Sebastian Darke: Prince of Explorers

by Philip Caveney

  'Could he lead us there?' asked Sebastian, trying to hide his mounting excitement.

  'Joseph is very old and infirm, not capable of making a long journey – but Maccan thought that he might be able to give us directions to it. I told him,' said Cornelius, puffing away on his pipe, 'that the reason we were sent here was to find the lost city. And for that we would require a guide.'

  'I see,' murmured Sebastian. His eyes were growing heavy but he was determined to stay awake a while longer. 'So . . . did you talk to this . . . Joseph character?'

  Cornelius frowned. 'Not yet,' he admitted. 'But it's on my list. I thought I'd wait till you were a bit stronger. I'm sure you'd like to meet him. The thing is . . .' He puffed on his pipe for a moment, emitting great clouds of fragrant smoke. 'Keera told me that nobody from the tribe would be willing to undertake a long journey at the moment – not with the Gograth threatening the village as they are. So I was obliged to promise her . . .' He hesitated and threw a cautious look at Sebastian.

  'What?' prompted Sebastian. 'What did you promise her?'

  'That, er . . . we'd rid her of that little problem before we left the village.'

  Sebastian stared at him. 'What . . . little . . . problem?'

  'The Gograth. I told her we'd ensure that they were never a threat to the Jilith again.'

  Cornelius blew out another cloud of smoke. 'So we just have to work out exactly how we're going to do that,' he said.

  'Cornelius,' sighed Sebastian, 'how can you hope to achieve it?'

  The little warrior smiled. 'I'm already working on it. My plan is to train the Jilith up as an army so they can give the Gograth the trouncing they so obviously deserve. Maccan has already approved my plan.'

  Max snorted and shook his great horned head. 'Why does it always come down to fighting with you people?' he asked. 'Surely there's some other way. Couldn't you go to the Gograth and offer them your hand in friendship?'

  Cornelius looked doubtful. 'Did they strike you as the kind of people who are open to reason?'

  'They didn't even strike me as people,' said Max. 'More like overgrown boobahs with shorter tempers.'

  'Well, there you are then,' said Cornelius. 'Offer them the hand of friendship and they'd most likely chop it off and cook it for dinner.'

  'But . . . from what Keera was saying,' murmured Sebastian, 'they greatly outnumber the Jilith.'

  Cornelius made a dismissive gesture. 'Numbers mean nothing! The Gograth look like they need help to do up their buttons. All the Jilith needed was a mighty general to teach them the finer points of warfare.'

  Max looked glum. 'Yes, but where are they going to . . . ?' He glared at Cornelius. 'Not you, surely? You're only a captain!'

  'Shadlog's beard! Keep your voice down, you great oaf! I've told Keera I'm a general, just like this General Darvon that everybody's so stirred up about. That way she'll feel more confident about me training the villagers.'

  'It doesn't matter how trained they are,' protested Sebastian. 'If they're outnumbered twenty to one they'll be slaughtered.'

  'In a stand-up fight, yes,' admitted Cornelius. 'That's where we need a really great bit of strategy.'

  Sebastian and Max looked at him expectantly.

  'I'm . . . working on it,' he said. 'Now' – he got to his feet and nodded to Sebastian – 'you get some more sleep. You'll find that each day now, you'll manage to stay awake a little longer. You've been very lucky, my friend. I saw them take out that arrowhead – it was right next to your heart.' He held his forefinger and thumb slightly apart. 'That close.' He looked at Max. 'Come on,' he said. 'We'll let him sleep.'

  'Very well.' Max gave Sebastian a mournful nod. 'Goodbye, young master, I'm pleased you're not dead. I'll see you later.'

  Max and Cornelius left the hut, and within moments Sebastian was asleep and dreaming. He dreamed that he was sitting on a great golden throne, in the centre of a huge marble palace. Below him he saw Keera coming slowly up a long flight of steps, holding a jewelled casket out in front of her, her brown eyes gazing up at him in utter devotion. She knelt before him and held out the box like an offering. He took it from her, placed it on his lap and opened it. Inside was an ancient scroll. He took it out, unrolled it and studied its contents, realizing with a dull sense of surprise that it was a list of his father's jokes, written in elegant calligraphy.

  He looked back down the steps to see that behind Keera were lots of people in animal skins, who he presumed were the rest of the Jilith tribe. They were all kneeling and looking up at him expectantly. He recognized others too. There was King Septimus glowering up at him in silent hatred; there was Leonora watching him knowingly with her pale yellow eyes. There was Jenna Swift and Queen Kerin and lots of other faces he never expected to see in this strange place.

  They all seemed to be waiting in silence.

  So he read out the first joke – the one about the man who had a little mutt that chewed somebody's hat. He came to the punch line, paused for dramatic effect and then delivered it clearly. He waited for the laughter and applause. He waited and waited but the crowd were just looking at him blankly. And that was when he felt the big beads of sweat break out on his forehead.

  He tried the next joke. And the next. Nobody laughed. Not a titter. Not a chuckle. Just silence and those terrible bemused faces.

  And though he knew he was asleep and dreaming, he couldn't seem to make himself wake up, no matter how hard he tried . . .

  CHAPTER 5

  COME TO THE FEAST

  The days passed and Sebastian was finally strong enough to get up and take his first brief forays outside, seeing the village for the first time. He discovered that it was composed of around twenty small round huts and several oblong communal guesthouses, one of which had been allocated to him and Cornelius. The jungle had been systematically cleared for a good distance all around the encampment so that there was no cover where enemies could hide. In and around the huts, the Jilith worked, played or just sat and passed the time.

  They were a handsome people, with olive skin and dark hair. The men sported beards, which they kept neatly trimmed, and wore rough animal hides. Though they had no armour and their weapons were crude things, they were clearly capable of defending themselves. Sebastian noticed that whatever they were doing, they kept their swords, shields and spears within reach. Keera had told him that parties of Gograth might launch armed raids on the camp at any time. It had been a while since the last raid and everyone was on edge, waiting for the next one.

  The women of the tribe seemed to be at work of some kind every hour of the day. They were scraping hides to make clothes, washing them in the stream that meandered a short distance from the village, fetching firewood or searching for edible roots in the jungle. They seemed to accept the work with quiet good humour and Sebastian never saw any looking disgruntled with their role in life.

  The children were everywhere, running around in laughing, yelling gangs, playing with their home-made toys or chasing one of the many mutts that seemed to hang around the village. The older boys trailed after the hunting parties to learn the skills that would take them through to adulthood.

  Sebastian would sit on a log by the entrance to his hut, sipping a cup of chai, the spicy green tea the villagers loved to make, and he would marvel at the wonderful community spirit that seemed to radiate from these people. They had never seen the wonders of cities like Ramalat and Keladon, but they had riches that money could not buy – an affinity with the land in which they lived. As far as Sebastian could see, they had no kind of currency, but seemed to share whatever they had, as though they had no notion of greed or any wish to acquire material possessions.

  Most afternoons, Sebastian sat beside Max and the two of them watched as 'General' Cornelius put his troops through their paces. The Jilith tended to fight as individuals, but he had told them that if they wished to vanquish the Gograth, they would have to learn to work as a team. To help them with this, he had introduced them to a game that was popular
in Golmira. A piece of animal hide was stuffed with straw and stitched into a ball. Two teams of warriors kicked the ball backwards and forwards, trying to get it through two upright sticks at each end of a clearing. One warrior was assigned to defend the opening and was allowed to touch the ball with his hands – the others could only use their feet.

  'Does this game have a name?' Sebastian asked Cornelius one afternoon.

  The little warrior thought for a moment. 'It's called kick-the-ball,' he said.

  'Wouldn't football be a better name?' asked Max. 'It has a certain ring to it, does it not?'

  Cornelius bristled. 'It's called kick-the-ball,' he repeated firmly. 'It has been played in Golmira for centuries. There are ancient cave paintings showing warriors kicking a ball, all dressed in brightly coloured clothing, with numbers written on their chests.'

  'It looks like fun,' said Sebastian. 'Maybe I'll take a turn at it myself when I'm a bit stronger.'

  'It seems completely mindless to me,' observed Max disparagingly. 'Kicking a lump of hide around a field – where's the skill in that?' He nodded his head towards the straggle of running, shouting warriors on the pitch. 'They're half killing each other out there.'

  Cornelius smiled. 'Yes, but they're starting to think as teams,' he said. 'Let's hope they do as well when they face up to the Gograth.'

  As one day blended into another, Sebastian rapidly grew stronger. Soon he was able to go on short walks around the village without struggling for breath and every day saw a marked improvement. All that was left of his close brush with death was a livid scar, and a dull pain in his chest whenever he brandished a sword. He began to train with the weapon for a short time each day, aware that before very much longer he might be called upon to face up to the Gograth once again.

  Then, one morning, Keera arrived with an invitation. She told them that her father, Maccan, the village chief, had decided that it was finally time to meet the Chosen One face to face.

  'He bids you come to his hut tomorrow,' she told them. 'There will be a great feast in your honour.'

  At this news, Max brightened considerably. 'A feast,' he said. 'Lovely. What's on the menu?'

  Cornelius gave him a sly look. 'Let's just hope it's not buffalope steaks,' he said; and walked away laughing.

  The drums started at twilight the following day. At first Sebastian was startled, thinking that it was the sound of an advancing army, but it was too close at hand, and a quick glance outside confirmed that it was emanating from the centre of the village. A big fire was burning outside Maccan's hut and the enticing smell of roasting rusa filled the air.

  'They're getting ready for our shindig,' announced Cornelius, who in spite of the heat was dressing himself in full armour. 'Looks like it's going to be quite a party.' He glanced disparagingly at Sebastian. 'Don't you think you should make an effort to smarten yourself up a bit?' he said. 'I mean, you're supposed to be the Chosen One, not a down-and-out.'

  'What would you suggest?' Sebastian spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. 'All my spare clothes were packed into the saddlebags of that mule, and I must have lost my tricorn hat back in the jungle. All I've got left is what I'm wearing.'

  'Well, you could at least wash your face. It looks like it hasn't seen a bowl of water in an age!'

  Sebastian took the hint. He stripped off his tunic, poured fresh water into a bowl and washed himself down. Then he spent some time twisting the ends of his long black hair into braids and tying them with leather thongs, a task made doubly difficult by the absence of any kind of mirror.

  'You had a word with Max?' asked Cornelius.

  'Yes, he's given me my orders,' said a mournful voice from the doorway; and they turned to see Max's head gazing resentfully in at them. 'I'm to mind my manners and not speak out of turn. And I'm most definitely not to have any alcohol.'

  'I don't think they know what alcohol is,' said Sebastian. 'The only drink I've seen around here is chai.'

  'Oh, they'll have alcohol,' Cornelius assured him. 'All people do, of one kind or another. They just might not know it by that name. And as for chai, we all know what effect that has on Max!' He scowled. 'You know, perhaps it would be best if he didn't come with us. We don't want him interrupting the chief with great gusts of wind, do we?'

  Max looked hurt. 'Don't fret,' he said. 'I'll take special care not to disgrace myself. Besides, they'll want to see me – I'm the magical talking buffalope, am I not? Let's face it, I'm one of the strongest cards you have. When it comes to magical properties, you two aren't much to write home about, are you?'

  Cornelius looked doubtful. 'Whatever we are, we can't afford to mess this up. Sebastian, you'll have to convince Maccan that you are the Chosen One. So far, he's accepted you purely on the word of Keera and me. If he's confronted with a bumbling, babbling twit, he might think again.'

  'What are you trying to say?' muttered Sebastian.

  'Oh, come on, you know you've an uncanny ability to put your foot in it. Just think before you open your mouth, that's all I ask. And remember, both of you, that I am now a general. When I outline my plans to defeat the Gograth, I don't want one of you piping up with some stupid remark.'

  Sebastian looked at him. 'We'll do our best,' he said quietly. 'I'm sure we don't want to mess things up for you, do we, Max?'

  'Oh, don't be like that!' protested Cornelius. 'I was only—'

  'Somebody coming!' announced Max; and he drew back from the doorway.

  A few moments later, a tall sinewy warrior stepped into the hut and greeted them with a bow. Sebastian knew that he was called Cal and that he was highly regarded in the village. He wore his long black hair tied back. There was an old scar running down his left cheek and he had cunning grey eyes that seemed to look deep inside a man and read any secrets that lay hidden there. Sebastian had only spent a short time in his presence but he always felt somewhat nervous of him. Cal bowed politely enough but there was a sardonic smile on his face as he spoke.

  'Maccan has bid me come and summon our . . . distinguished guests to the feast,' he announced.

  Sebastian was still tying off the last of his braids. 'Please tell Maccan that we are greatly honoured by his kindness and that we will be along presently,' he said.

  'As you wish,' purred Cal. 'I shall tell him that the Chosen One is still . . . combing his hair?'

  'Braiding it,' Sebastian corrected him. 'I'm braiding it, if you must know. Now, you go back. We won't be a moment.'

  'We are preparing a fine fat rusa for you,' said Cal. 'I think you'll find it to your taste. I killed it with my own hands. I put them around its throat and throttled the life out of it.'

  'That's, er . . . nice,' said Sebastian awkwardly, and was aware of Cornelius shooting a despairing look at him. 'We are indebted to you,' he added, thinking that this might sound a little more regal.

  'Cal is the finest hunter in the village,' explained Cornelius. 'His skill with a throwing spear is exceptional.'

  'Is that right?' Sebastian wondered what else he could add to the subject. 'That's terrific. Well done! It's, er . . . good to . . . kill rusas,' he offered. 'Where I come from, we have a saying. The only good rusa is a dead rusa.'

  Cal looked at him blankly. 'Which means?'

  'Well, blessed if I know, really. It's just a saying.'

  'In a day or so the hunting party will be setting out to look for fresh game,' said Cal. 'Perhaps you would both like to accompany us?'

  'We'd love that,' said Cornelius, without hesitation. 'Wouldn't we, Sebastian?'

  'Er . . . yes. Great. Just . . . try and hold me back.'

  Cal bowed again and left the hut without another word.

  Sebastian waited a few moments until he was out of earshot. 'Is it my imagination, or does that man dislike me?' he muttered.