The Transall Saga

by Gary Paulsen

  Then they were on him.

  chapter 24

  The heavy steel band around his ankle dug into his skin as he walked. The chain forged to the band held a heavy iron bar that made his movements slow and clumsy.

  It had taken almost three months for him to heal from the arrow wound. And the moment he had been well enough to sit up, Dagon had had the village blacksmith build the ankle chain.

  Dagon’s daughter, Megaan, had tended to him personally. She and her grandmother had removed the arrow and treated the deep laceration. And all the time he was healing she taught him the Tsook language, which he now spoke almost like a native.

  He had been given an old pair of buckskin pants to wear and was allowed to sleep on the floor in a comer of the house. Dagon had issued orders that Mark was to be fed generous portions. He said he wanted him fully recovered so that he could do the hard work he had been purchased for.

  Mark hadn’t seen Leeta since the day she had been brought in and sold. And he was too proud to ask Megaan about her. He could only hope she was being treated well.

  "Kakon. Pay attention. I need your help with this." Megaan scowled at him and pointed to the buffalo hide they were dipping into a foul-smelling liquid to tan it. "I think if you don’t stop dreaming all the time I will have to tell my father how useless you are."

  "And I think I would be far more useful if I had this chain off my leg and wasn’t forced to do women’s work."

  Megaan raised an eyebrow. "You would run."

  "I might." Mark helped her lift the heavy, wet hide. "I told you I have to get back to the dark jungle and look for the blue light."

  "I’m not sure I believe you about this. Probably it is a wild story that you have concocted to fool us."

  "Then how do you explain why I look so different? Have you ever seen anyone else in your world who looked like me?"

  "Transall. I told you before, the Tsook word for the world is Transall."

  "You didn’t answer my question "

  "I think this one is finished. Help me hang it over the fence. We will work on it some more tomorrow."

  It was always the same. Megaan avoided talking about the blue light and the possibility of his returning home.

  She brushed the hair out of her eyes. "Now we will go to Tanta’s storehouse. We are almost out of pole flour."

  Mark stared at her. "We? I am to come with you? I thought your father said—"

  "My father said that I am in charge while he is away. And I need you to come with me to carry the sacks. Get the cart."

  Megaan’s grandmother appeared at the door of the house. "Do you think it wise to take the savage manboy among the real people? He might embarrass you."

  The old woman always called him the savage. Many times Mark had heard her go on and on about how the Tsook were the original people. They were specially made by the Creator of Life to rule Transall. Everyone else had been provided to serve the Tsook and to be used however the people wished.

  "What can he do?" Megaan asked. "Besides, I need pole flour and Barow is too small to help me carry it."

  "I am not too small." A little boy with curly black hair was standing near the door. He stuck his head outside and pouted. "I am a brave warrior like my father, the great Dagon."

  Megaan smiled indulgently. "Someday, my little Barow. Someday."

  "Take one of the field hands," the old woman said sharply. "They can move about more easily than this one. I’ve never understood what your father sees in this giant savage. Why in the name of Transall does he let him stay in the house and feed him good Tsook food like a pet? He should sleep in the fields with the others."

  "I have made my decision." Megaan watched Mark pushing the small two-wheeled cart toward them. "If he misbehaves will have him whipped. He knows this."

  Mark brought the cart to the front of the house and waited for instructions. He towered over Megaan and they both knew that the only thing that kept him in the village was the heavy iron shackle clamped around his leg. He did what he was told in order to get along. For whatever reason, Dagon treated him better than most of the other slaves, and Mark wanted no trouble until he could find a way to escape.

  He followed Megaan down the narrow path leading from her house to the central road through the large village. So far he’d never been allowed to leave Dagon’s property. His chores consisted of feeding the stock, working in the house garden, chopping wood and carrying water to the field hands and herders. The main section of town had been off-limits until now.

  It was hard for him to keep up with her. Not only did he have to push the unwieldy wooden cart but he had to cope with the iron bar on its short chain as it dragged along behind him.

  They passed several women sitting outside their houses sewing. Megaan waved and called each of them by name. Mark felt them stanng at him as if he had two heads.

  Not only was he unusually tall, with strange disfigured eyes and feet, but he was a slave who had tried to escape and yet was allowed to live. This was a feat unheard of among the Tsook.

  The village was presently inhabited mainly by women and children. Dagon had taken most of the men out on a raid. Only those thought essential to keep things running smoothly had been left: the blacksmith and the slave overseers with their deadly crossbows. A few elderly men sat around doing nothing but chewing a smelly kind of tobacco.

  Mark had overheard Dagon planning his next attack with Sarbo and some others. Across the high mountains to the east lived a group of savage people known as the Rawhaz, cannibals who had slaughtered a party of Tsook from another village. Dagon and his warriors had joined forces with them and gone out to find and destroy the man-eaters.

  Mark had been waiting for a time like this to make a run for it. With the warriors gone there would be no one to come after him. But first he had to find some way to get rid of the chain and bar.

  He heard the clanging sound of metal hitting metal and stopped to stare at the fiery forge in the blacksmith’s lean-to. Fire. If he had a tool and could get the chain hot enough ...

  "Kakon. Must I always yell to get your attention?"

  "Huh? What did you say?" Mark rolled the cart up to Megaan.

  "I said... Oh, what is the use? You will never make a good worker. I do not know what ever possessed my father to think that you and the Merkon could possibly..." Megaan’s eyes widened and her hand went to her mouth. "What I meant to say was that you should quit dawdling."

  That was the second time Mark had heard that name. Why was it such a secret? He tried to walk faster.

  "So who is this Merkon, anyway?"

  "Here is the storehouse. You wait outside while I go in and barter with Tanta." Megaan walked to the large building without looking back.

  Mark sat on the ground. Megaan infuriated him. She always had her nose in the air and never answered any of his questions. One of these days ...

  "Mawk." Mark heard a familiar voice calling to him from across the street. It was Leeta. She was walking behind an old woman and carrying two heavy baskets.

  "Leeta." Mark jumped up. "How are you? Are they treating you all right? Ksee tyaak tu?"

  The old woman glared at him. "No talking, slave. It is not permitted." She poked Leeta with a stick and they moved on down the road. Leeta looked back but didn’t say anything.

  Mark watched to see which house she went into. It was a square one with a thatched roof at the end of the street.

  "Kakon. What are you staring at? Quit gawking at that stupid slave girl and come get these sacks." Megaan stood in the door of the warehouse, frowning. "My grandmother was right. She said you would embarrass me."

  Mark turned slowly. His jaw tightened and he spoke carelessly. "Leeta is smart. You will not speak of her like that."

  Color flooded Megaan’s cheeks. "I told you to come and get the sacks. Don’t make me tell you again."

  chapter 25

  "A windmill? What’s that?" Barow pushed

  the door open so that Mark could carry in th
e heavy wooden buckets of water.

  "It’s a wind-powered machine that can bring water up out of the ground."

  "What sort of nonsense are you filling his head with now?" Megaan knelt by the fire, stirring the stew in a large hanging pot.

  "It isn’t nonsense." Mark set the buckets on the table. "Where I come from no one carries water. It is piped right into your house and when you want some all you have to do is turn a handle and out it comes."

  Megaan laughed. "And I suppose you can have your choice of boiled or freezing cold?"

  "As a matter of fact, you can."

  "What will you come up with next? This morning you told him that your people are able to fly above the clouds inside metal birds." Megaan handed Mark a bowl of hot stew. "This is quite a magical place you come from."

  "Don’t make fun of him, Megaan." Barow pointed at the claw necklace around Mark’s neck. "He is a brave warrior and he knows many things. What about the drawings he made in the dirt? Did you ever see such wonderful things— tall buildings, carts on four wheels that go by themselves, and a box with changing pictures? If it wasn’t true, Kakon would not say it was."

  Mark ruffled the little boy’s hair. "I’m glad someone around here believes me."

  "Hrummp," said Grandmother. "Megaan, why do you let Barow trail around after that savage? Nothing but trouble will come from it."

  Megaan turned. "Kakon is harmless, Grandmother."

  "Harmless? I’ve seen him eyeing your father’s old crossbow above the fireplace. One night we’ll all be killed in our sleep."

  "Speaking of sleep..." Megaan yawned and wiped her hands. "It’s time we all turned in. They will be bringing in the harvest tomorrow. There will be more work than we can handle. Come, Barow."

  Barow leaned close to Mark. "Someday, when I am chief, I will order her around." He stood and followed his sister and grandmother into the sleeping room.

  Mark gulped down the rest of the stew. He moved to his mat to wait. It was almost too easy. Megaan and her family were used to hearing him move around at night. No one considered the possibility of his escape, because he was hampered by the leg iron.

  He let hours pass before he moved to the fireplace and reached for Dagon’s old crossbow and quiver of arrows.

  He stooped to pick up the bar and slipped quietly out the door. A dog howled in the distance, reminding him of what had happened the last time he’d tried to escape.

  At the woodpile he grabbed the short ax and hurried behind the house and through the garden. He headed across the fields. Dagon’s overseer had taken the field hands to work down the valley for the big harvest, and there would be no one to hinder him.

  Steadily Mark made his way to the top of the first hill. He stopped and looked back, thinking of Leeta. If he went back for her they would both be caught and this time Dagon might not be so generous. There was nothing Mark could do. He would just have to go on alone.

  After the first ridge he picked up the pace, scrambling through the trees and brush as fast as he dared in the darkness. By morning he would be so far away that they’d never find him.

  chapter 26

  It was early. The sun wasn’t quite up and Mark’s footsteps were dragging. The only time he had stopped during the night was in a secluded valley, where he’d built a small fire to heat the metal chain. When he had it hot enough he used the ax and pounded at it until one of the links broke.

  After that he had kept moving, afraid to stop for fear someone in the house had discovered that he was missing and sent out a search party.

  True to his plan, he stayed in the worst possible terrain. The brush and rocks would make it harder for the riders to come that way. But he was still anxious. The Tsook knew the area better than he did. They might know a way to circle around and get ahead of him.

  Mark moved down a shadowy gorge, looking for an out-of-the-way place to hide and rest for a while. A noise ahead stopped him.

  Someone or something was coming his way.

  He scrambled up the side of the hill and hid behind some trees. His heart pounded in his ears. Surely the Tsook hadn’t caught up with him this soon.

  In seconds a party emerged from the shadows. They were small men with streaks of blue and black paint on their faces and chests. Their heads were shaved except for one patch of long hair in the back. The only clothing they wore was a breechcloth hanging from a piece of leather around their waists.

  They carried blowguns and spears. A few had swords, axes and bows like the Tsook. Mark counted thirty-seven of the small men as they passed silently in front of him.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were. Around their necks the men wore bones and shrunken skulls. Scalps with long black hair decorated their weapons. These were the Rawhaz whom Dagon and his men were looking for.

  And they were headed toward the Tsook village.

  Mark was torn. With the warriors gone, the villagers were in terrible danger. And Leeta was back there. He thought of little Barow, who followed him around and hung on his every word. Even Megaan with her superior ways didn’t deserve to be dinner for the Rawhaz.

  He had to go back. As soon as the Rawhaz were out of sight, he came out of hiding. There was only one way to beat them to the village and even then it would be close. He had to take an open route and use the road.

  Either way it was dangerous. If the cannibals didn’t find him and he managed to get to the village first, the Tsook would probably kill him before he had a chance to explain why he had come back.

  Mark’s tiredness disappeared and was replaced by a frantic urgency. He sprinted up one hill and down the next, stopping only a few times to catch his breath and grab a drink from a mountain stream.

  It was midafternoon when he reached the red valley and the road that led to the village. He jogged past the buffalo pens. The scouts spotted him and gave a single blast on the horn.

  "Rawhaz!" Mark sputtered. His throat was so dry he could barely get the word out.

  The blacksmith and two warriors who had stayed behind were standing in the road waiting for him.

  One of the warriors grabbed him. "What is the leader’s slave doing carrying a weapon and running loose among the people? Has Dagon’s daughter gone mad to allow this?"

  Mark swallowed. This was incredible. These men hadn’t been out looking for him. They didn’t even seem to know he was missing. Megaan must not have reported it.

  The warrior shook him. "Speak up, fool. Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

  "Yes." Mark gasped for breath. "The Rawhaz ... are ...coming."

  The blacksmith stepped back. "How do you know this thing?"

  "I ... saw... hurry... they can’t ... be far."

  "Go back to your master’s home, slave. I will sound the alarm. But be warned. If this is some kind of trick..."

  "No... trick. I saw ... with my own eyes."

  The warrior let Mark go, shoving him in the direction of Dagon’s house. Mark stumbled and continued down the lane.

  Megaan was standing outside the cabin working on a hide when she saw him. She glared at him. "So you have come back. Did you forget to take something else that was not yours or were you just too much of a coward to keep going?"

  Mark half fell against the cabin wall. He waited until he could speak clearly. "I didn’t have to come back."

  "Then why did you?" Megaan spat the words at him.

  "The village... I ran into some Rawhaz headed this way."

  The tower guard blew the alarm.

  Megaan hesitated, but only for a second. "Come this way, Kakon. We must get Barow and my grandmother to safety. There is a cave down the valley in the white rocks not far from here."

  "You go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you. I have something to do first."

  "The slave girl?"

  Mark nodded.

  Megaan touched his arm. "The cave is hidden. Look for a dead tree with its roots exposed." She turned and ran into the house.

  Mark hurried back through
town. People were running everywhere. Some were leaving the village, pushing carts and carrying their belongings on their backs. Others were preparing to fight.

  He pounded on the door of the square, thatch-roofed house. The old woman opened it a few inches. "What do you want? I have no time for you. Go back to your master."

  Mark shoved the door open, knocking the woman back. "Where is Leeta?"

  "You insolent dog!" the woman screamed. "I will see you whipped for this."

  Leeta stepped into the room. "Mawk. Run away. Now is time. Go-hurry. Go-hurry."

  "Not without you." Mark took her hand. He looked at the old woman. "You can come with us. I know about a hiding place."

  "I would rather die."

  "So be it. Come, Leeta. There’s not much time."

  The street was still in turmoil. There was another long blast on the horn. The warrior who had stopped Mark on the road earlier galloped his mount to them. "Can you ride, boy?"

  "A little. Why?"

  "What you said was true. Our scouts have located the Rawhaz. All our men are needed to fight. We need you to ride for Dagon or the village will be lost."

  Leeta grabbed his arm. "No, Mawk. No do this. Please no."

  Mark sighed. "Leeta, go down the valley. Look for a dead tree in front of white rocks. A cave is there. Tell Megaan I sent you. Go on. Do what I say. Later I’ll come for you."

  Leeta bit her lip and moved away.

  The warrior slid to the ground. "Take my animal. You’ll find Dagon somewhere to the east in the badlands. The Rawhaz will not attack until nightfall. I think we can hold them off ... for a while."

  Mark pulled his exhausted body up on top of the beast. The animal shied sideways and he held on with both hands.

  The warrior caught the bridle and handed Mark a hunting horn. "Blow this and Dagon will come to you. Now hurry." He slapped the animal’s haunches with the flat part of his sword and it lunged into a dead run.

  By the time Mark gained control of the animal and could look back the warrior was already out of sight.