Leviathan (Lost Civilizations: 2)

by Vaughn Heppner

  Three strange beasts, of a kind that he’d never seen before, moved somewhere ahead of him. They ate human flesh. The three beasts had slain, and feasted upon his daughter. Fear filled Irad, but so did some of the rage that had overwhelmed him back in the cave. He touched one of the bear claws hanging from his neck. He arose, with his mouth set in a thin determined line, and he continued to follow their trail.

  Night came before he reached the mountain’s summit. He endured the freezing cold, singing to himself, so that he didn’t fall asleep and perish. In the morning, he resumed the trail. That evening, in a treeless vale, he made a small fire of bush branches. There, he slept the sleep of the dead. In the morning, he checked his traps that he’d set the night before. He discovered two marmots. By the middle of the afternoon, he quenched his raging thirst with snow. He was careful to let the snow melt before swallowing the water.

  He never glimpsed the three strange beasts, but he never lost their trail either. They traveled deeper and deeper into the wild mountains. Four days after beginning the trek, Irad realized that the three beasts traveled into the Forbidden Territory. No Arkite dared those mountains. That was taboo. Strange lights glowed from the Forbidden Territory, and animals there were said to be more cunning than anywhere else.

  Irad also discovered something else. The three beasts made fires, and he was certain they carried metal weapons. For he had found marks on stones that indicated iron had struck them. What sort of beasts did he track?

  Irad’s fears increased, but so did his stubbornness. He admitted to himself that he was curious. What manner of beasts were these? Perhaps, more of their kind would enter Arkite Land. Then, his people would be in terrible danger. No, he would not leave the trail. He would slay one of them. That way, they would understand the folly of invading Arkite Land. They would learn the folly of feasting on its human inhabitants. He had a score to settle, and he was Irad the Arkite, the wearer of a cave bear claw necklace.

  On the fifth day, he spotted them. They were climbing a sheer cliff-face. They were far away. They were shaggy and black, and had impossibly long arms. On their furry backs were shields and long sheathed swords.

  Irad hid behind boulders in case they looked back. When the three beasts reached the summit, he arose, and followed their trail. The air here was thin, but greenery sprouted where it shouldn’t. Grasses grew where only moss and lichen should. And the animals, they were difficult to snare, and even harder to spear. It seemed it was getting warmer.

  The next day, after a strenuous bout of climbing, Irad pulled himself to a ledge, and saw a daunting sight. The trail of the three beasts led toward a mass of mountains in the distance. Those mountains looked like a gigantic fortress. The mountains rose sheer and tall. Atop them was a vast forest. From the mountains, fell a gushing waterfall of incredible splendor. He heard the distant roar, and stared spellbound at the forest where only ice and snow should be.

  Superstitious dread filled him. This was the heart of the Forbidden Territory. Long ago, he knew, humanity had been driven from here. No person was to return, unless that person wished to face the penalty of death. All who returned would surely die. His tribe’s shaman had told them as children that the Most Holy One Himself had given the decree. There were very few, even in the legendary tales, who had ever glimpsed this place. There, within the mountain fortresses, was Paradise. There was the first home for the first man and woman on the Earth.

  Irad averted his gaze, and would have slunk home, his revenge not yet gained. But he saw the three shaggy beasts. Incredibly, they were near, less than four bowshots away. They warmed themselves by a fire, and roasted a fat mountain goat.

  Irad slid behind a boulder, his heart beating wildly. His mouth was dry, and his knees weak. The beasts were within range of his wrath. He used every bit of his skill, and the cover of bush and grass to belly-crawl toward them. By the time the mountain goat was cooked and devoured, and the beasts sat back staring at the mountain fortress, he’d slipped close enough to hear their grunts.

  Irad’s eyes widened when he realized he understood what they said.

  The beasts could speak! He strained to listen.

  “How much longer until we reach the east gate?” one asked in a deep voice.

  “Two more days,” grunted another.

  “And then?”

  “And then we will see if the guardian still stands his post.”

  “If he does?”

  “Then we will know, and report so to Gog.”

  “If the guardian has left his post?”

  A beast chuckled. “Then the prize will be ours. Then, it is we who shall rule, and not the vainglorious First Born.”

  Soon, the beasts breathed evenly.

  Irad peered around the boulder. They were man-shaped and furry, as well as large. They were smaller than a cave bear. Their black furry shoulders were massive, sloping round and forward. They had long arms, with great hairy knuckles, that would surely scrape the ground if they stood upright.

  These were fiends, Irad realized, having years ago heard of them from a shaman of the Cave Bear Tribe.

  A fly buzzed near one of them, he with a golden medallion around his neck. That one snarled himself into alertness, and snatched the fly out of the air, killing it. His speed was phenomenal, lighting-like. A raspy tongue licked the fly off his palm. His head was man-like, and as furry as the rest of him. He had dark eyes, and a snout-like sort of nose and lips.

  After the fiend laid his head back, Irad withdrew behind his boulder. What should he do? Attempt to surprise and slay them in their sleep? He recalled the fly, and the amazing speed of the fiend. He might spear one, but the others would rise and kill him.

  How could one hunter slay three massive fiends?

  The answer came in a flash. He must be higher up. He must ambush them, rolling boulders atop them so they would plunge to their deaths. Irad knew their destination. He peered at the mountain fortress, and at the gushing waterfall.

  His limbs were weary, and he was hungry, but now was his opportunity to gain an advantage over the fiends. So, as carefully as he could, Irad slipped around the fiends, and eked a trail toward the distant waterfall. The day proved difficult. In the middle of the afternoon, he spotted the spoor of a cave bear. He was on a steep trail, with the mountainside on one hand and a sheer drop on another. He knew that to meet the cave bear now would spell his death. Taking his root-fiber rope, he swung the bronze ball at a bush thirty feet above him. He shimmied up the knotted rope, threw it upward again at another bush, climbed higher still, and then found a new trail. The climb had wearied him greatly, so he curled up and went to sleep.

  The angry snarl of a bear woke him some time later. He leaped up, and backed up against the mountainside, his spear before him. No bear faced him, however.

  Irad heard the savage sound again. It came from over the ledge. Lying on his belly, he peered over the cliff. A monstrous cave bear stood on its hind legs on the trail below, and roared at the three fiends. The bear was bigger than any Irad had ever seen. It was a giant, a monster, a nightmare come to life.

  The bear roared again, spittle flying from its huge jaws, the sound deafening and raw with primordial power. It advanced upon the smaller fiends, its eyes blazing.

  The fiend with the golden medallion readied his shield and sword. He didn’t back up, but snarled at the towering bear. Irad was certain the bear was about to do his deed for him. The narrowness of the ledge dictated that only one fiend at a time could approach the monster. The contest seemed highly uneven.

  Irad grinned with delight.

  The fiend snaked in incredibly quickly with his sword. The bear managed to smash its paw onto the shield. The fiend, surely stronger than he looked, grunted and stepped back. Blood gushed from the monster bear’s chest. The fiend with the golden medallion moved in again. The bear screamed in pain, dropped to all fours, stepped forward, as if it would rush the fiend, then slumped down dead. The fiend hacked several times, severing the hug
e head from the body. He speared the head, and lifted it high above him with his long arm, bear blood dripping onto his body. The fiend roared with savagery, the echo of it ringing off the mountains. The bear’s head went tumbling down the mountainside, and the three fiends continued their journey.

  Awed at the violent spectacle, but quite famished, Irad lowered himself. He sliced hunks of bear-meat. He ate the meat raw, drank from his water-skin and continued up the mountian.

  Irad’s respect for the fiends had soared after witnessing the battle. He still hated them, but he respected their prowess. To slay a fiend—he grinned tightly. That would be a feat to match his own slaying of a cave bear, although his bear had never been of the gigantic stature of the brute he’d just seen slain. More than ever, he knew that he had to climb above the fiends and drop rocks on their heads. To see them plummet to their deaths, ah, that was a hoped-for sight that drove him onward.

  Irad didn’t stop for the night, but under a gleaming moon that seemed brighter than ever he remembered, he trekked. In time, he came to the base of the mountain fortress. The way was steep. He climbed a small way to a ledge, and waited for dawn. Streaks of light on the horizon caused him to shake his head, and flick water onto his face. He was weary. Then, he spotted the fiends. They were behind him. On all fours, they shambled toward him. From his ledge, Irad examined the mountain. Straight up seemed to be the easiest route. No, that was the only route. The other parts of the mountain were sheer and glassy. Far off to his left fell the raging waterfall.

  Irad arose, and heard the distant snarls of the fiends. They had spotted him. He uncoiled his root-fiber rope, and threw it up at a bush.

  The race proved brutal. The fiends, once they reached the rock face, climbed faster than a man could, at least one without a rope. Luckily, the fiends didn’t have a rope. At times, they had to detour where Irad climbed straight up. Still, they closed the gap between them. Irad marveled at their agility. Despite their size and their heaviness, he saw them scale what looked like sheer cliff-faces. Only finger-wide ledges could be giving them purchase. Yet they pulled themselves up with surprising speed.

  Sweat poured from Irad. His muscles quivered. He climbed, and tried from time to time to position himself over the fiends. They were too canny for that. Once, however, as he panted on a two-foot ledge, he saw that if he heaved rocks to the left, that perhaps they would bounce, hit and hurl the fiend to the bottom of the mountain.

  He picked up a heavy rock, worked it up above his head, and almost lost his purchase, as he heaved it at the unwary fiends. The rock plummeted, and hit the mountainside with a sharp clatter. The fiends jerked up in surprise. The one with the golden medallion threw himself against the mountain. The rock missed by inches.

  Irad cursed, and breathing hard as he uncoiled his rope, he began to climb. He searched for ways to move directly over the fiends, but now they were alert. For a long time he couldn’t spot them. He climbed and climbed. Then, he saw them. They were off to his left. His only chance now was to reach the summit first, and find some way to outsmart them.

  In the late afternoon, Irad discovered steps. They were worn with age and wound toward the top. It seemed that once the steps had gone all the way to the bottom of the mountain fortress. Later, a section of cliff must have sloughed off and destroyed the stairs. He coiled the rope around his torso, and forced himself to hurry. On either side of him, was a smooth wall. There were no crevices or rocks for him to use to climb over the stair-walls if he became so inclined. Irad’s fatigue was extreme, but a lifetime of hunting had hardened him to great endurance.

  In his exhausted state, he didn’t notice the warmth from above, or the beautiful scents that wafted toward him. Delicious fragrances swirled around him, and the tinkling of sweet sounds tickled his ears. He seemed to derive strength from them, even if he didn’t consciously notice them. His stride lengthened, and the bloodshot state of his eyes lessened. At last, he peered around in curiosity. Golden flowers lined the sides of the stairs, and above, not far away now, he saw tall and stately trees: cedar, pine, fir and branching palm. Birds of wonderful hues sang in the trees. He laughed. The place beckoned him. At long, long last, he was coming home. He forgot his pain, and he forgot about the fiends. He yearned to walk in the garden, and play in the soft streams that he knew awaited him. He paused to smell one of the golden flowers. Its fragrance was delightful.

  Irad almost shed his weapons, furs and coiled rope. They seemed disgusting to him, filthy. Then, the stairs ended, and he came to an upward angling plateau. He saw in the distance a floral delight, a mass of greenery, terraces, gentle waterfalls and beautiful animals prancing in the greens. The wonderful scents grew in power. He was smiling. A laugh bubbled out. Paradise stood before him. Eden. The perfect place made by a perfect Elohim for humans who knew not sin, nor wrong, nor any imperfection. He ran toward Eden, all thoughts of death, fiends and ancient warnings forgotten.

  As the plateau ended, he saw that he must enter through a wide stone gate. The east gate, he realized.

  He slowed, a bit of his old caution yet left within him. He turned, and saw that the fiends were only two bowshots away. They too looked struck with awe, but in their hands were weapons of war. The fiend with the golden medallion led the way. His shield was blazoned with a red trident, and his sword looked sharp.

  Irad ran toward the east gate. The fiends didn’t charge after him, but they watched with expectation. When Irad turned toward the gate, which was near, an awesome being stepped out, and barred the way.

  Irad was struck numb with terror. He fell to his knees, unable to move. The being looked on him not with wrath, but with gentleness, yet still the being’s presence was overpowering.

  The being that barred the way into Eden was larger than a man, and dressed in extremely bright linen. He wore a belt of gold around his waist. His body and face shone with dreadful majesty, and his eyes held terrible power.

  “Halt!” he said in a loud voice to the fiends.

  The fiends dared advance to where Irad knelt. They held their shields before their eyes, as if to bar the terrible sight of the Cherub. Each fiend’s shoulders were hunched, and each hand gripped its sword with awful strength and terror.

  “Go back from whence you came,” the Cherub said.

  Two of the fiends looked to the one with the golden medallion. That fiend took another step forward, and lowered his shield until the Cherub was in full view. The fiend’s eyes were squinted into slits, and his head was hunched, as if enduring a great heat.

  “You stand in our way,” growled the fiend.

  “You may not enter Eden,” the Cherub said.

  “You would try to stop us?” asked the fiend.

  The Cherub didn’t answer.

  “Why do you still hold your post when all the other Shining Ones have left the Earth?” asked the fiend.

  Still, the Cherub said nothing more.

  “You have no right to bar our path.”

  The Cherub pointed in the direction they should go.

  “Your kind has left the Earth,” the fiend said. “Shining Ones, because of overwhelming numbers, defeated our father’s fathers. But, now the contest is between mortals. Why, then, do you still hold your post?”

  “As long as the tree stands, so I stand here,” the Cherub said. “You may not eat the fruit of the Tree of Life.”

  “Who said that is what we wish to do?” asked the fiend. When the Cherub said nothing, the fiend retreated, and spoke to his fellows. He stepped forward again.

  “You have been charged to bar the humans from Eden, but we are not human,” the fiend said.

  “You have been born of women,” the Cherub said. “You will die, and return to the dust from whence you came. You are mortal.”

  “We’ve been cheated!” raged the fiend. “In our veins is also the blood of your kind! Why, then, must we know death?”

  “You are an abomination,” the Cherub said. “Yet, in His mercy, Elohim has allowed you to live o
ut your days. Turn, I say, from your path of ungodliness, and fall on your face before Him. Beg for forgiveness. Do not practice the folly of your fathers. Do not let false pride ensnare you. Throw yourself on Elohim’s matchless mercy.”

  “We’re not like them!” the fiend snarled, pointing at the unmoving Irad. “They’re cattle!”

  “They are Elohim’s creation,” the Cherub said. “Their souls are divine. They are not cattle, but will one day be higher than the Shining Ones.”

  “Bah!” the fiend snarled, his rage growing. “We feast on them. They are indeed cattle. Look, he cannot endure your glory, but we can. And, as our father’s fathers sometimes did, we can wound you, and drive you from your post.”

  “Pride goeth before the fall,” quoted the Cherub. “Do not be deceived, Elohim shall not be mocked.” When the Cherub saw that his quoted words had no effect upon the fiends, he said, “Eden is barred from mortals, thus it is barred from you. Turn away while you can. Live out the days allotted you. Perhaps, in time, you will learn wisdom, and beg Elohim for forgiveness.”

  “You prattle weakness!” snarled the fiend with the golden medallion. “Look at yourself. Why not dare to make your own choices? Why be the slave, when you can be the master?”

  “By the trident emblem on your shield, I see you are the slave of Gog, son of Magog, who served Morningstar, who rebelled against Elohim,” the Cherub said. “There are only two masters in the universe, Elohim and Morningstar. Either one or the other will be served. Yet in the end, Morningstar and his brood will be cast into the Lake of Fire. No, I will not desert Elohim’s cause.”

  “You say then that might makes right,” the fiend asked, slyly.

  “Elohim is holy, good and righteous. His ways are high above your ways or mine. Turn to Him if you can.”