyes and wondered why he felt so tired. Then Zared emerged through the foliage. Distinct from every other time, no Holon accompanied the patriarch.
The gaunt ancient stopped short on sight of the obelisk. Then his dark eyes shone. Zared limped nearer.
“Can you read the hieroglyphs?” Lod asked thickly.
Zared gave Lod a startled glance as if surprised he was there.
“Why do you think I can?” Zared asked slowly.
Lod pointed a thick finger at Zared’s golden rings, the ones adored with smaller hieroglyphs, but similar in design to those on the obelisk.
Zared studied the obelisk’s script, and his eyes became glassy. He began to read, and his voice became more monotonous as he progressed:
“Lamech the Mighty Hunter dragged the sons of kings behind his chariot. He gouged out their eyes and broke their limbs. He took their women in his arms and listened to their cries. He stepped on the necks of heroes and cut down the brave… ”
Zared grew quiet and his features paled. His eyes continued to scan back and forth, drinking in the ancient hieroglyphs. His lips moved mechanically throughout, and he drew a long breath, as if to continue reading aloud.
Muscles stood up stark upon Lod’s neck. He shivered with rage. He envisioned Lamech dragging beaten warriors and enslaved wives behind his chariot, leading long lines of captives, and the foul rites committed upon their persons. Lod’s heart thudded and his trembling increased. A strange paralysis settled upon him as Zared read Lamech’s boast. Now hatred seethed and a vein in Lod’s temple surged with pumping blood. He gathered saliva in his mouth, and he violently spat at the base of the obelisk.
That made Zared blink, close his mouth and frown faintly. Then fear filled the ancient one’s eyes. His ringed fingers trembled. His head swayed and he stumbled backward. With a pitiful cry, he wrenched his gaze from the hieroglyphs.
“Lod,” he whispered.
Lod yet stood, red-faced, his muscles like iron ridges. It seemed his heart would burst from his awful struggle to move.
Zared staggered to Lod and he laid a hand on the feverish flesh.
Lod bellowed, and he stumbled away from the obelisk.
“Flee!” Zared shouted.
Lod lumbered for the trees. And he almost stopped in shock. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the archaeopteryx as it watched them from a hidden branch.
Lod bellowed again, brushed past vines, bulled through ferns and then went to one knee, exhausted. He realized that he’d been in the grip of some depraved influence. He almost glanced back. In horrified wonder, he realized he wanted to go back and gaze at the obelisk, at the great treasure from—Zared! Was the old one still back there?
Lod struggled up as Zared joined him in the foliage. The ancient appeared wan and his skin brittle parchment.
“Tell me what happened,” Zared said.
Lod told him, including his sight of the evil bird and his impressions concerning it.
Zared shook his head. “You’re like the men of old, Lod. It’s uncanny. Your volcanic will, your determination, it amazes me. If I’d realized your strength, I would have warned you about this. The trap is very cunning, only luring those…well, those like you and me.”
“Are the hieroglyphs a spell?”
“A cunning trap lain long ago by Naamah,” Zared said. He glanced back, shuddered and regarded Lod. “It might be wise if from now on you remain in sight of my litter. There may be other obelisks, other ancient pitfalls. I suspect her sorcery has put this land under a terrible curse.”
“The sooty-colored bird—”
“The archaeopteryx,” Zared said with distaste. “It must be a guardian beast, the reason it seems to haunt the obelisk.” He hesitated and then added, “Naamah employed many blasphemous abominations. The archaeopteryx is probably one of those, a fusing of various animals that made a mockery of all. Archaeopteryxes are said to hold a peculiar cunning, sometimes able to mimic intelligence. Don’t hesitate to kill it, but never eat its flesh, no matter how hungry.”
“Is it poisonous?” Lod asked.
“In an odd way,” Zared said, “yes. Now come. We must return to camp. After this ordeal you must rest. Tomorrow we’ll push on and hopefully reach—well, we’ll see tomorrow. Come!”
Lod sheathed his knife and followed Zared into the jungle. He vowed to redouble his vigilance concerning abominable beasts and…to remain in sight of this old man. Sorcery: he hated it.
***
The Holon had grown quieter, and halfway through the morning Lod realized they had become silent. They moved sluggishly, with staring eyes and expressionless faces, yet their peacock headdresses seemed to bloom more brightly. When sunlight reflected off their copper blades, they gleamed with a bloody shine.
Zared finally climbed out his litter and ordered the primitives with greater force until he seemed like a sheepdog herding its flock. The ancient one’s efforts were only partially successful. The Holon weakly chopped at vines, and as Zared’s voice became hoarse, they halted more often for him to rest. Also, the foliage grew with unbelievable density and the vines and stalks seemed tougher than before.
Twice, out of the corner of his eye, Lod thought to spy the archaeopteryx. When he straightened to check, a broad leaf swayed contrary to the wind or a branch quivered. But of the bird with the lizard’s tail, there was no sign.
Then Lod broke through the riotous growth, and he stopped short in shock. Before him blazed beautiful flowers. Gold, red, orange and violet, the petals seemed molten in colors. They spread in a carpet to a nearby shore. Steam rose from those lapping waters. Had he reached the boiling sea?
Across the water an island rose, and upon the isle stood a great mountain, a volcano. The top of it glowed with terrible heat so vapors rose. A profusion of jungle growth surrounded the volcano. Lod squinted. There to the left of the volcano he could see the tip of towers or ancient ruins, poking through the jungle. A feeling of awe filled him. Did a sapling to the Tree of Knowledge truly grow on the island?
“We must make camp!” Zared shouted into his ear.
Lod blinked slowly.
“The stench of sorcery is everywhere here,” Zared shouted. “It tries to break our wills and subdue us. Who knows what Naamah hoped to achieve? She has changed the very land, I believe, or laid a heavy curse upon it. Or it may be that her sorcery befouled the land as she practiced ever darker rites.”
Lod said nothing. He already knew these things. Why did Zared bother saying them again?
“We’ve a lot a work to do before we reach the isle. Lod, can you hear me?”
Lod turned his head until he stared into Zared’s eyes. “We can’t reach the island. Look, the water steams because it is so hot. We don’t dare take a raft across or we’ll burn ourselves to death.”
“Trust me, Lod. I know how to defeat the boiling sea.”
Despite his misgivings, Lod followed the old one. After an hour’s trek along the shore, Zared discovered a hill of vines that bloomed with soft white flowers each the size of an elephant’s ear. Zared declared that here they would camp.
Relieved of Zared’s ceaseless commands, the Holon sank to the ground in apathy, the clank of weapons and the thud of bags their only sounds. Soon, most of them slept. The others stared listlessly into the distance.
After Zared personally checked each warrior, he summoned Lod, who followed the gaunt ancient to the flowery half-hill.
“Saw through the vines and tell me what you find,” Zared said.
Lod tried to hack through them, but the vines foiled him with a mixture of tough bark and moist inner stalks. He finally used his knife’s serrated teeth. The task proved messy because sticky white sap oozed from the wounded vines.
“Hurry, Lod,” Zared said impatiently.
Lod sawed vines and found more matted layers underneath. He discarded his vest to expose a mass of oar-thickened muscles and sawed furiously. His arms and chest were soon drenched with sap.
“Deeper,” Zared said. He had grown visibly agitated and often peered over Lod’s shoulders.
Lod gave him a puzzled glance.
“The legends say—deeper!” Zared declared. “Dig into the mound.”
Lod sawed what amounted to a hole into the vine half-hill until he seemed to spy something different back there.
“Reach in with your knife.” Zared’s voice quivered with eagerness. “Use your hilt. Tap it.”
Lod reached in so his shoulder thrust against vines bleeding white sap. He felt something hard back there and banged it with his hilt. It thumped, sounding wooden.
“What is that?” Lod asked.
Zared laughed shrilly. “It should be a barge, my friend, the one Zillah and Lamech used long ago.”
Lod withdrew his arm and gave Zared a dubious glance. “That was centuries ago. Bore worms and rot will have destroyed any wood from that time.”
“Reach in and thump it again,” Zared said.
Lod did.
“Does that sound like rotted timber to you?”
Lod admitted it didn’t.
Zared clapped his hands. “I believe a mystical property, or perhaps a spell, preserves the ancient barge. Such I’ve heard is the case, and now I believe it.”
“You plan on trusting an ancient wreck to get us across the steaming waters?” Lod asked.
“Not just any wreck,” Zared said. “Look at the size of the vine mound.”
“I see it.”
“Keep sawing, Lod. I’ll go stir the men.”
-4-
The days merged into timeless effort. Zared built a fire and cast sulfurous powder upon the flames. A vile-smelling cloud billowed. As long as it burned, the rank odor woke the Holon from their stupor. They toiled with copper knives and hatchets. Lod continued to saw with his knife.
As they began to expose the ancient barge, Lod marveled. Its elephantine size, ornate rails and the soundness of its wood amazed him. In many places, the vine sap had over the centuries dripped onto the ancient planks and soaked as deeply as an inch. This Lod discovered with his dagger, by prying into wood. The sap had hardened the timbers and probably aided its resistance to the elements. Long ago, it appeared, artists had stained bizarre designs onto the outer hull. The sap had obliterated most of those, although above the ancient waterline some mythic beast yet showed a toothy grin. Unfortunately, cordage, ropes and what might have been a sail lay in useless heaps of rotted fibers.
Similar to the galleys of Poseidonis, the hold held benches for rowers. Enough sound oars appeared to remain, given the number of Holon. All this Lod informed Zared after his single inspection of the hold. He refused to climb down the hatch a second time.
“But you’re our rowing expert—” Zared said.
Lod shook his head, and madness gleamed in his eyes. His fingers convulsed. The desire to throttle whip-masters who had beaten him for twenty tormenting years—his eyes narrowed as he studied Zared.
“Lod!” Zared snapped his fingers.
Lod rubbed his eyes, frowning. What was wrong with him?
“You will remain above,” Zared said, “on deck.”
Soon, the Holon dug a trench from the barge toward the hot waters.
From the edge of the jungle, Lod hacked moist ferns and broad leaves and carted them by the armful. He laid them in the trench and hoped thereby to oil the keel and assist the vessel when they attempted to haul it to the water.
On his eighth trek, the center of his back prickled. Lod had felt this before, together with a sense of dread that sight of the archaeopteryx brought. He chopped a fern and pretended to lose his grip. The knife tumbled from his hand. He made a loud oath and bent to retrieve it, and secretly slipped a stone out of his pouch. Lod whirled around, spied a leaf that moved oddly and heaved the stone.
A half-second before the stone obliterated the leaf, the archaeopteryx shrieked and exploded into flight from behind it. Lod heaved another stone. The archaeopteryx ducked in flight, shrieked again, and blurred its wings as it bent its head and furiously gained height. Lod heaved a third time, but the stone failed to reach that high and dropped back into the jungle.
From its safe height, the archaeopteryx circled and watched with interest.
Lod retrieved his knife and glanced at the demon-fowl. His loathing intensified with a feeling of fear. The bird seemed ancient beyond reckoning, and that made no sense. It seemed hopelessly malignant and filled with evil guile. Lod stared too long perhaps. His neck tingled, and he snapped his head around.
Grass rustled to his left. It seemed a sound of stealth.
Lod backed away. Had the archaeopteryx cast an inhibiting spell upon him? The grass rustled more. Lod turned and sprinted, and barely in time. A monstrous python reared up and struck with a thud of noise. Its wedge-shaped head was as big as an ox’s. Even though it missed, the giant snake slithered after Lod. The archaeopteryx swooped lower then, shrieking in what seemed like rage.
Lod roared a warning as he sprinted for the barge. The python moved dreadfully fast, crushing tall stalks in its slithering. The beast had to be twenty, thirty feet long or more.
Fortunately, Zared was alert and shouted a command. The Holon dropped their wooden shovels, picked up weapons and ran to help.
Lod glanced over his shoulder. The python reared up a second time to twice the height of man, and it swiveled its triangular head. A black forked tongue flicked. Perhaps it didn’t like the odds, for the serpent hissed at Lod and retreated.
The archaeopteryx gave a furious shriek, circled twice more and then veered for the island.
Lod watched the bird as sweat trickled down his face. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar. He wished he could put his finger on it.
***
“Do you think the archaeopteryx went to the island’s ruins?” Lod asked Zared that night.
The old man reclined in his litter and sipped date wine. Several fires burned around the barge while Holon prowled between the flames with knives and ready spears.
“We must be alert tomorrow,” Zared said.
Lod thought that an odd answer. “What about a sail?” he asked.
“We have men and oars.”
Lod laughed harshly. “The Holon move sluggishly on land. I don’t see why they’ll do any better on the steaming sea. What I don’t understand is how you’re able to resist this dulling the rest of us feel. Unless your rings are magic talismans—”
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“I abhor magic!” Zared declared. “No. I am schooled in old lore and have trained more than many men’s lifetimes for this day. A sail would be ideal…but the archaeopteryx shows us that ancient evils stir against us.”
“Yes!” Lod said. “Ancient evils—the bird feels like a Nephilim. No, that’s not right. I hate it with a similar gut reaction that I normally only feel for Nephilim or First Born.” Lod scowled. “I don’t understand how evil can live in such close proximity to Yggdrasil.”
“That is a foolish thought,” Zared said. “Do you not realize that the great rebellion began in Elohim’s very own throne room? I refer to Lucifer, of course. Evil can live in very close proximity to good. There is nothing strange about that at all.”
Lod shrugged moodily. Tomorrow they sailed—rowed for the isle. He yawned and stretched out on a cloak. Why had the archaeopteryx flown to the island? What did the vile creature plan next?
***
In the morning, the barge plowed through the steaming sea, propelled by the uneven strokes of the Holon. The watery heat put sweat on Lod’s brow. If the ancient vessel should sink…
He tried not to think about that. At least the wood held. The sea didn’t burn it. Maybe sap from the vines preserved it.
Lod wrinkled his nose. A vile stench rose from the hold, from the sulfurous powder burning in a flattish brazier. As long it sizzled, the primitives shook off the dulling influences. Zared still had several bags of powder, so they shouldn’t run out. Lod wondered if the powder came from the coals devoured in Zared’s personal firepot.
In any case, Lod stood at the tiller, enduring the steaming vapors coming off the waters. His muscled arms heaved the thick blade one way and another. The barge did not ride the waves as his plank had, but smashed through them. The heavy thuds against the timbers, the way the vessel groaned and creaked, worried Lod. He had climbed down the hatch once and lifted the cover to the bilge below. Too much water sloshed over the sandy ballast. The barge leaked badly. They should have smeared pitch or tar between the planks, but they’d owned neither substance. So now, Lod tried to ease the vessel through the waves to make the best time they could.
Lod the Galley Slave (Lost Civilizations) Page 16