Leviathan (Lost Civilizations: 2)

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Enough!” Zillith said. “Tell us rather what it is you fear.”

  “I have the gift,” Auroch said.

  “What is your gift?” Zillith asked.

  Auroch wiped the back of his huge hand across his mouth. “First, tell me this,” he said in a tight voice, “because I have Nephilim blood, am I doomed for all eternity?”

  “Explain,” Lord Uriah said.

  Auroch gave him a hard look. “You’re the Patriarch of Elon, is that not so?”

  Lord Uriah nodded.

  “Then, you know Elohim’s ways, yes?”

  “I’m familiar with His teachings,” agreed Lord Uriah.

  “Are all Nephilim doomed by Elohim?” Auroch asked.

  Lord Uriah looked thoughtful. “I’m uncertain,” he said at last. “It isn’t something I’ve pondered.”

  Auroch gave a harsh laugh. “I have. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t raised as a Nephilim, but as a slave. I wasn’t taught to look on humanity as cattle, as dung beneath the feet of First Born and their children. I wasn’t taught to bask in my difference, to thank my ancestors for the power they’d given me. Nor was I taught to despise Elohim and spit on His mercy. I’ve studied the histories. The Shining Ones won the Great War, not the bene elohim. I’ve wondered if I should join the winning side.”

  “And that’s why you slaughtered Elohim’s priests in Further Tarsh?” Zillith asked.

  “I waver. I’m uncertain.”

  Lord Uriah and Zillith exchanged glances.

  “That’s why I never become an Enforcer of the Oracle in Shamgar,” Auroch said. “I decided to be a pirate, to be my own person, not a slave of either side. Gog threatened me, for all the Oracle Enforcers have Nephilim heritage. I stood firm, and because of my men, my prowess and the fear of the other pirate captains of Gog, the First Born didn’t move openly against me.”

  “I see,” Zillith said.

  “Now, Gog moves openly,” Auroch said. “Thus, I decided to side with Lod and the others. But now I must know. Does Elohim already doom me because of my Nephilim blood?”

  “Not if you throw yourself upon His mercy,” Lord Uriah said slowly. “For you’ve human heritage as well. You’ll die as all mortals die.” He shook his head. “This is new to me, but that is what I think.”

  “So said Lod,” Auroch muttered.

  “And what is your gift?” Zillith asked.

  Auroch gave her a shrewd glance. “My gift is weak, and it doesn’t always work. But, at times, I can see what has just happened, especially if it concerns me.”

  “Ah,” said Lord Uriah. “That would prove a useful gift.”

  “Does Captain Maharbal know about this?” Zillith asked.

  Auroch snorted. “I’m no fool. He would try to slay me if he knew.”

  “Perhaps,” Lord Uriah agreed.

  “What did you see?” Zillith asked.

  Lord Uriah held up his hand. He’d grown pale. “Nidhogg has been summoned,” he whispered.

  Auroch was surprised. “How do you know that?”

  Lord Uriah rubbed his eyes.

  “A vision?” Zillith asked.

  “A premonition,” Lord Uriah whispered.

  “You’re right,” Auroch said stiffly. “Gog has finally summoned Nidhogg. With my gift, I saw the terrible creature smash the captains’ fleet in the swamp.”

  Lord Uriah struggled to his feet. Auroch stood too, his eyes on the dagger. Lord Uriah sheathed the blade, and took hold of Auroch’s thick arm. “Come with me. We must speak to Captain Maharbal.”

  The two men bolted from the room.

  Zillith rubbed her hands. Joash didn’t know what to do or think, so he waited. It wasn’t long before Captain Maharbal rushed into the cabin. His eyes were wild and his skin pale.

  “What is it?” Zillith asked.

  Captain Maharbal swiftly moved to his bed, and pulled out a heavy drawer beneath it. With a grunt, he lifted a long, bundled object. He hurried from the room.

  Joash and Zillith followed.

  Captain Maharbal climbed overboard, and despite the fog, he went into one of the boats.

  Joash, along with others, watched. Through wreaths of fog they watched Captain Maharbal unwrap a long silver horn of strange design. The Captain put the front of the horn into the water, took a deep breath and blew mightily. Bubbles arose, and it seemed that a heavy and vibrating tune sounded, but Joash knew he couldn’t really hear it. Captain Maharbal lifted a pale face from the horn. He panted for air. Soon, he blew again, in the same sequence as before. He seemed weakened by the effort.

  “What’s he doing?” Joash asked.

  Zillith wore a shawl over her head, and her eyes were grave. “He’s calling a leviathan,” she said.

  Joash blinked at her.

  Zillith touched his arm. “Yes, it must be a leviathan.”

  “B-But where did he ever find a horn to do that?”

  “He told you the story,” she said.

  “You mean the same horns that were used to defeat Red Cain?”

  “The very same.”

  “A-And he’s calling one of the same leviathans as from back then?” Joash asked in awe.

  “Only a leviathan can hope to defeat Nidhogg.”

  Joash was stunned, and his heart raced, half in fear, and half in wonder. A leviathan, he was going to see a leviathan. Ever since listening to the story of Red Cain, he’d wondered what leviathans had looked and acted like. Now, he’d find out. He looked over and saw Adah. She was pale, seemingly as stunned as him.

  An exhausted Captain Maharbal climbed aboard the Tiras. He gave quiet orders, and soon the two ships were ready to sail.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sea Battle

  He makes the depths churn like a boiling caldron and stirs up the sea like a pot of ointment.

  -- Job 41:31

  The fog covered the harbor like a deadly shroud. Captain Maharbal ordered the pilot and several sailors into a boat. They rowed ahead of the Tiras, a long rope attached between them. By careful stages, with the pilot leading them, the two ships exited Gandvik Harbor. The Vergelmir seethed with a special malignance. The waves frothed and swirled in strange currents and splashed foam across the deck. Captain Maharbal roared orders; sails were hoisted, a sheet creaking in the blocks, and the canvas was drenched with dripping spume.

  The Tiras pitched first one way and then another. The wind, however, was lifeless. Enclosed in dreary fog, they saw naught, but could feel the hidden shoals lurking in the crash and shudder of waves, and thought they would soon be dashed to splinters. The long oars slid out. Men strained to pull as strange currents grabbed at the oars, fouling them.

  “Necromancy is being used against us!” Auroch roared. “I feel the vileness of the spells swirling in the air.”

  Tarshmen stared at Auroch in terror, the whites of their eyes visible.

  Joash hunkered low, holding Harn’s thick neck. If the waves worsened, Joash didn’t want Harn to be pitched overboard. He wondered if the many Seraphs aboard would act as a shield against necromancy.

  Setting a steersman in his place, Captain Maharbal rushed from the tiller deck, and re-marshaled the demoralized rowers. He took the time-beater’s leather-cushioned mallets and struck the copper-covered drum as he marked the strokes. For several beats, the Tiras struggled as the odd eddies and growing waves knocked the oars askew. Patiently, Captain Maharbal walked from one rower to the next. He laughed at several white-faced sailors and glowered at a rower who said they were doomed.

  “Do not tell me on my own ship that we’re doomed. Hold the oar as the second mate has shown you. Watch the oar-master on the end, as he makes the stroke. Do likewise.” Captain Maharbal grinned in a comradely fashion and slapped the rower on the shoulder. When Captain Maharbal next beat the copper-covered drum, they rowed with a will. And despite the swirling waters, the Tiras moved where Captain Maharbal desired.

  Joash feared the way the deck pitched under his feet. He didn’t want to slide of
f the deck and sink into those dark waters. So he grabbed onto a rope to remain in one spot. Harn and he were swayed one way and another. The fog hid the Gisgo behind them and the guiding boat ahead.

  A shout rang through the fog from the lookout in the crow’s nest.

  A moment of terror clutched Joash’s heart. Then the fog parted, and the Tiras wallowed into the sunlight. People cheered. Quickly, despite the harsh sea, sailors retrieved the pilot and his men. Joash looked back. The fog was like a wall that hid Gandvik Rock and the Gisgo. To his relief, the Gisgo slid into the sunlight.

  “That isn’t a natural fog,” Adah said, as she staggered to him.

  “Is Nidhogg intelligent?” Joash asked.

  Adah gave a bleak laugh. “He is if he’s like the kraken around Poseidonis.”

  “Kraken?”

  “They’re monstrous beasts that attack fishermen in their boats. The kraken push from underneath, spill the men and devour them.” Adah showed Joash her kraken-hide boots. The boots were black and rough-ridged. “Some kraken are more than fifty feet long. They have a beastly cunning. Yet I never heard of Yorgash making a pact with them. If Gog has made a pact with Nidhogg, we must assume the monster is intelligent.”

  “Are leviathans intelligent?”

  “Why does any of that matter?” Adah asked.

  “Aren’t you curious about Nidhogg?” he asked. “What he’ll be like, how he’ll attack us?”

  Adah shook her head, and there was fear in her eyes. “This sea, it reminds me too much of the waters around Poseidonis. I’ve seen kraken, seen a beast rise out of the depths to attack a ship. It was horrible. Nidhogg…let us hope with all our heart that we never meet this legendary creature.”

  Joash nodded, but he didn’t share her fear. To see Nidhogg, and a leviathan—Zillith had told him leviathans were the greatest of Elohim’s creations. Nothing was more fearsome, nothing more majestic. The leviathans had been natural allies of the Shining Ones. In the Thousand Years War, the leviathans had helped the Shining Ones keep the seas clear of enemy fleets. It had been one of the Shining Ones’ prized strategic advantages. In the years after the war, when the Empire had sent armies to search and destroy First Born and Nephilim, the leviathans had been invaluable.

  Maybe he wasn’t as fearful as the others were because he was certain the leviathan Captain Maharbal called would defeat Nidhogg.

  Adah moved closer.

  “We’re going to make it,” Joash said.

  “I just thought of something I have to ask Zillith.”

  Joash watched her go.

  A wind stirred the sodden sails. Captain Maharbal stopped drumming, ordered in the long oars, and soon had the Tiras and Gisgo sailing northeast. It wasn’t a strong wind, but Captain Maharbal used it skillfully. The sea no longer swirled in conflicting currents, and the decks no longer pitched so wildly nor were they washed with salty foam.

  The Tiras outpaced the Gisgo. Joash overheard a sailor saying it was because the Tiras’ bottom had fewer barnacles and grass than the Gisgo did. It had been a surprise to Joash to learn how much marine growth occurred on the bottom of ships. Cleaning the bottoms was a never-ending chore. Now, he understood why. So the ships could sail faster.

  Captain Maharbal roared orders. Sailors shortened the length of sail. The Tiras slowed. And soon, the two ships sailed together.

  A catapult crew worked the forecastle machine. Boarding pikes were brought on deck. Huri strung bows. Spearmen hollowly boasted how they would take out Nidhogg’s eyes if he dared show.

  Herrek handed Joash a pike. It was as long as a chariot lance, but thicker, and with a heavier point. Joash tested it, and stiffened. He cleared his throat as the huge pirate strode toward them.

  “I see him,” Herrek said, who had listened to Joash’s story concerning Auroch. “Don’t say anything rash. Let me do the talking.”

  Auroch stepped beside Herrek, with a pike in his hands. “You should remove your armor,” Auroch said. “If Nidhogg smashes the ship you’ll drown.”

  Herrek coolly examined the huge pirate. “I’ll fight to save the ship.”

  “If Nidhogg reaches us, the ship is doomed,” Auroch said.

  “If the ship sinks, we’re doomed,” Herrek said.

  “Maybe.”

  Herrek scowled.

  “Is it the habit of Elonites to surrender once they’ve tasted defeat?” Auroch asked.

  Gens said softly, “Herrek is the Giant-Slayer.” Gens’s hand was on the hilt of a sheathed sword. “Haven’t you heard the story of Gaut Windrunner?”

  Auroch’s strange, yellow eyes narrowed. “I have heard of the giant. Gaut is a famed warrior.”

  “He was,” Gens said. “He was with the giants that tried to destroy Elonites. They failed, and in failing, Gaut Windrunner met his end.”

  Auroch stared at Herrek. “You slew Gaut Windrunner?”

  Herrek inclined his head. “With my groom’s help.”

  “But you’re only a gilik,” Auroch said.

  Gens and Joash bristled, while Herrek smiled softly.

  Gens said, “You speak to the Champion of the expedition.”

  Joash was angrier. What was a gilik? He didn’t think it a good term. He recalled his vision, the part where the fiends had told the Cherub that men were cattle. Auroch had admitted he was part Nephilim. Perhaps in Shamgar and being near a First Born, Auroch had picked up Nephilim beliefs.

  Auroch cocked an eye at Herrek. He asked in a mocking tone, “Do you think, Champion, that you can slay this Nidhogg with your miserable pike?”

  “If you don’t,” Herrek said, “why do you hold a weapon?”

  Auroch’s grip tightened upon his pike.

  “Perhaps you plan to use the pike as a log and float away,” Herrek said.

  “If you weren’t surrounded by your warriors,” Auroch said harshly, “I would teach you the meaning of speaking so to me.”

  “Do you fear a ship of giliks?” Joash asked, no longer able to contain himself.

  Auroch struck Joash with the back of his hand. The pirate was strong, and the blow felled Joash. Blood filled his mouth and his vision blurred. Harn snarled, stepping protectively over Joash.

  With an oath, Gens drew his blade. Herrek looked on with stunned amazement.

  “Teach him better manners,” the pirate said.

  Herrek struck with the end of his pike. Auroch parried the blow with his own pike. The two stepped back, their big pikes lowering, as if they’d practiced the maneuver a hundred times in order to synchronize the movement.

  “Look to starboard!” the lookout yelled from the crow’s-nest. His voice cracked with fear. “Dolphins flee in terror!”

  Herrek and Auroch stared into one another’s eyes. Like two ferocious dogs, two prized hounds, they knew each thought himself the better warrior. And they knew that to find out they would have to fight. Both welcomed a chance. Both yearned to show his superiority. But both knew now wasn’t the moment to decide the issue.

  “Are you a coward?” Herrek said.

  “You dare to ask me that?” Auroch said.

  “If you’re one who strikes another from behind in the middle of a shared fight, then yes,” Herrek said.

  “I’m not such a one.”

  “A pirate is honorable?”

  “You truly slew Gaut Windrunner?” Auroch asked.

  “The giant died by my hand,” Herrek said. “I slew him in a fair fight.”

  “I claim the right to avenge his death. But as you slew him in fair combat, so I will do likewise to you.”

  “By what right do you make this claim?” Herrek asked.

  Auroch drew himself to his imposing height. “Know, gilik, that Gaut Windrunner was my uncle.”

  “Nephilim!” Herrek spat.

  “Lord Uriah is aware of who and what I am,” Auroch said. “It’s because of my warning vision that you’re aware of Nidhogg’s approach. Only because of me, Giant-Slayer, is there hope that any of us will survive this day.”r />
  Around them, people watched the fleeing dolphins, commenting upon their obvious haste.

  “Until the battle with Nidhogg is over?” asked Auroch.

  “Until then,” Herrek said.

  The two parted, and took up stations in different parts of the ship.

  Joash, who had listened to the exchange as Gens helped him to a sitting position, finished wiping the blood off his face and handed the handkerchief back to Gens.

  “Are you all right?” Gens asked.

  Joash used his tongue, and felt the cut inside his mouth. It tasted coppery.

  “Here,” said Gens.

  Joash rinsed his mouth with water, and spat the bloody liquid over the railing.

  “You must be careful when you taunt someone,” Gens said. “Be ready for sudden blows.”

  Joash felt foolish. Also, he was worried for Herrek. Auroch’s backhand blow had been stunning. The Nephilim’s strength was great.

  “Can you stand?” Gens asked.

  “Not yet,” Joash said. Elidad had struck him, but never with such brutal power.

  “Look at your dog,” Gens whispered.

  Harn was close, but his big head tracked the pirate. His hackles were up, and a low growl kept rumbling from his throat.

  “Give him the word,” Gens said, “and Harn will launch himself at the pirate.”

  “Good boy,” Joash said, hugging Harn’s thick neck. The dog licked his face. Joash didn’t have the strength to resist, so he closed his eyes and endured the tongue washing.

  “Look at the dolphins,” Gens said.

  Joash peered over the railing. A vast school of dolphins, some leaping into the air and diving back down, sped toward the ship, and then beyond it. They fled in the same direction as the ship.

  “Do you think they flee Nidhogg?” Joash asked.

  “Can you doubt it?” asked Gens.

  It wasn’t long before the last dolphin passed the ship and faded from view.

  Joash struggled to his feet as Adah rushed toward him. He rose just in time to take her in his arms.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.