But we didn’t locate his body. Perhaps a beast had found him, but it was also possible that he was journeying on foot to the kingdom of the Varnin.
“This means we might catch up with him,” I said.
Before long I spied his tracks in the soft soil, pointed them out. Jerrel could find Varnin without tracking her uncle, but it was him and the talisman we wanted, so the tracks were encouraging.
It was near night when we finally passed the lengthy stacks of bones. We edged toward the forest. The trees, low down and high up, were full of ravaging beasts, but the open land worried me most. Anyone or anything could easily spot us there.
Edging along the trees, moving swiftly and carefully as possible, we were taken aback by the sudden appearance of half a dozen beasts with men mounted on them. My fear had been realized. They spotted us.
The beasts they were riding looked remarkably like horses, if horses could have horns and were shorter and wider with red-and-white stripes. They were guided in a way similar to horses as well, bits and bridles, long, thin reins. The riders were seated in high-set saddles, and as they came closer it became apparent they were not human at all.
Humans have flesh, but these things had something else. Their skin was yellow like Jerrel’s skin, but it was coarse and gave one the impression of alligator hide. They had flaring scales around their necks. Their features were generally human-like, but their noses were flat as a coin, little more than two small holes. Their foreheads slanted and the tops of their heads peaked. Their mouths were wide and packed with stained teeth and their round eyes were red and full of fiery licks of light. They were carrying long lances tipped with bright tips of metal. Short swords with bone handles bounced in scabbards at their hips. Closer yet, I saw there were little glowing parasites flowing over their skin like minnows in a creek.
Jerrel said, “Galminions. They are eaters of human flesh. Robbers. They run in packs. And they smell.”
They came ever closer. Jerrel was right. They did smell, like something dead left under a house.
“Ah,” said the foremost rider, reining his mount directly in front of us. The others sat in a row behind him, smiling their filthy teeth. “Travelers. And such a good day for it.”
“It is,” Jerrel said. “We thought a stroll would be nice.”
The one who had spoken laughed. The laugh sounded like ice cracking. He had a peculiar way of turning his head from side to side, as if one eye were bad. When the sunlight shifted I saw that was exactly the problem. He was blind in that eye; no red flecks there. It was white as the first drifts of snow in the Rockies.
“How is your stroll?” said Dead Eye.
“It’s been warm, and it’s quite the hike,” Jerrel said, “but it has been amusing. It has been so good to speak to you. We must be on our way. We wish you good day.”
“Do you now?” said Dead Eye. He turned in his saddle and looked back at his companions. “They wish us good day.”
The companions laughed that similar laugh, the one that sounded like ice cracking, then made leathery shifts in their saddles.
“It’s good to see we’re all in a cheery mood,” Jerrel said.
When Dead Eye turned back to us, he said, “I am cheery because we are going to kill you and eat you and take your swords. But mainly we’re going to kill you and eat you. Maybe we’ll start eating you while you’re alive. Of course we will. That’s how we like it. The screams are loud and the blood is hot.”
“You will dance on the tip of my sword,” I said. “That is what you will do.”
“And what are you exactly?” said Dead Eye.
“A black man.”
“I can see that. Were you burned?”
“By the fires of hell. Perhaps you would like a taste of hell itself.”
“What is hell?”
I had wasted my wit. “Never mind,” I said. “Let us pass, or—”
“I will dance on the tip of your sword,” Dead Eye said.
“Exactly,” I said.
“What about the rest of us,” he said. “Shall they dance as well?”
“I suppose that between our two swords there will be dancing partners for all of you.”
This really got a laugh.
“He is not joking,” said Jerrel.
“We will be the judge of that,” Dead Eye said. “For we are not jokesters either.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “You look pretty funny to me.”
My comment was like the starter shot.
They came as one in a wild charge. Jerrel and I worked as one. We seemed to understand the other’s next move. We dodged into the trees, and the Galminions followed. The trees made it difficult for them to maneuver their beasts, but we moved easily. I sprang high in the air and came down on the rider nearest me with a slash of my sword, severing his head, spurting warm blood from his body like the gush from a fountain.
Jerrel lunged from behind a tree, and avoiding the ducking horned head of one of the mounts, stuck it in the chest. With a bleating sound it stumbled and fell, rolled about kicking its legs, tumbling over the fallen rider, crushing him with a snap of bone and a crackle of bumpy skin.
That was when Dead Eye swung off his steed and came for me, driving his lance directly at my chest. I moved to the side, parried his lance with my sword. The tip of his weapon stuck deep in a tree, and the impact caused him to lose his footing. When he fell, it was never to rise again. I bounded to him and drove my sword deep in his throat. He squirmed like a bug stuck through by a pin. His white eye widened. He half spun on my sword, spat a geyser of blood, shook and lay still.
The others fled like deer.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I am, and believe it or not,” I said, “fortune has smiled on us.”
For Jerrel riding one of the beasts was uncomfortable and she rode awkwardly. For me it was like being back in the cavalry. I felt in control. The creatures handled very similar to horses though they seemed smarter. That said, they had a gait similar to mules, making for a less smooth ride.
“You call this fortune?” Jerrel said.
“If your uncle is on foot, yes,” I said.
As we rode on, in front of us the clearing went away and a mountain range rose before us. It was at first a bump, then a hump, and finally we could see it for what it was. The mountain was covered in dark clouds and flashes of lightning, all of it seen to the sound of rumbling thunder. The patches of forest that climbed up the mountain were blacker than the trees that gave the Black Hills of the Dakotas their name.
The day moved along, the sun shifted, and so did the shadows. They fell out of the forests and grew longer, thicker, cooler, and darker. A few of the shiny bugs came out. We shifted into the woods, found a spot where old wood had fallen, and made a kind of hut of trees and limbs. We dismounted and led our animals inside through a gap. I found some deadwood and pulled it in front of the opening. I chopped a lean but strong limb off a tree with my sword and used it to stretch from one side of our haven to the other. On one side of it I placed our mounts, the limb serving as a kind of corral. After removing their saddles and bridles, I used bits of rope from the bag of supplies we had brought from the wreck of the sled to hobble them, a trick Jerrel had never seen before.
Finally we stretched out on our side of the barrier with our cloaks as our beds. We lay there and talked, and you would have thought we had known each other forever. In time the Night Wings were out. They flew down low and we could hear their wings sweeping past where we were holed up. Many of the bugs outside slipped in between the gaps of fallen wood and made our little room, such as it was, glow with shimmering light.
Jerrel and I came together at some point, and anything beyond that is not for a gentleman to tell. I will say this, and excuse the dimenovel feel to it. My soul soared like a hawk.
Next morning we were up early, just after the Night Wings and the glowing bugs abandoned the sky. We saddled up and rode on out. From time to time I got do
wn off my critter and checked the ground, found signs of our quarry’s tracks, remounted, and we continued. By the middle of the day we had reached the mountain and were climbing up, riding a narrow trail between the great dark trees.
The weather had shifted. The dark clouds, the lightning and thunder had flown. As we rode from time to time I saw strange beasts watching us from the shadows of the forest, but we were not bothered and continued on.
Late in the day I got down and looked at our man’s tracks, and they were fresh. Our mounts were giving us the final edge on his head start.
“He is not far ahead,” I said, swinging back into the saddle.
“Good. Then I will kill him.”
“Maybe you could just arrest him.”
“Arrest him?”
“Take him prisoner.”
“No. I will kill him and take back the talisman.”
I figured she would too.
The trail widened and so did our view. Up there in the mountains, nowhere near its peak, but right in front of us at the far end of the wide trail, we could see the city of the bird-men. The great trees there had grown, or been groomed, to twist together in a monstrous wad of leaves and limbs, and mixed into them was a rock fortress that must have taken thousands of bird-men and a good many years to build. It was like a castle and a nest blended together with the natural formations of the mountain; in places it was rambling, in others tight as a drum.
I said, “Before we come any closer, we had best get off this trail and sneak up on our man. If we can jump him before he enters the city, then that’s the best way, and if he is inside already, well, it’s going to be difficult, to put it mildly.”
Jerrel nodded, and just as we rode off the trail and into the dark forest, a horde of bird-men came down from the sky and into the thicket with a screech and a flash of swords.
Surprised, we whirled on our mounts and struck out at them. It was like swatting at yellow jackets. I managed to stick one of the creatures and cause him to fall dead, but as he fell his body struck me and knocked me off my mount. I hustled to my feet just as Jerrell ducked a sword swing, but was hit in the head by the passing hilt of the sword. She fell off her beast and onto her back and didn’t move.
I went savage.
I remember very little about what happened after that, but I was swinging my sword with both skill and insane fury. Bird-men lost wings and limbs and faces and skulls. My sword stabbed and slashed and shattered. I was wet and hot with the blood of my enemies.
To protect themselves they flapped their wings, lifted up higher, and dove, but they were never quick enough and were hindered by the thickness of the trees and my speed was beyond measure. I leaped and dodged, parried and thrust. I raged among the flapping demons like a lion among sheep.
Finally it was as if all the bird-men in the world appeared. The sky darkened above me and the darkness fell over me, and down they came in a fluttering wave of screeches and sword slashes and axe swings.
I was a crazed dervish. I spun and slung my blade like the Reaper’s scythe, and once again they began to pile up, but then I was struck in the head from the side, and as I tumbled to the ground, I thought it was the end of me.
I couldn’t have been down but for a moment when I felt a blade at my throat and heard a voice say, “No. Bring him.”
Jerrel and I were lifted up and carried. My sword was gone. I was bleeding. I saw walking before the pack of bird-men, Tordo, Jerrel’s traitorous uncle.
We were hoisted out of the forest and onto the trail, carried up toward the amazing twists of forest and stone. As we neared I saw small clouds of smoke rising from stone chimneys, and in loops of groomed limbs I saw large nests made of vines and sticks and all manner of refuse. The nests were wide open, but they were built under the great limbs and leaves of trees that served as a roof. Beyond them there was an enormous tree, the biggest I had seen on my world or this one, and there was a gap in it that served as an opening into the city proper. A great drawbridge had been dropped, and it stretched out over a gap between trees and mountain, and the gap was wide and deep beyond comprehension. Over the drawbridge we were carried, and into the great fortress of wood and stone.
My thought was that Jerrel was already dead and I was next, and let me tell you true as the direction north, I didn’t care if I died. With Jerrel lost, I wished to die.
As it turned out, I didn’t die. And neither did Jerrel. I didn’t realize she was alive until we found ourselves in the bowels of the fortress in a prison that was deep inside the cave of a tree; a series of metal bars served as our doorway. Looking through the bars I could see a long corridor that was also the inside of a tree, and there were two guards nearby, one with a lance, one with an axe, both with expressions that would make a child cry.
In our cell they dropped us down on some limbs and leaves that served as beds. There was a peculiar odor. The only thing I can equate it with is the smell of a henhouse on a hot, damp afternoon.
I knelt over Jerrel, lifted her head gently. “My love,” I said.
“My head hurts,” she said. The sound of her voice elated me.
“I guess so. You took quite a lick.”
She sat up slowly. “Are you okay?”
“I got a bump myself, behind my ear.”
She gingerly touched it with the tips of her fingers. “Ow,” she said.
“My sentiments exactly. What I don’t understand is why they didn’t kill us.”
“I think, in my case, my uncle wants me to see the ceremony.”
“What ceremony?”
“The linking of the two halves of the talisman. The acquisition of the greatest power on our planet. He wants me to see what he has achieved before he puts me to death. Wants me to know the deed is done, and I have failed to prevent it, then we die.”
“If you ain’t dead, you’re living, and that’s a good thing,” I said.
It took her a moment to take that in. It was as if whatever power allowed my words to be translated to her language had lost a beat. After a moment she laughed her musical laugh. “I think I understand.”
“We won’t give up until we’re beyond considering on the matter one way or the other,” I said.
“I love you, Jack,” she said.
“And I you.” We allowed ourselves a kiss. Yet, in spite of my bravado, in spite of the repeating of my old sergeant’s words, I feared it might be our last.
“Love is a wonderful steed,” said a voice, “ride it as long as you can.”
We looked up, and there above us, sitting on a ridge of stone was a bird-man, his feet dangling. He looked youngish, if I can claim any ability of judging the age of a man who looks a lot like a giant chicken crossed with the body of a man. A very weak-looking chicken. He appeared near starved to death. His head hung weak. His ribs showed. His legs were skinny as sticks, but there was still something youthful about him.
“Who are you?” I asked. It wasn’t a brilliant question, but it was all I had.
“Gar-don,” he said, and dropped off the ledge, his wings taking hold with a fanning of air. He settled down near us, his legs weak and shaky. He sat down on the floor, his head sagged, he sighed. “I am a prisoner, same as you.”
“Gar-don,” Jerrel said. “The former king’s son. His heir.”
“That was how it was supposed to be, but no longer. I was usurped.”
“Canrad,” said Jerrel.
“Yes,” Gar-don said, “now he is king. And I am here, awaiting the moment when he is able to acquire the rest of the talisman, and from what I overheard, that moment has arrived.”
“Yes,” Jerrel said. “For all of us. I am Jerrel, Princess of Sheldan.”
Gar-don lifted his head, took a deep breath, said, “I know of you. I am sorry for your fate, and his.”
“Jack,” I said. “I am called Jack.”
“I shall go out as a prince,” Gar-don said. “I will not beg. My horror is not my death but what the two halves of the talisman can do. Canrad
will possess immense power.”
“What does this power do?” I asked.
“We only have legend to explain it to us. It gives him the power over spirits and demons from the old trees.”
“The old trees?” I said.
“Giant trees that contain spirits of power,” Jerrel said. “Those kinds of trees no longer exist. They ceased to exist before I was born, before my father was born, his grandfather and so on. The spirits are contained in the two halves of the talisman.”
“Canrad will be able to control the people then,” Gar-don said. “They, like my father, and myself, were perfectly happy with our peace treaty. Only an insane being wants war. The people only follow Canrad because they fear him. All uprisings have been destroyed, or the participants have gone into hiding. After today, they might as well never have existed, for he will control anyone and everyone with his new powers. He will not be able to be defeated.”
“But you don’t actually know how he will do that?” I asked.
“I have only heard of the legend,” Gar-don said. “The power of the spirits, the demons of the trees. Exactly what they are capable of, I do not know. Our people have always feared the talisman, and knowing now that it will be united, no one will resist him. It would be useless.”
There was a clatter of sound in the hallway. Gar-don stood weakly, and said, “It seems we are about to find out the exactness of the talisman’s power.”
They came for us, unlocking our cell, entering quickly. To be sure of our compliance there was a horde of them with long spikes and strong nets and an angry attitude. I managed to hit one with my fist, knocking him to the floor in a swirl of dust and feathers. Jerrel kicked another. Gar-don tried to fight, but he was as weak as a dove. They netted the three of us, bagged us, kicked us awhile, then hauled us away like trapped vermin being taken to a lake to be drowned.
We were brought to a large throne room, that like the overall stronghold was made of stone and was combined with the natural strength of trees and limbs and leaves. Enormous branches jutted out of the walls high above our heads, and perched on them like a murder of ravens were bird-men and bird-women—the first females I had seen of that race. An occasional feather drifted down from above, coasted in the light.
Old Venus Page 51