Darwin's Soldiers

by Ste Sharp

  He turned to focus on another soldier: a Russian swordsman, whose head was mostly filled with images of naked women – real memories or daydreams, Mihran couldn’t tell. How about someone else? John Greene was nearer now, so he focused on his thoughts: a young boy surrounded by fruit and vegetables, laughing; an old man in a chair, shouting; symbols on a medal; a body under a bloody sheet; a woman’s scream; silhouettes crawling towards him.

  Mihran pulled away and fought to catch his breath. He blinked, unaware how much energy it had taken out of him. He smiled: it was exhilarating. Like the first time he had ridden a horse.

  ‘Is this God’s will?’ he asked the sky. ‘Why have I been given this gift?’

  A blur of movement caught his eye and Mihran instinctively reached for the mindlike casting out a fishing net. Pictures came: an obelisk hidden beneath rocks; water lapping around its sandy base; a dark room; a knife; a woman; blood and a flash.

  Very interesting, Althorn, Mihran thought,and walked to where the blur was heading – to a group of Day Watchsoldiers.

  The swirl of sand slowed to form the shape of the Celt cut-throat . ‘ Lavalle , I have found something you need to see.’

  Lavalle raised his head.

  Mihran joined them. ‘Is this something I need to know?’

  ‘I’m sure I can handle it, thank you . ’ Lavalle turned away.

  ‘No, I insist,’ Mihran said. He had to know everything if he was going to be in charge – and in control. Information was a weapon and he needed to be well armed. ‘We are one group now.’

  ‘Right, yes. ’ Lavalle turned to Althorn. ‘So, what have you found?’

  Althorn spoke quietly and Mihran already knew what he was going to say.

  ‘I have found another obelisk.’

  ***

  Olan was sitting on a log with Bowman, watching the sea lap against the sandy shore, when he heard Li calling, ‘Gather round!’

  Small groups of warriors moved up the beach towards Li, who stood away from where Euryleia tended the injured soldiers. Olan studied the group and recognised more faces from the obelisk hill. Since the battle , they had foraged and eaten as one unit , but many kept to their original friendship groups.

  ‘Listen up!’ Li’s voice was clear without shouting. ‘We have decided to continue to travel by day.’

  ‘But there’s nowhere left to travel to!’ a voice shouted out, sending laughter around the crowd.

  ‘Which leads me to my second point,’ Li replied. ‘We have new information. Mihran…’

  Mihran stepped forward, hands on hips , revealing his sword. Now Olan had seen him in action, his respect for the Arab had gone up several notche s .

  ‘Earlier today, while scouting this… endless coast, Althorn discovered a set of obelisks.’

  A murmur rose from the soldiers and Olan stared down the coast but could see nothing .

  ‘Subsequent surveys show these obelisks are scattered along the shoreline and the message is clear – if we are to reach the silver gates we must cross this sea . ’ Mihran gestured and Olan turned to stare at the placid waters.

  ‘Where to?’ someone asked.

  Li replied, ‘The obelisk says we must leave the safety of our homeland to venture to lands anew.’

  ‘And what’re we going to sail on ?’ asked another.

  ‘We can build rafts,’ Crossley’s voice cut above the others, ‘but is this what we want to do? Seriously?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lavalle asked. ‘The obelisk says – ’

  ‘I get what the obelisk says,’ Crossley replied, ‘but I wanna know why we’re being pushed around like toys ? Why are we agreeing to that? I mean, who’s really in charge here? ’

  A silence fell and Olan stared across the open water again. He had ventured out to sea a hundred times and the thought of taking a new voyage excited him. Maybe some of the men around him were scared of the ocean? Many of his crew had been on their first voyage, but had been taught to hide it.

  ‘There’s nothing to fear,’ Olan said and stepped forward so everyone could see him. ‘The sea looks calm and – ’

  ‘I’m not scared,’ Crossley replied, ‘I’m just asking why we should go in the first place? I mean, we read the first obelisk and trotted off the hill like good little B oy S couts, following some – ’

  ‘And what happened next?’ Mihran cut Crossley off. ‘The hill was demolished. I th i nk the message was clear. We move on or suffer the consequences.’ He waited for a response but got none. ‘I resent these orders we are forced to follow, a s much as you,’ Mihran said, ‘but until we are in a position to negotiate our position, I suggest we obey.’

  ‘I agree,’ Samas said and was followed by several other soldiers.

  ‘So I suggest we get to work on our craft,’ Mihran said . ‘Crossley, we could use your expertise, but if you would rather stay behind, that is your decision.’

  Olan watched the short American , who said nothing and lit ano ther of his cigarettes . He was right to argue, Olan thought. They could keep marching and fighting but , without any reward or purpose, even the most loyal soldier would soon start questioning their orders.

  ***

  A crash of timber woke John.

  ‘…coming along well. Li has been cutting palms with her rifle,’ Crossley was saying. ‘The density’s as low as balsa, so we’ll need less wood.’

  ‘And the other soldiers?’ Lavalle asked.

  ‘All good workers – Olan’s pretty handy with the axe,’ Crossley replied.

  An odd silence followed.

  ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Lavalle sounded angry.

  John turned his head and managed to open his eyes to watch the men.

  ‘Well, he’s a Viking, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So he could be your ancestor – Li told me they settled Normandy and then conquered England, so…’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Lavalle looked over at the large Norseman. ‘I hadn’t thought about it like that.’

  ‘It’s quite neat when you think about it,’ Crossley continued. ‘I mean, he could be your great, great, great whatever and any of you could be my ancestors, what with all the Europeans who–’

  Lavalle shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think so,’ he said vehemently and walked off.

  John smiled. His head and body felt less heavy now and he wondered how long he had been asleep.

  ‘We need to speed up!’ a deep voice shouted.

  John caught a glimpse of Mihran’s maroon robes flowing in the sea breeze. Olan was nearby, binding palm trunks with green vines, while other soldiers were laying out poles and collecting purple bladders from the high-tide mark. Beyond them, a soldier with a clay cast on one arm was talking to the future soldier with the mask. John looked at his arm: it was almost all gun now. We’re all changing, he thought, and remembered Mata and the wolves. But why?

  ‘You’re awake!’ Mata’s voice drew his attention.

  John eased himself up onto his good elbow. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Take it easy.’ Mata helped John to sit up against a palm. ‘Drink?’

  ‘Thanks.’ John took a sip from Mata’s canteen.

  He could see more now. Three other soldiers lay wounded beside him with missing limbs or with Euryleia’s poultices strapped to wounds.

  ‘How many dead?’ John asked.

  ‘Seven,’ Mata replied. ‘Myrcin the lancer and Jarha the Egyptian.’

  ‘How many of us will make it to the gates?’ John asked.

  Mata looked to the sea horizon and shrugged, then nodded at John’s arm. ‘Euryleia thinks the poison from the sting sped up your changes.’

  ‘Changing into what though?’ John raised both arms with a wince. ‘This’ll never fire again, that’s for sure.’ The gun-arm was only a few inches longer than his left arm now. ‘It feels lighter.’

  ‘He’s awake then?’ John recognised the voice of the archer who had been talking to Lavalle. ‘Li tells me you’re English
like me. I’m Bowman.’

  John dropped his arms and looked at Bowman. He could easily have been one of the lads back in his battalion. ‘Yes, London born and bred. How about you?

  ‘Wisbury, south of Lincoln. Not that I’ve spent much time there recently.’

  John smiled. ‘Tell me about it – I’ve been the wrong side of the Channel for years.’

  Bowman smiled back. ‘I would shake your hand but…’

  John instinctively moved his coat to cover his arm.

  ‘No it’s alright, friend, I’ve seen stranger, believe me!’ Bowman said.

  Mata stood up.

  ‘Have I been asleep long?’ John asked.

  ‘One night since the battle,’ Mata replied.

  ‘So we still have time to get to the silver gates?’

  ‘Depends how big this sea is.’ Mata stared out to sea again.

  ‘And how far the gates are once we find land,’ Bowman said.

  ‘I’d like to see the rafts,’ John said.

  ‘Come on then,’ Mata helped him to his feet.

  They took it slow across the beach and John rested, leaning against Mata as they watched the hive of activity, the soldiers strapping leaf-wrapped packets of food, spare weapons and gourds of water to the rafts.

  John felt his energy come back. ‘Let’s get closer.’

  Mata helped him over to where Olan worked the last trunks into place. ‘You must be John,’ he said, with a glance at his arm. ‘I’m Olan.’

  ‘Hello,’ John said.

  Olan smiled, and looked at Mata. ‘Have you got shorter?’

  Mata’s face was like carved stone. Then he burst out laughing: his tattoos wrinkling.

  ‘What?’ Olan looked at John. ‘What did I say?’

  John shrugged.

  Mata’s laugh slowed to a smile. ‘Of all the changes, you ask if I’m shorter? Ha! No, my friend,’ Mata patted the Viking on his shoulder. ‘You have grown.’

  ‘Really?’

  John stared up at both tall warriors. They both looked huge to him.

  Samas came over, having heard the conversation. ‘We can’t have grown – our clothes would be too small.’

  ‘Well, we couldn’t have shrunk or ours would be too big,’ Mata replied.

  ‘I know who can settle this.’ Samas beckoned Li over. ‘Li – you scanned us when you first arrived on the hill, correct?’

  ‘Yes.’ Li’s visor stayed down.

  ‘Well, how do we look now?’ Olan asked, opening his arms.

  Li’s visor sent a blue, criss-cross pattern across Olan. ‘Interesting…’

  ‘Well?’ Samas asked.

  ‘Mata and John have the same dimensions as before,’ Li replied. ‘While you, Samas, are ten percent larger than when we arrived.’

  ‘And me?’ Olan asked.

  ‘Even bigger – fourteen percent extra body mass.’

  Lavalle was drawn over too. ‘Excuse me, madam, but how do you know this?’

  He drew strange looks.

  ‘Madam?’ John looked at Li.

  ‘I can only suggest it was the…’

  ‘Elephant steaks!’ Olan shouted.

  ‘Well, it could have been the food. Who’s to know what’s driving these changes?’ Li said. ‘When populations of a species diverge, environmental forces work differently on each group, causing them to change physiologically as they adapt to their new environment – but that’s over several generations, not individual lifetimes.’

  An array of blank faces stared at Li and a silence held until she turned to Olan. ‘It could have been the elephant meat, yes.’

  Mata turned to Lavalle. ‘More importantly, why did you call Li a madam?’

  Lavalle smiled. ‘Well, my painted friend, where I come from, ladies are treated with respect and I merely…’

  ‘Is it true?’ John turned to Li. ‘Are you…?’

  ‘A woman?’ Li said, with a glance at Samas, ‘Yes.’ And her visor slid back to reveal a truly beautiful, feminine face.

  Chapter 7

  Dakaniha had a dilemma. He was tracking a warrior he desperately wanted to learn from, but whose martial skills terrified him. Although he had yet to set eyes on him, Dakaniha could tell from the trail of destruction that teaming up with this man could mean the difference between life and death in this new, dangerous land he found himself in, so he had followed the track of footprints: a trail of broken twigs and broken bodies.

  For days, Dakaniha had followed this trail, finding pieces of discarded clothing with loops of leather that suggested the owner was well armed. In a small clearing, he’d discovered the body of a large, striped beast that, judging by its wounds and the tracks in the dusty ground, had been slain by two warriors, a third individual joining them after the fight. None were the man he tracked. He found three sets of bloody clothes nearby. Their footwear matched the footprints near the beast, yet Dakaniha assumed all three deaths had been the work of the man he was tracking. If these men had killed the huge carnivore, and the man he pursued had killed them, he had to be an even greater warrior!

  He’d had his own encounters with beasts. Dakaniha came across a lethargic stream where he took off his rawhide armour and poured the cool water over his shaved head. Thoughts of his wife, Adsila, and his young daughter, Ayasha, had come to him: they were waiting patiently for him, so he would have to be patient in order to return to them.

  It was then that he’d seen the creature.

  A galitsohidv? Dakaniha thought as he marvelled at the beast’s lethal-looking horns.

  It had noticed him. With a twitch of an ear and a trio of hoof stomps, it charged, full speed. Dakaniha had scared off lone wolves and hungry bears, but this animal was not going to be frightened by sticks of fire and its hide was too thick for his arrows. It bore down on him with a thundering gallop, leaving him two options – run or climb. So he did both. He scrambled up the low branches of the nearest tree as the heavyweight dashed beneath, ripping up clods of earth and snorting as it passed. Dakaniha was back on the ground in a second, running in the opposite direction and hoping the beast was not as good at tracking as he was.

  Deeper into the forest he’d travelled until finally he’d come across another, intertwining path. So now, as the light faded and dusk closed in, he crouched to study the trail. The footprints weren’t those of a British soldier, yet they weren’t Aniyunwiya or those of the great warrior.

  Will this land give me no clues? Dakaniha asked the canopy of leaves above.

  As he lowered his head, he caught a glimpse of light in his peripheral vision. A campfire! Dakaniha closed in, with soft steps, avoiding dry leaves and twigs. He crouched nearby and saw a white man by the fire, which flickered and glinted off the bronze chest plate and helmet lying by the soldier’s side. He had the wrong clothing to be British and had no rifle. Creeping closer, Dakaniha saw a long spear and a round shield and saw the man was wrapped in a red cape.

  The stranger spoke, but used words Dakaniha didn’t recognise, then tilted his head to one side and smiled.

  Dakaniha stood to his full height and stepped into the light of the fire. ‘I am Dakaniha of the Aniyunwiya people. Your people call us Cherokee.’ He stood patiently, waiting for a reply.

  The man spoke again and studied Dakaniha’s bow and axe with obvious interest, but Dakaniha didn’t recognise a single word.

  ‘I am Dakaniha.’ He stabbed his chest with a forefinger.

  The man smiled then laughed a little, shaking his ponytail, then gestured to the fire.

  Dakaniha frowned. Who was this man? A scout from another invading army? A new soldier fighting for the British?

  The long-haired soldier gestured to the fire again and pointed to the ground. Then he tossed a cooked leg of bird to Dakaniha, who caught the charred meat and frowned. He weighed up the stranger’s motives and, deciding he would be able to defend himself if attacked, sat down to tuck into the meat. It tasted good.

  ***

  ‘We should leave,’
Dakaniha said the next morning as he shook the dust off his cloak and pulled it over his shoulders.

  The long-haired soldier stretched, pointed at the hazy sky and made a comment Dakaniha couldn’t understand.

  He squinted at the foreigner, trying to make sense of his words. ‘We go this way.’ He led the man to the great warrior’s trail, pointing out the shoe prints and pieces of broken twig. ‘This belongs to a brave warrior who killed three dangerous men.’

  The soldier casually swung his long spear over his shoulder, gave Dakaniha his broad smile and started jogging along the trail.

  By dusk, there was still no sign of the warrior.

  On the second morning, the pair entered a range of hills covered in orange and yellow cacti.

  Dakaniha stood on the peak of the first hill and scanned the horizon but there was nothing he recognised. The twigs on the trail had been replaced by snapped cactus spines. They followed the trail, where the hills formed a rolling plateau, until Dakaniha found new tracks that merged with the path.

  ‘They’ve walked over the footprints,’ Dakaniha said, growing anxious, and his pounding heartbeat sounded loud in his ears, along with another sound carried by the wind.

  ‘Somebody is in trouble,’ Dakaniha said and looked to the stranger to see if he could hear it too.

  He tapped his ear and pointed off the path.

  They followed the calls to a shallow valley where the cacti grew thin. A red ground vine covered the dusty soil and, at the centre of the dell, sat a dark, ridged crater, staring at the sky like a pupil in a giant eye.

  Dakaniha jogged behind his companion and eyed the enclosing hills warily. He rubbed his left temple. Something didn’t feel right here. They jogged to the crater and Dakaniha stared into the abyss to see three pairs of eyes peering back up. The hole was twenty paces across with steep sides lined with shards of white glass, like the mouth of a giant subterranean beast. A voice shouted from the darkness but it was another garbled mess Dakaniha didn’t understand.