Destroyermen its-1

by Taylor Anderson

  Matt glanced with surprise at the sheathed ceremonial weapon. They'd worn the swords—as before—to seem less exotic. It hadn't occurred to him that it might cause trouble. Keje would have warned them if they were committing some terrible breach of convention. Wouldn't he? He thought quickly. "Tell him my hand is empty. Among our people, only the unsheathed weapon is a threat because it shows intent. The sign is given as a token of friendship and reflects more the intent than the actual fact."

  "It is a lie, then?" came the question. Keje seemed uncomfortable and Adar radiated an air of vindication. Matt felt a surge of anger and wondered if they'd been set up. Sandra unobtrusively squeezed his arm.

  "Tell him it's not a lie. We came here as friends, as we came to the aid of Salissa Home. We'd like to be the friends of all the People. Since our intentions are friendly, not making the sign would have been a lie. Among our people, friends may go among one another armed and still remain friends. Is that not the case among his?"

  After the translation, Nakja-Mur just stared for a moment, but then slowly, his lips parted into a grin. Matt looked at Keje and saw he was already smiling. "I tell Nakja-Mur you people always armed because you always . . . warriors. Always. You ship made for fighting only. Not so?"

  Finally, they'd come to the point. He'd never lied about it, but he had downplayed it. Now, Matt knew, there was only one possible answer. The truth.

  "USS Walker is a ship of war," he admitted quietly.

  "Who you fight?" Adar asked. "Who you fight all the time to need ship only for war?"

  Matt realized it was the first time he'd heard the Sky Priest speak English. "We fight the enemies of our people . . . and the enemies of our friends."

  "You fight Grik?" Adar translated for Nakja-Mur.

  "We've already fought the Grik."

  "You fight again?"

  Matt glanced at Sandra and Bradford. They were both looking at him, realizing that what he said in the next few moments might have grave consequences for them all.

  "If the Grik come and you can't fight them alone, we'll help. That's what friends do. But friends don't ask friends to do all their fighting for them."

  Nakja-Mur spoke to Adar, all the while watching Matt's face as if curious how to interpret human expressions. Adar repeated his words as carefully as he could. "After battle tale of U-Amaki Ay Salissa"—he paused and looked at Matt—"Keje tell fight. Grik fight bad, but hard. Fight new way, bigger ship. More Grik than see before." He took a quick gulp from his tankard. "New thing," he said. "Different thing. Maybe Grik come . . . bigger, like long ago."

  Matt was concerned about the Grik, of course, but he wasn't too worried about Walker's ability to handle several of their ships at once, if need be. They were the "Ancient Enemy," that much he understood, and he knew the 'Cats held them in almost superstitious dread—with good reason. But he guessed he'd begun to think of them more along the lines of his "Malay pirate" model than as an actual expansionist menace. They'd been "out there" for thousands of years, after all. His assessment was based on his limited conversations, as well as the lack of any evident preparations to meet a serious threat. Especially here. He'd shifted his primary concern to establishing good enough relations with the Lemurians that they would help with fuel and repairs. If a limited alliance, in which Walker chased off a few Grik now and then, was the only way to meet those needs, then he was prepared to agree to one, but he wanted to avoid an "entangling" alliance that left either too dependent on the other.

  Now, though, it seemed they were actually afraid the Grik might attack here. That didn't fit the "pirate" model. He was dismayed how vulnerable the people of Baalkpan were, even compared to their seagoing cousins. They'd always referred to it as an "outpost" or "colony," and he supposed that description had left him thinking Baalkpan was small and possibly even transient. Certainly easily evacuated. Now, of course, he knew that the land colony of Baalkpan would be about as easy to evacuate as . . . Surabaya. But even against six Grik ships, Baalkpan had enough people—complacent as they were—to repel an assault with ease. Something had been lost in translation—or had they been "downplaying" too?

  Adar continued. "If Grik come bigger, like long ago, there be . . . plenty? Plenty fight for all." Matt looked at Nakja-Mur and then at Keje who stood by his side, watching him. Then he glanced at Sandra and sighed.

  "Tell me more about the Grik."

  The party proceeded around them, loud with happy cries and chittering laughter. A troupe of dancers found enough space near the trunk of the great tree to perform feats of astonishing agility and admirable grace.

  They were accompanied by haunting but festive music produced by drums and a woodwind/horn that sounded like a muted trumpet. All the while, a space was left surrounding the thronelike chair of Nakja-Mur and his guests while they discussed the peril they faced.

  Nakja-Mur touched a chime. At the signal, a truly ancient Lemurian emerged—as if he'd been waiting—from a chamber behind his chief, dressed in the robes and stars of the Sky Priests. Around his neck was a simple brass pendant, tarnished with age but suspended by an ornate chain of gold. He clutched it when he suddenly spoke the same, but more polished, Latin that Adar had first used to communicate with them.

  "You understand the Ancient Tongue," he grated.

  "Yes! I mean, uh, that's true, Your . . . Eminence."

  The old Lemurian gave a start when Bradford replied, but continued in his raspy voice. "I'm disquieted by that, but it's clearly true. I would learn how this can be. But that will wait." He seemed contemplative for a moment, but then visibly gathered himself to speak again.

  "I'm Naga, High Sky Priest of Baalkpan. I will tell you of the Grik and of the People. The Scrolls are our ancient history, our guide, our way, our very life, but they are incomplete and there are gaps—great gaps— between their beginning and the now. Hundreds of generations passed between the beginning times and when we learned the Ancient Tongue.

  The Truth was passed by word of mouth all that time before it was recorded." He blinked several times in a sequence that Bradford thought signified regret. "Perhaps, much was lost," he continued, "but the Scrolls clearly tell of a time when all the people lived together in happiness and peace on a land in the west. A land vast and beautiful, safe from the capricious sea. A land lush and green and covered with trees and protected by water. And the Maker of All Things, the Greatest of all the Stars above, filled the waters around the Ancient Home with wicked fishes that kept our people safe from the monsters across the water on the western land.

  "And thus it was, for age upon age. The People lived and died, but were prosperous and happy and needed only the trees for their homes."

  He shook his head in lament and blinked again, rapidly. "But for some, it wasn't enough. The fragile perfection of the People's existence was somehow lacking, it seemed. Some built boats, to range upon the sea and take fishes there. They wandered and explored, and finally it came to be that one of the boats was cast upon the western land of monsters. The Grik," he added darkly. "The Grik slew them and ate them, but then wondered from where did they come, this new prey?"

  Bradford translated as quickly as he could, but began to fall behind.

  The old priest waited while he caught up, and then continued.

  "The Grik built boats for themselves. They copied the very boats delivered unto them. They were poor sailors, and many perished and the flasher-fish and gri-kakka grew fat on their bodies, but there were always more. Finally, they reached the ancient paradise of our People. Only a few came at first, like now." He stopped and looked at Nakja-Mur. "And they were killed and cast into the sea. The People were not warriors and many died, but they were able, for a time, to slay all that came." He paused for effect. "But there were always more."

  The party went on, unabated, but a circle of silent listeners had formed around them. The old Sky Priest lifted a copper mug to his shriveled lips and drank.

  Bradford turned to Matt. "My God, Captain! Do you know
what this means? Madagascar! This `ancient paradise' simply must be Madagascar!

  These people are quite clearly related to lemurs—as I've believed from the start! I admit the relation has become somewhat distant . . ."

  "Distant!" snorted Sandra. "Most lemurs are no bigger than a cat.

  None I know of are bigger than a chimp!"

  "That's where you're mistaken, my dear. A species of giant lemur once dwelt on Madagascar, a species almost as large as our friends. I've seen their very bones!" His brow furrowed. "But they were not nearly so . . . humanlike in form. Nevertheless! This gives me almost enough information to advance my theory regarding—" He was unable to finish because the wizened priest spoke once more.

  "The war for paradise must have lasted generations. We know not, because the Scrolls do not say. But during that time, the People learned to build great ships—the Homes of the Sea—and so were prepared when the Grik became too many and the People were finally cast out, forced to wander the vast oceans, never to return to our sacred home." Naga paused to catch his breath and allow Bradford time to translate. While he waited, he looked wistfully at the great tree in the center of the hall. "At first, we wandered blindly. We had not yet learned the Heavens—to follow the paths they laid before us. We knew the Great Star, the Maker of All Things who lights the world and brings brightness to the void of night, and we knew his little brother, who washes the night with a cool, sleepy light, but we did not know that the smaller stars yearned to show us things. Many perished when their Homes were cast on unknown shores, and it's said the bones of those ancient wrecks bleach there even still. But enough survived to carry on. Lost and scattered by storm and darkness, our people did survive. Over time, they saw the light in the darkness and learned the wisdom of the Heavens. It was then that they knew the stars for what they are—the bright essence of those who have gone before and watch over us from the sky."

  He looked at the humans for a moment and Bradford could have sworn that he blinked in speculation. He continued. "Some settled in the northlands, and others in the south. Some eked out an existence on tiny islands in the middle of the Western Sea, but always, where there was land, eventually there were Grik. The only ones to gain a shadow of freedom from war and fear were those who lived on the sea. Only the sea was safe, for the Grik do not love it and did not know how to build the great floating Homes. With the deep waters between us, where the mountain fish dwell, for a time there was peace and it seemed the Grik had forgotten the prey that escaped them. We found these lands where the Grik did not thrive and those that did were weak and primitive and we made colonies, or land Homes, for the first time in age upon age. A hundred generations passed. More. The people lived well and in peace. Baalkpan and other colonies rose to thrive and prosper and the great Homes of the sea plied the oceans and slew the gri-kakka for his sweet oil and restored contact between the scattered ones so we could become one People again. Different, diverse, and far-flung, but still one People even if languages and beliefs had changed.

  "The Grik became no more than a myth, a terrible legend to frighten younglings into doing their chores, but no longer did they haunt our dreams. The terrible enemy that stole our home and nearly destroyed us had become less than a fable. The backward Grik here were hunted and slain, and those on the islands nearby did not know tools and weapons.

  On a few islands, some live still and no one ever goes there to stay."

  "Bali," Matt said aloud, and the old priest blinked a curious affirmative.

  "Then, like a gift from the Heavens themselves, the first Tail-less Ones came in three ships, suffering from storm and loss. They were tired and weak and poor in food, but friendly and rich in wisdom of the Heavens.

  We fed them and nursed them and helped them repair their ships and, in return, they taught us that the stars did indeed show the way, but one could see the way only through the Sun, since the Sun alone was the child, and as one with the Maker of All Things. From the Sun we take direction, and with direction, the stars in the Heavens would show us the way from place to place. They told us the names of the stars and the names of places as well, like Baalkpan and Borno and Baali. But the greatest gift they bestowed upon us was the Ancient Tongue by which the Scrolls were drawn and written at long last, and in which we now converse."

  "My God," whispered Matt. "The stars are `ancestor spirits,' the son of the sun is the sun . . . Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."

  Sandra nodded. "Whoever came before left behind more than they thought."

  "Yeah, I'd hoped the `Scrolls' weren't so deeply incorporated—" Naga interrupted. He'd watched their varied reactions, but he didn't pause for long. "At last there was a way for all the People to understand one another again, and to go from place to place without ever having been there, and in safety!"

  "What happened to them? What did they look like?" Bradford asked quietly. His face remained impassive, but when he glanced at Captain Reddy, his eyes were intent.

  "As far as what they looked like, all that is recorded is they had no tails, as you do not, which is strange and disturbing enough. The circumstance of their arrival is also somewhat similar . . ." He hesitated. "As far as where they went, that's a tragic story in itself, and one that, I fear, has finally returned to task us. A learned one among them, a scholar of great wisdom with the name Salig-Maa-Stir, taught our fathers the Ancient Tongue and drew the lands and waters and placed names upon them. It's said his leaders did not approve, and when they found out he'd done this thing, they forbade him to teach us their everyday tongue or the magic they guarded.

  Nevertheless, he loved the People and told us what he could through a tongue ancient even among his kind. Eventually, even this wasn't allowed, and Salig-Maa-Stir was kept away except to barter for goods. His greatest pupil, however, a female named Siska-Ta, picked up the narrative of the visitors. It was she who told the tale of the leaving of the Tail-less Ones.

  "They claimed their home was far to the west, beyond even the Land of the Grik. But in spite of their wisdom, their Scrolls, and their tools, they were lost and alone and all their people were gone. Salig-Maa-Stir claimed that their land had ceased to be. Siska-Ta and our fathers assumed their people were slain by the Grik, and the horrors of old legends resurfaced. But before he was taken away, Salig-Maa-Stir said his people were not conquered, they had simply ceased to be."

  Matt and Sandra looked at one another.

  "This was a horror even worse than the Grik, but they never gave explanation. However, it came to pass that one of the ships wanted to go to their home and see what had become of it. Our fathers told them the legends, and warned them of the danger, but they knew. They knew!

  They'd met the Grik already! This was terrible news for the People, for it confirmed the legends and meant that the Grik truly did exist, as the priests had been saying all along. But what worried them most was that if the Tail-less Ones returned to that evil land, the Grik might learn their ways and soon find us as well! The leaders of the other ships shared this concern, but they had not the will or right to stop the one from trying.

  "Finally, it was decided the one would go west, bearing only those who desired to go, with only the most rudimentary weapons and the scantiest of Scrolls. It was hoped that if they were taken, the Grik would learn nothing about where they'd been, where they were going, and most important to the other two ships, where we were and where they would go. On a blustery spring day, the one sailed west—we expect now to its doom—and the other two sailed east, and disappeared into the vast, empty Eastern Sea, beyond the known world. That was almost three hundred seasons ago."

  The old priest took another long swallow from his tankard and smacked his lips over eroded, yellow teeth. It was evidently a story he'd often told and now that it was done, the somber theater of the telling passed and his mood once more reflected that of the party that continued to thrive.

  "Did this Siska-Ta ever write any more?" Bradford asked.

  "Oh, yes indeed! She became the fi
rst true Sky Priest and not only finished the early Scrolls but traveled the world and taught the Scrolls and the Ancient Tongue to all the People. It is from her we know the shape of the world, from this side of the great Western Sea all the way to the Eastern Ocean, where the waters fall away and the world ends. She also compiled histories of the many people she met and went among. She was a Prophet. A great Prophet."

  "Do the Scrolls show where the Ancient Home of your People lies?"

  Bradford questioned eagerly, certain that he'd solved his riddle.

  The old priest closed his eyes in a long, mournful blink. "Alas, they do not. We know it is beyond the Western Sea, where none dare go. The waters are without bottom, as are those of the Eastern Ocean, and great monsters dwell there. And of course, beyond the Western Sea are the Grik."

  "Did the Tail-less Ones leave nothing of themselves at all? Nothing you could point to and say, `This was theirs'?" Sandra asked.

  "Some ornaments and cloth, some of which still exist," the priest said dismissively. Then he glanced at Nakja-Mur before speaking again. "Other than that, only this."

  He raised the pendant resting against his chest and held it forth. Matt, Sandra, and Bradford all leaned forward and peered at the tarnished brass disk. It was about the size and shape of a hockey puck, or a can of snuff.

  Reverently, the priest undid a clasp and raised the lid of the device.

  "Is it not wondrous?" he asked.

  Before them was a very old pocket compass. A tiny folding sundial lay retracted to one side, and beneath the crystallized, almost opaque glass, a small needle quivered and slowly swung to point dutifully in a northerly direction.

  "My God," murmured Captain Reddy. The compass itself was a fascinating discovery, but what caught his attention, and took Sandra's breath, was the inscription under the lid.

  Jas. S. McClain

  Sailing Master

  H.E I.C. Ship

  HERMIONE

  "My God," Matt said again.