by Richard Nell
On the fourth day, the captain ordered landfall. This time they went North, choosing a series of high cliffs to make their approach, hoping it would obscure the sight of their ship. They left Old Mata with the Pitman to ready the ship in case of problems, and the others boarded their scouting catamaran, armed and carrying barrels and other containers to re-supply. Only the captain wore no armor, preferring instead his thin black silks and a collection of knives. No man considered him unprepared.
Only a few steps from their landing they found more signs of human life. Nets hung on the closest trees used as make-shift warehousing, rope strung between these and several wooden pillars to form a kind of hanging shelves.
"Keep your eyes open," said the captain. "Not all the natives may be of the same group, and we aren't here to kill. If we run into much trouble, we head back to the ship and move."
This suited Chang and his men fine, and they nodded without complaint. They followed along the beach at first, but everywhere inland seemed covered in the same dense jungle they had found before. Sooner or later, it seemed, they would be forced to move deeper.
The captain seemed as reluctant as the men. At last with a quiet sigh he marched into the trees, leading them on for half the morning before they came upon a fast-moving stream and decided to re-fill their water. This they did, though they needn't have bothered, for by afternoon the sky had clouded over and begun to rain in a manner rarely seen even in the isles. The downpour was so thick, their two shipguards later told them they'd begun to panic and bail with buckets before they realized the shaman's ship was designed to funnel most rain through the scuppers.
They at least had roofs over their heads. The landing crew waited rather miserably in the trees, exchanging three flasks of rum in a sodden circle, huddled beneath the thick, wide leaves of the largest tree they could find. When it was over, the clouds passing as quickly as they'd arrived, the jungle sprang to life.
Wide red flowers opened like sentient creatures seeking the sun; birds sang in a chaotic choir, and ants marched up trees like writhing carpets, an endless army invading the world. Other, winged insects filled the air with buzzing and clicks, and soon the men were swatting at mosquitoes, or some kind of stinging fly.
"Let's get the bloody hell out of here, Lucky," complained the Steerman, slapping himself in the cheek. Chang's instinct was to ignore the man, but this time he tended to agree. His sweaty skin felt as if it crawled, and no amount of itching or rubbing ended the agony. Every piece of his body was either slick with sweat or red with stings, and all he wanted was to board his ship and never touch land again.
A low growl brought Chang to his senses, and he turned to see bright eyes staring from the gloom of shaded trees. For a moment he stared, unable to comprehend, then barked a warning to the others. Only the captain stood his ground.
The rest cried out and drew spears or knives as they huddled together and withdrew. For a moment Chang thought the eyes might belong to the monstrous pilot, and he forced himself to inspect before he reacted. Before he could, a huge cat-like beast emerged, its night-black fur slick with rain, two fangs the size of Chang's knives jutting from its jaw. It stood at least his height at the shoulders.
A long knife was in the captain's hand, and his gaze never wavered from the creature.
"See the men back to the ship," he said calmly. When Chang didn't move, he almost shouted. "Run."
* * *
After several long strides, Chang turned to Basko and slapped his back, already regretting his choice. "Lead them! Go!"
With that he turned back and grit his teeth, his compulsion to leave no man behind infuriating. He re-entered the edge of the clearing, and saw the beast's eyes and teeth, first. It growled, raking its claws through the air, but touched nothing. The captain didn't attack, instead springing away at inhuman speed, stopping each time as if only curious. The huge cat followed, eyes squinting as it slowed and pursued, for all the world as if the two were playing, or in some kind of dance.
The scene was too much for Chang—another living nightmare that almost leaked his bladder down his leg. He turned and fled. He caught the others in a rhythm of stumbles and ragged breaths, until they stood in a ring panting, eyes roaming each other to perhaps confirm the thing they'd seen.
"We have to get the captain." Chang almost groaned at his own words.
"Like hell we do," said the Steerman, to a few grunts of approval.
"He's dead," said an oarsman. "So it's our bloody boat now. I say we take her and sail."
"Sail where," Chang hissed, smearing a hand over the stubble of his hair.
"Home," the oarman insisted. "We know the way well enough, neh? Keep the sun to port, and keep 'er steady. We'll make it."
"And the pilot? The girl?" Chang spoke as if only curious. A few men at least showed signs of guilt, but not much.
"Wit' respect, Lucky, we all know they're dead. And even if.."
"We don't know shit," Chang said with a bit more force.
"Even if, they ain't our concern. We're bloody sailors, not landsmen soldiers, neh?"
"Aye."
"Right."
These and many sounds of agreement sounded from the men. Chang met their eyes one by one, ending with Basko.
"You all agree? We leave the man who freed us. We take all his…gifts," he gestured to their armor, and nodded in the direction of the ship. "We leave the pilot, who saved you. We leave Zaya, who danced and sang with us. Leaving mine to die, is that how I'm known?"
"There's nought bloody all we can do for them, Lucky!" The Steerman's cowardice was growing wild in his eyes and frothing on his lip. "Look at this place." He gestured hopelessly at the trees.
"Gentlemen." The calm voice of the captain entered their little grove, and the men spun with weapons drawn. "Calm." The captain stepped from the shade with his hands upturned. He looked entirely whole, and unharmed, his black silks without a single shred. Chang felt himself relax—until he saw the cat's giant eyes.
"Shit! There!" The Steerman pointed into the trees, where the creature's bright pupils shone like firelight.
"Calm, gentlemen!" The captain stood between them, his hands still raised. "This will be difficult to accept…but," he shrugged. "I believe the beast is tamed. It seems, well, I think it wants me to follow it."
Chang blinked as he processed the words, glancing at the open mouths of his comrades. He suspected he spoke for all of them.
"Captain, are you out of your bloody mind?"
The assassin shrugged and tilted his head with a kind of concession.
"Well, it stopped trying to eat me. And it kept trying to go North until it noticed I didn't follow, then it circled back and…I don't now, gestured. You tell me what that means."
"It means we run back to the ship as fast as we fucking can," Chang said, a growing concern in his gut.
The captain frowned, and looked to the creature, which for all the world seemed to point North with a tilt of its giant head. The men withdrew and groaned near in unison at the sight.
"Enlightened preserve us," Chang fingered Roa's charm in his pocket, and heard the men muttering their own divine pleas.
"Well that settles it," the captain smiled, as if this were all some grand adventure. "We go with the cat."
He extended a hand North to the animal, which licked its lips and turned as if it understood. Chang feared even to look at the reaction of his men. He couldn't begin to imagine what words of comfort would make their situation reasonable. They were across the entire world, beyond an endless sea in a damned jungle filled with murderers, being guided deeper by a huge, intelligent cat.
But then, he supposed, living on a floating piece of wood on the open sea was not what most men considered reasonable—a good pirate had to have perspective.
He grinned a little as inspiration struck, sheathing his knife as he followed.
"The cat scares me right enough," he said without looking at the others. "But that man is worse."
; He slapped at an insect as he walked on, grinning as he heard the men trudge behind.
* * *
Chang began to hate the jungle. He and his men were by no means soft city island folk—they could work for days and maybe weeks with little rest if required, but they weren't used to marching in armor. They weren't used to bending their backs with supplies and weapons under a dark canopy that smothered light and the open sky, suffocating them on all sides with heat and clutter and pestering life.
"We can't march forever," the Steerman complained for the fourth or fifth time as the day wore on.
"Tell the damn jungle beast we need to camp," said an oarman without a note of jest.
Chang snorted and tried to pretend he too wasn't exhausted and miserable. His feet felt swollen to twice their size, squeezed in his sandals like prisoners bound with rope. They had crossed a near stagnant river and been covered in some kind of leech for their trouble. Now the ground ascended endlessly, as if they climbed the widest, most infuriatingly gradual mountain known to man, and would never reach its peak. Every muscle in his legs had moved past burning to a dull, pitiful ache, replaced only by bouts of trembling weakness. The third time he felt he couldn't take another step, the captain raised a hand for the men to stop.
"We've arrived," he said, though it seemed to Chang as if the jungle looked no different than the rest.
He was about to ask how the man knew they'd arrived anyplace when the first piece of foliage moved, clinging to the tanned flesh of a man.
A curved, green bow moved with it, and all around the sailors men stained with camouflage rose from the bush or from behind trees with bows and arrows ready.
"Ah." Chang found he was too tired to be afraid. He slumped his pack to the ground and sat, groaning as the weight eased from his legs. "Tell them we followed their cat, Captain. I'm sure that will explain everything."
Now that he mentioned it, Chang realized he didn't see the cat at all. This struck him as rather funny, and while it seemed beyond unwise, he very nearly lost himself in a fit of laughter.
The ambushers were coming closer, some now holding wooden spears and other primitive weapons, until a growl sounded from the trees. The golden eyes emerged, then the beast turned and continued North, until the jungle dwellers gestured for the sailors to keep moving.
Chang rose with an audible groan, not sure if he'd have preferred death. Every step was agony, but not far from their ambush the trees began to thin, and then clear, until they were replaced by huts and proper houses built in lines and rings.
All around them, foreigners worked or sat in clusters. Half-naked women busied themselves with a thousand tasks, preparing food or fussing over fabrics, pots and rope while their children played and hollered without concern. Chang could see only the handful of men who had ambushed them, and one or two older men in the camp. The rest were boys, no more than ten years old.
"Impa tahaya man?"
An older woman blocked their path and spoke nonsense. She was half-naked, her sagging breasts mostly covered by beads hanging from her neck. Her hair was long and greying black, her skin pock marked and weathered. But her sharp eyes held the fire of command. She inspected the sailors, gesturing at the men and speaking in long strings of incomprehensible words until one of the warriors ran off into the trees. The rest stayed and pointed at the ground, and Chang sat without a second thought.
"I bet they feed us to the cat," the Steerman muttered, tired enough he'd moved from cowardice to pouting.
The crew of The Prince sat in silence, huddled together with bows and spears pointed somewhat lazily in their direction. Now that Chang could see all the foreigners, he decided he and his men could almost certainly destroy the poorly armed warriors with little trouble, unless there were more hiding in the trees. He was nearly ready to suggest it to the captain, when the warrior returned.
An old man limped beside him, leaning heavily on a gnarled stick as he squinted up at the crew. The huge cat strolled beside him, yawning as it leapt and settled on a cart, and stared. The tribesmen kept their distance from the old man. Chang noticed most averting even their eyes as he passed. He sat on the edge of the same cart as the animal, and sighed.
"Forgive my people's distrust." His words almost echoed, fading to a whisper in Chang's ears. "We are used to outsiders being our enemies."
Chang blinked and turned to see his men were wide-eyed.
"You speak Batonian?" whispered the captain, even his stern face slack with awe. The old man smiled, and Chang shook his head, having clearly heard the words in his native tongue—a language spoken by very few people left on the continent.
"Didn't speak Batonian, Captain. Not to me."
Again the old man smiled, revealing only a few red teeth. His strange voice echoed again as if next to Chang's ears.
"The mountain's gift has many uses. The first is Tongues. You will understand my words for a time, and I yours. I know you are strangers here, and that you came from the sea. My name is Pacal, and I have many questions. In return I will answer yours as best I can." He gestured to the trees, and perhaps the sky. "Welcome, guests of the High Mountain Tribe, to the valley of the gods."
Chapter 17
"Stop staring at the women." Chang barked at Basko, then promptly ignored his own order. This time it was two girls carrying water from a nearby river, their skin exposed save for a thin covering over their waists. The girls noticed their admirers and smiled, and Chang took a deep, calming breath, trying not to think of Zaya living in endless misery amongst her captors. "But I bet you've charmed them, haven't you Macha?" he whispered. "Yes, with your siren song. I hope you have."
"What's that, Chiefy?"
"Nothing." Chang ran his knife over another foreign root, grimacing at the sloppy cut. "What shall we do today, Captain?" he muttered. "Oh I don't know, Chang. Maybe skin more red root? A fine idea, Captain." He flicked the last piece of the hated skin into his pail, and lifted another. Beside him, Basko growled as he skinned a knuckle for the dozenth time. He'd been too worried of his own incompetence to use the flint knives of the natives, instead resorting to his bronze, but it was too dull and took three times the effort. Brave Basko was always stubborn.
"Do you think they eat anything besides this damn root?" the big man said glumly.
"No." Chang flicked another piece. "I think they sleep on beds of red root. I think they drink red root and fuck red root."
"In that order, Chiefy?" said Basko, and Chang at least managed a grin.
Three days now they'd lived amongst the natives, swatting at mosquitoes, shivering in turns from some spreading cough, and eating red roots for what felt like three times a day. It became clear that at least three quarters of the tribe were women, girls, and old men, though whether the men were dead, out hunting, or at war, Chang didn't know. Regardless, he and his crew were watched and doted on by a host of half-naked beauties with dark hair and skin like Chang's, who brought food and water and blankets as they giggled and tried to communicate then ran away.
Every night the captain sat with their elder, or chief, or whatever the hell he was. They spoke over a campfire too far away to overhear or see, then he'd come back and sleep in the huts they'd been given, stinking like firesmoke and—Chang was certain—some kind of proper drink.
"Well, it beats prison," Basko sucked a finger. "Barely. But by god I could use some rum."
"In prison there was a chance to escape." Chang sighed, then stared again at the captain's fire. "What the hell are they tonguing about, do you think?"
"Don't wanna know. The captain," Basko looked around, as if the man might be near. "He didn't run from that cat, neh? Didn't even look afraid. Might be the old sorcerer king bastard gave him magic, way he just appears and you never see 'em. Somethin' ain't right."
Chang nodded but said nothing. When he'd boarded the Prince he'd been worried about the complex sails and the big ashman warlord, which were strange enough. Now there were foreigners who could speak any language us
ing magic rocks; a new land beyond the sea; giant, thinking cats. Who the hell knew what was next.
"Chang."
He stood to attention, annoyed at his own response.
"Aye, Captain?"
"Join us at the fire, Chief. You should hear this. And wear your armor."
The captain walked back to his meetings and Chang turned to Basko, who raised a thick brow. "Leave that knife, Chiefy. These buggers are touchy. They'll grab it up there near their betters."
Chang nodded, but left it on his belt. "If they find nothing they might search my arse to be sure."
Basko shrugged, then his eyes widened in hope. "Think he'll tell us when we go back to the ship? Maybe we'll do some trade, then sail off, aye? Come back with soldiers?"
"I know as much as you do, Basko."
"Aye, course. But I want your oath." The big man rose and his face turned serious. "If there's drink, proper drink, or food, something other than red root, you'll bring some back. Swear it, Chiefy. Swear it by your damned evil god."
Chang fought his grin, putting a hand to his heart. "May Roa claim me, brother, I swear."
Basko's eyelids drooped and his chest fell in relief. He sat back on his log and lifted another root, sticking out his tongue in concentration as he peeled.
* * *
Chang put on his armor as ordered, then made his way to the chief's fire, doing his best to ignore the warriors who eyed him. It was soon clear he had crossed some invisible line that marked the normal tribesmen from the warriors, and though they were few in number, these bow and spear armed men were athletic and sharp-eyed hunters. Chang rather preferred not to offend them.
He met the eyes of the closest, nodding in what he hoped passed for respect. Two approached and searched him, their rough hands checking him with a practiced thoroughness. He gave no reaction as they took the obvious bronze knife at his belt. Since they could fill him full of arrows anytime they wished, he thought the blade a rather useless gesture anyway.
"Go now?" he tapped his chest, then pointed towards the fire. The man nodded and Chang walked on. As he did he realized there were far more men than he'd seen before. Hundreds of warriors in different dress and with different weapons, painted symbols and jewelry had gathered amongst the closest trees. The elder, Pacal, was there with the captain, but so too were five others who looked like shamans or chiefs.