by J. Thorn
“Who are you?” the young woman asked.
Acatel ignored the question. He finished tightening the leather flap on his tent and glanced at her, bound and naked.
“Why did you destroy my village?” she asked. Tears flowed down her face and into the scorched earth. Acatel strained to understand her dialect.
“Tell me your name,” he said.
“My name is Gishwan, and you set fire to the village of the protectorate. My great grandfather established this place as an outpost for the Dog People.”
Acatel cut the rope that bound Gishwan’s wrists and threw her a cotton cloak. “Cover yourself so my men will not be tempted.”
Gishwan grabbed the garment and wrapped it around her waist. “Why? Why did you murder my people?” she asked while trying to choke off devastating sobs.
“That is not your concern. Those that died met their destiny as told in the Book of Horoscopes. Sleep now, for tomorrow you will begin the most difficult journey of your life.”
Acatel slept at the opposite end of the tent, in front of the flap. His dagger and short sword decorated the bedroll.
Chapter 3
The Serpent King’s vessel lumbered through leagues of the Great Sea, violent waves tossing the ship through wretched nights. The menacing sky and slate water were stealing hope from the crew. Men heard nothing but their own desperate cries of boredom as relentless walls of foaming surf pounded the deck with bone-chilling cold. Scurvy, dysentery, and squabbles reduced the crew by half. Shane of Gisanti fell into the favor of the Serpent King, garnering respect through the beatings and submission of the strongest men on the crew.
The ship came across barren, uninhabited islands, none sizeable enough to explore or exploit. Sea dragon attacks, promised by the old teachings of the Eastern Kingdom, did not materialize. The Great Sea did not end and drop the vessel into oblivion. At daybreak, Shane caught a glimpse of a purple landmass on the western horizon. Some of the first gulls circled above, leading men to believe that the island might be one of considerable size. A new excitement gripped the tired, thin, and diseased lot. Although word reached the Serpent King, Shane performed his duty and took word of the sighting.
“My lord, we spotted another landmass.”
The Serpent King sat in his quarters with a jug on the table and a pipe in hand. “Sit down, boy.”
Shane obeyed.
“The first people we encounter will be our first reinforcements. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir, I think so. We will take prisoners and use them as part of our crew.”
“Correct. We cannot dispose of the vagabonds that boarded this ship in the Eastern Kingdoms until we recruit enough men to handle their duties. I do not know if men live on this island. If they do, I promise you a gold piece for every degenerate sailor you can replace.”
Shane’s eyes grew and his mouth turned upward in a slight grin. He left the Serpent King to organize the vessel’s landfall.
Clear waters welcomed the crew in stark contrast to the sludgy surf of the Eastern Kingdom. A lazy tide took its time in emptying the beach of driftwood and other flotsam. A row of swaying palm trees served as a border between the beach and the encroaching tropical rainforest behind it. Higher up, the forest surrendered to a rising summit that threatened to interrupt the path of the Sun God.
As the ship approached the island, the sailors spotted a break on the southern side. The beach extended into the ocean in a natural harbor, protecting ships from the winds and surf of the Great Sea. The boat drifted to shore and dropped anchor as men ran about the deck, filled with a new excitement. Seven moons had passed since they left the Eastern Kingdoms, and all hoped to kiss the Earth Goddess soon. Rowboats dropped into the calm inlet, and the youngest sailors paddled them to shore, leaping onto the beach and rollicking in the sand like dogs with fleas. The last boat held Shane, a handful of the more experienced sailors, and the Serpent King. The Serpent King wore his chainmail, sword, and shield. The diseased crew littered the beach and soiled the virgin sand.
They established camp at the foot of the palm trees as men ferried rancid rations off the ship. Another group of men formed a hunting party and entered the tropical rainforest, though the sounds escaping the canopy alarmed them. Birds sang and reptiles covered their path through the trees. The men would eat well if they could stay disciplined enough to hunt the exotic creatures.
Shane climbed to the top of a rocky outcrop and turned to face the staggering, weary soldiers. “There are five of us. Two of you will go east into the forest and two of you will go west. I will continue north towards the summit. We shall meet back here before the sun sets, tally our take, and head back to camp. Anyone who decides to partake of the game before reporting it to the Serpent King will be fed to the reptiles of this godforsaken land.”
The two eldest sailors, armed with driftwood for clubs, headed to the east, while the two youngest sailors headed west. Shane moved to the north for a while, and then looped back towards the southwest. The old men would be easier targets than those with the strength of youth.
“Is it the One World?” the man in the lead asked over his shoulder.
“How should I know? I don’t care where the fuck we are as long as I get paid.”
The lead man smiled and turned to face the void where his hunting companion had stood. Birdcalls and insects mocked the confused man as he spun on his heels and scanned in every direction. He ran deeper into the forest, not knowing where or in which direction he was headed.
“Men don’t disappear,” he said to himself. He stumbled to the entrance of a cave. Even though the sailor had spent most of his life on the open sea, he knew that silence in the forest preceded trouble. Shane stepped out of the yawning maw of the cave, glaring at the man.
“You scared me, you little piece of shit. What were you doing in there?” the man asked.
Shane responded by plunging his sword into the man’s chest. He grinned as the bloodied tip reappeared behind the dead man’s head.
***
As the two young sailors chased the sun into the west, the forest grew dark and thick.
“I need to rest,” said one.
“Fine,” his partner replied. “You sleep and I’ll keep watch, then we’ll switch. I don’t trust this place.”
The first sailor gathered fresh leaves from under a group of palms and fell asleep. Within moments, the second sailor was dozing against a trunk of a tree.
“What, who’s there?”
The grogginess of sleep dissipated. The Sun God completed his journey through the heavens and the question startled the other sailor.
“There’s nobody here. Shut up. Let’s get moving before they leave us.”
Silence hovered under the canopy, falling with the last rays of the day. The sailors stood with their backs to each other, scanning the foreign landscape. Figures grew and died within the shadows, felled trees and broken branches morphing into monsters and demons.
“I don’t like this.” The sailor caught distinct movement from his left. “Draw your weapon,” he said to the forest.
The first sailor bolted for the beach. Panic gripped his heart and pumped his legs. Trunks materialized into bodies as the sun set. Moans and cries of desperation filled the air as an army of tree branches pursued the man. A twisted sapling grabbed his ankle and the sailor met the ground with force, his crude club flying into the air and out of sight.
“Why do you run?” asked Shane. He stood over the fallen sailor and extended a hand to pull him from the forest floor.
The young man scrambled to his feet, ignoring the helpful gesture. “There’s something going on in this forest. We need to get back to the ship.”
“What’s the hurry? Let us see what this enchanted forest has to offer.”
The young sailor sprinted past Shane and through a copse of trees. He stumbled, glancing back over his shoulder. His breath came in great gasps as many moons of sailing took their toll on his atrophied muscles. The sai
lor peered around a tree into the darkening forest and saw nothing. He turned to locate his pursuer when a sword pierced his forehead, and he bled through a third eye. He fell to the ground, dead, as a single tear meandered down his cheek.
***
“Run, you coward,” said the other young sailor as he watched his hunting partner tear through the thick underbrush. He brushed fear aside along with a silkworm from his breast. He walked back towards the shore, having a difficult time locating the trail they had taken from the beach.
“Fuck,” he said, to nobody in particular.
“No, fuck you,” he heard from behind.
The young sailor spun while raising his club.
“I think I will spend your share of the gold on whores. I’ll bet one of them will be your mother.”
Anger, shock, and disgust erupted on the man’s face. He charged Shane, who deflected the first strike. He grabbed the man’s right hand with his left and spun it behind the man’s neck. A wet crunch followed; the man moaned.
“I will plant my seed on her face, like the reeking slobs before me. I will enjoy using her, you son of a whore.”
The young sailor grabbed a rock with his free hand and hit Shane. Dazed by the blow, Shane stumbled backward and reached to his temple. The sailor ran again, his right arm swaying in the wind.
Shane careened sideways until he regained his balance, lunging at the hunter and yanking him down by the collar.
“Please, don’t kill me! Please spare me—”
“I will be sure to tell your mother that her son died a stinking coward.”
Shane grabbed the sailor’s head and slammed it into the ground. The man lost consciousness as Shane continued to pummel him, blood splattering up and covering his face. When the young sailor’s head had lost most of its shape, Shane removed it from his body with a sword, spitting in its face before tossing it into the forest.
Shane wiped blood and sweat from his brow and retraced his steps to the Serpent King’s ship.
***
“They never returned, my lord.”
“Four men vanished in the forest?”
“Yes.”
“The blood in your hair and on your beard?”
“I fell, sir.”
The Serpent King smiled and slapped Shane on the back. “Four more gold pieces in your purse, eh?”
Shane returned the smile but did not reply. The two men turned to face the bustling camp.
The stars rose and the crew started a roaring fire on the beach. The makeshift spit broiled crabs as the men drank and laughed. A sense of relief washed over the crew. They lived for the open sea, but even the hardiest of sea voyagers enjoyed the first hours back on land. The Serpent King sat back and watched the fools.
“Worthless drunks.”
Shane approached the Serpent King. “Permission to join you, my lord?”
“Sit.”
“Sir, I am fearful that our current crew is nothing but a bunch of sorry louts. How can we expect to complete our mission and return to claim King Jofina’s gold with these idiots?”
“You must pace yourself, Shane of Gisanti. You kill without abandon, which is an admirable trait for a warrior. However, you also have a restless soul. Eat, drink, and revel in the life you stole today. Let me tell you a story, one from my distant past.”
Shane took a swig of foul liquid masquerading as whiskey and nodded to the Serpent King.
“Many suns ago, the Eastern Kingdoms consisted of a loose federation of warring tribes. Primitive, brutal, and superstitious, tribal leaders often accused women of witchcraft when a head of cattle wandered off or crops died. In one village, the men spoke about a woman in whispers. She was sensual and beautiful, and men felt her danger like a deep-flowing river. Once, a boy of six suns followed the woman into the forest. He hid behind a tree to watch the young woman undress at the lake. This was how most of them came to know the curves of the female form. She dropped her robes to the ground, and the boy noticed an abnormal dark mark between her breasts. Transfixed by her naked beauty and yet horrified by the mark, the boy ran back to the village elders in a haze of fear and lust. He told them about the blemish, which they recognized as the Covenant of the Dark One.”
Shane raised his eyebrows.
“According to the elders, she served the Dark One. Jealous wives and hurtful females knew of this woman’s desire to please two or three men at one time, but this did not constitute witchcraft. The elders brought her to trial. The villagers summoned an ardent witch hunter from another region to preside over the hearings. Various villagers testified that she committed acts in accordance with the Dark One. They accused her of killing infants in the womb, poisoning wells, and cursing entire families. One woman blamed her for her husband’s lack of firmness. The judge had no difficulty in declaring her guilty of witchcraft. According to the verdict, she was in Covenant, which carried a penalty of death by hanging.
“The villagers brought the convict to the gallows. Citizens from all around came to watch her hang. The men lamented the fact that they would not get another chance to plunge themselves into her, and the women enjoyed the fact that their husbands would visit her no more. As the noose tightened around her neck, the woman who had declared her innocence during the trial spoke.
“She said, ‘Aye, you have captured one of his thrall. Mark me well. I will not vanish from your lives. My powers will increase threefold from the grave. Push me off these gallows. I will fuck you all in death as I did in life. The Serpent King will rise.’
“The hangman shoved her from the platform and the noose tightened around her neck. The beautiful woman swung back and forth, all life voided from her body.”
Shane looked at the Serpent King. “Was she one of your ancestors?” he asked.
“No, I was her,” replied the Serpent King.
Chapter 4
Gishwan woke in the morning, drifting out of sleep and into a nightmare. Sitting alone in a strange tent, she stuck her head out and peered at the destruction. The soldiers scattered bodies around what used to be the village. A few structures remained, sitting amongst the smoldering ash. Warriors moved about, rifling through the clothing of the dead, cooking food over fires, or attending to morning rituals. Gishwan cried as the gravity of her situation crushed her spirit.
“Consider yourself blessed by the gods,” a voice said.
Gishwan looked to her left and saw her captor, the warrior known as Acatel, approaching from the east. He wore long braids that wrapped around shards of human bone. War paint spread across his forehead and plummeted down a thin, pointed nose. He wore his helmet and sword, with a spear fastened across his back.
“Put your belongings in this and come out for some food. We will be moving on very soon.” He threw Gishwan a leather sack.
“I am going beyond the Region of the Dead,” she replied.
Acatel raised an eyebrow and considered beating the insolent woman. “Much sooner than you think, if you do not ready yourself now.”
Gishwan wore nothing and Acatel felt a fire ignite below as he watched her move around the tent. She grabbed the leather sack and threw items into it, and Acatel paid close attention to her movements, ensuring that nothing in the sack could function as a weapon. When she finished, he grabbed her by the arm and led her out of the tent. A sentry came to Acatel’s side and bound Gishwan by the wrists.
“What do you expect me to do in a raiding party of warriors?”
Acatel backhanded to the side of her face, knocking her to the ground. “The next time you speak, it will be at my command.”
Her eyes looked up at him, and she grunted and spat blood at his feet.
“My lord, we must continue moving towards the southeast,” said the commander, Acatel’s second-in-command.
“Why?”
“Scouting reports indicate that there are more villages between here and the forest by the Great Sea. We can plunder them as we did this one, but we might want to spare the men and give them the choi
ce of joining our forces.”
“That sounds wise. Once the prisoners understand we are marching on the People of the Sun, they will want to join the cause. Those bastards will die at the hands of the dogs they’ve whipped for many suns.”
Acatel’s scouting unit packed their mules and gathered other items of use from amongst the burning corpses. He placed Gishwan upon a mule and tied it to the rest of the caravan. She looked up and towards the south, where the Great Waste beckoned. Throughout her life, she had dreamt of leaving her isolated oasis and crossing the desert. She fantasized about exotic tribes and peoples beyond the Great Waste. Now the Book of Horoscopes had granted her wish, but not in the manner she had anticipated.
Meeting the horizon, the Great Waste touched the turquoise sky. Needled cacti and shrubs dotted the landscape and birds of prey circled above, waiting for their chance to feast on charred flesh. The Sun God started his journey and the wind blew from the south, bringing the first blast of heat. The gusts forced fine grains of sand into the mouths of men, ruining all sense of taste.
Gishwan had spent her entire life in the desert. She knew that many of her captors would not survive the journey. They dressed for warfare and few carried water. She needed to be patient. Her time would come when the foul Dog People battled for survival in the Great Waste.
“May I speak?” she asked Acatel.
Surprised by her change in demeanor, Acatel nodded.
“Why did you not spare my village? You could have taken what you needed with the exception of my people’s lives.”
“We are the warriors of the Dog People. You expect mercy from a group of men who have had it beaten out of them. From birth, commanders train warriors to be ruthless fighters. They no longer make decisions with mercy.”
As the caravan moved through the endless Great Waste, Acatel found the conversation with Gishwan a pleasant distraction. His lustful spark smoldered.
“How can men be trained to turn off their hearts?” she asked.