Nigel and Des glanced at each other, astonished. “Go back?” muttered Des in disbelief.
The clever wolf quickly interrupted. “My Lord, we have come so far in search of Free-Earth,” he said. “Through Deep-Forest, through mires and quicksand, across the feared Western Mountains. Would you so cruelly send us away without a second thought?”
The python’s tongue lashed. “Hisssss! That you survived such a perilous journey is to your credit, wolf. But why should I bid you welcome to my land? Men no longer dwell in this place.”
Nigel froze. What had he said? No longer men here? No longer? That could only mean that once upon a time, no matter how long ago it was, other men did indeed walk in Free-Earth. His mind began to race. He stepped closer to the snake and bowed sweepingly. “Great Lord of Free-Earth,” he said, “among our tribe there are tales of this wondrous place, and of the men who once dwelled here.”
Des winced. What was Nigel saying? There were no such tales. Until this very moment who had even heard of Free-Earth?
“We only seek to learn what has become of these lost brothers,” continued Nigel. “And we mean no harm to you or any other Dweller.”
The snake looked up and down at Nigel, darting his shifty eyes. It was a long while until he answered. “Then it is only the Ruins you seek, nothing more?”
Nigel felt his heart leap. He calmed himself and focused on the python. “With your permission, great Lord, we desire only to find out what happened to these brothers.”
“They have died, long ago,” replied the snake dryly.
Nigel unbuckled his belt and let the silver dagger fall to the ground. “Let us see the Ruins,” he pleaded. “I have no weapon, no tooth around my waist. Surely you see I cannot harm you.”
Taking the cue, Des and the others quickly unbuckled their own weapons and let them fall.
“For creatures so ugly,” said the python, “you speak with gentle words. If I give you entry, how long would you stay?”
Only a short while, I promise. Just enough time to see this place of our ancient ancestors.”
“Hisssss! There is little to see, milkskin. Time and weather have left nothing but rubble. But your eyes seem honest and I will take you to the Ruins. Yet know this: if you or your friends have lied to me and plot some secret treachery, the fangs of all my tribe shall pierce your flesh.”
“We plan no deceit,” said Hector. “I give my word in the name of all wolves.”
The python laughed. “The word of wolves? What do you take me for? But never mind. I have given my promise and shall not go back on it. Come! Follow me carefully and I’ll show you the way.”
And true to his word, Naftali, the python-lord, led them down the hill and into the realm of Free-Earth. And what a marvelous place it was. They came across many different creatures, some strange and foreboding, but all dwelling together in peace, side by side. Tiny birds sang from the trees, and Mustapha tried to speak to them. But they spoke in odd dialects and tongues and merely returned his questions with friendly chatter before returning to their songs.
Graceful swans and geese swam in the ponds even as hares and jackrabbits playfully raced along the gentle banks. Elk and deer came to drink from the streams, standing alongside a watering family of gnu. A moose and a doe ran off to the meadow followed by a flock of doves. And stunning horses grazed amid thick grasses, hardly raising a brow as the band of weary men passed.
Dane at one point looked hungrily at a strutting antelope, but a sharp warning from Hector’s eyes made him forget his thoughts quickly. In Free-Earth the Dwellers live in harmony, it was plain, and Hector was not about to let the name of wolves be spoiled.
There was a shallow winding stream that passed among the apple trees. Rolf caught sight of it and bent down for a long drink to quench his thirst. The water splashed over his mouth as he cupped it in his palms. “Come taste!” he cried gleefully. “It’s delicious!”
Des looked to the python. Naftali nodded and smiled, snake-fashion. Then they all ran to the stream and sipped. How fresh it was. How clear. How delightful. It exhilarated them and made them almost forget the aches in their bones. Naftali grinned at Nigel as the young Lord finished his drink. “Come, milkskin,” he said. “We still have a long way to go.”
Suddenly Basil stared at what seemed to be a rock. But if it was a rock, it was the queerest one he had ever seen.
“Don’t touch it,” cautioned Naftali as Basil drew close. The bowman gaped. The rock had needles protruding from its back. “You mean this thing is alive?” he said.
Naftali laughed. “They call him porcupine,” he said. “And he’s really quite harmless. But I warn you, leave him alone. He hates to be disturbed from his slumber. It makes him very angry, and those needles give a sharp bite when he’s mad.”
Basil scurried away as fast as he could, as everyone laughed deeply. “And what is that?” asked Des, pointing to a great lumbering beast that was lying in the sun.
“He is a bison,” replied Naftali. “Once his tribe numbered in the millions in the world. But alas, now they are few. He is fearsome to look upon, I agree, but his heart is as gentle as a lamb’s.” And as if to illustrate his point, Naftali curled his long body over the bison’s back. The beast opened one lazy eye, looked at him and yawned.
Des shook his head in bewilderment. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he stammered. And the others had to agree. But in truth, what man or wolf had?
They walked the entire morning and came upon many such odd things. Huge bullfrogs croaked and leaped high into the air as they passed; multicolored butterflies swam dizzily above their heads; a bucktoothed squirrel threw acorns at them and scampered up a tree. The wonders they saw that day were much too numerous to recount, even if one had an entire day in which to do it.
Pleasantly they strolled through the hollows; they picked sweet apples and peaches and pears and ate them all with relish. Food was more than abundant for everyone, they saw, and it was no wonder that all the Dwellers were so content. And the soil itself, why, it was so rich, so fertile, that it almost begged to be tilled.
“Tell me, great Lord,” said Nigel after a while, “are there no problems in your land? Don’t the dogs ever threaten? And don’t they claim Free-Earth as part of their Empire?”
“So many questions, milkface,” hissed the python. “But the answer to each is no. We have no problems, at least not the kind I think you mean. And no, the wild dogs of the forest never threaten. All the kingdoms here stand together. And pythons and reptiles govern in their name.”
Nigel said no more on the matter. He understood perfectly well. Who would dare to incur the wrath of such as Naftali? But no sooner had he said that to himself than his heart sank. The Master was no mere wild dog. No indeed. And if his hordes proved victorious, then even Free-Earth might one day be in danger.
At last the sun began to set over the horizon. Naftali led them to the mound of a hillock and gazed out beyond. “Across the next hill you will come to the river,” he said, “and there I must take my leave. If you follow its course north for another day you will come to the Ruins which you seek.”
In the Haven there was much written about the sea; even great tapestries depicting it. And no man for many years had ever seen it. But the river of Free-Earth was so vast, so wide, that even Nigel had to believe that it rivaled the sea itself. The men stood on the golden sandy shore and watched in awe as the waters rolled gently past. “How far does it go on, Naftali?” asked a breathless Nigel.
The python shrugged. “Even I cannot answer that. The river flows where it will, has no boundaries. You could follow it to the end of the world, perhaps.”
“Or to the sea, perhaps,” sighed Des.
“Or to the sea,” Naftali agreed.
There, along the banks they set their camp and prepared for the next day’s journey that would take them to the Ruins. As they did, Naftali made ready to depart. “You may stay among us for as long as you need,” he said, “but onl
y as long as you continue to obey our laws. You must harm no Dweller, be it for sport, or for food. Remember, you are guests here, and we are the hosts. Stay until you have found the knowledge you seek, and dwell in peace. But if you forget my warning, beware! The sun shall bleach your bones until the Fates destroy the world.”
“You have our word, great Lord,” said Nigel. “We will drink of your sweet water, eat of your fruit. But no creature shall we harm.”
Naftali raised and lowered his head respectfully. “I trust you, milkskin,” he said. “Go and find what you must. I will see you again before you leave. Until then, farewell.”
And without looking back the mighty python slithered out of sight, back to guard the entrance of this wondrous land.
The next morning was every bit as lovely as the day before. The horses were saddled and by an hour after sunup they were ready to ride. As the python had told them they followed the course of the river, to the north.
By late afternoon they had arrived. But it was not anything like they had expected. The land was coarse and blackened. Save for a few scrubby weeds nothing at all seemed to grow. The trees were few and far between and even they brought forth only the scantest of leaves. It was as if a dim pall were cast all over the landscape. Scattered about at random were dusty, crumbling mounds of brick — one here, one there, one high, another shallow. Des took a brick in his hand and watched it crumble to dust as he rubbed at it with his fingers. He looked at Nigel and said: “What do you suppose this place might have been?”
Nigel shrugged. “I don’t know, Des. Look about. The whole place is flattened, beyond recognition.”
“Could it have been some sort of city?” asked Rolf.
“I don’t see any signs of walls or moats,” said Nigel.
“Nor towers or barricades,” added Des. “If it were a city we’d have seen at least the remnants of that. All there is here are these crumbling bricks and dead earth.”
“I doubt we’ll ever solve this mystery,” said Nigel. “And look around. There isn’t a single creature from Free-Earth. They obviously avoid this place.”
“Maybe they have good sense,” said Rolf. “More than we do. This place is as quiet as a graveyard. It gives me the shivers.”
“Then what’s the point in staying?” asked Sinjon. “Our mission is done. We’ve found the new lands. Let’s go home.”
Nigel sighed. It was bleak and forlorn, yet something had once been here. “I think we should at least get a closer look,” he said. “Maybe we can dig under some of this rubble to get some kind of clue.”
Des put his hands on his hips and looked sternly at Nigel. “We can look for a while,” he said. “But we’re not staying. Sinjon’s right. Our task is done. And it’s a long road home with a war waiting to be fought at the end of it. Remember that.”
“It shouldn’t take long to see if there’s anything worthwhile under the rubble,” said Nigel.
Des scratched at his chin. “All right, Nigel. That much we can do.” He wiped some of the dust from his tunic and called for camp to be set. And although he never would admit it, he too was a little bit curious.
*
“Nigel! Nigel, come quick!”
Nigel bounded up from between the bricks and dashed over to the nearest mound. Sinjon, sweaty and shirtless, took a series of long breaths and smiled. “Look!” he said, bending down into his hole and bringing out a dusty object.
Nigel stared. “What is it?”
Sinjon blew about a pound of dust into his face. “A book, Nigel. Bless me, we’ve found a book!”
Nigel grabbed it eagerly and opened the cover. The pages disintegrated to the touch. “Can you dig deeper, Sinjon?” he asked. “This one’s been too long exposed to the air. I can’t make out a thing.”
Sinjon nodded and burrowed deeper into the rubble. Des came running over from his own mound. “What’s the commotion?” he asked.
“Books,” replied Nigel. “Sinjon found one, now he’s digging for more.” They stood anxiously for a few minutes. At last Sinjon popped his head out from the rubbish. “Here’s another,” he said, straining to hand it to Nigel. “This one was buried really deep; it seems to be in good shape.”
Nigel thumbed through a couple of pages. “It is!” he called. “Sinjon, lad, you did it! Now get back into your hole and see what else you can come up with.”
Des peered over Nigel’s shoulder to look at the worn pages, the decrepit writing. “What good to us is that?” he asked. “We don’t understand this language. These writings are meaningless.”
“Meaningless?” Nigel bit his lip. “These are books from the Old Time,” he said. “And they can be translated. This language is actually an ancient form of our own.”
“Ancient?” mimicked Des. “You mean pre-Haven?”
Nigel nodded. “Exactly. Written years before the Haven was even conceived.”
By this time Rolf and Basil had come over too. Intrigued by what Nigel was saying, they joined in the conversation. “Are you telling us that you can translate what they say?” asked Basil.
“I might be able to,” replied Nigel. “But if I can’t, the scholars at the Haven can. They’ve spent a lifetime studying ancient writings.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” said Des, “we’d better give poor old Sinjon a hand. Come on, lads!” And he jumped into the dig, Rolf and Basil right behind.
*
“You’ve been staring at that thing for hours, Nigel,” said Des. “How about telling us what it says?”
Nigel rested the book in his lap and rubbed his eyes. The sun had all but set and reading had become difficult. “It’s fortunate this one was buried so deep,” he said. “Otherwise it would have crumbled like the others.”
“We still have three good ones left,” said Des. “And that’s better than nothing. But you still haven’t told us what the book you’re reading is all about.”
“It’s about medicine, chemistry, too, I think,” drawled Nigel. “It must have been written hundreds of years before the Empire was founded.”
“But there was no civilization before the Empire,” protested Nevil. “Only roving bands of uneducated men living like animals.”
Hector winced.
“You’re wrong, Nevil,” said Nigel. “In the Hall of Books we have several volumes such as this. Preserved through the ages from the days of the Old Time. Any scholar can study them.”
Rolf nodded. “That’s true,” he said. “I once saw them myself.”
“But how can you possibly make anything out of writing like that?” asked Sinjon. “A few of the characters look like ours, but the rest make no sense at all.” Nigel put the book on the ground, leaned back and sighed. “Many of the words are obscure and some of the sentences make no sense at all. But the alphabet is still quite similar. In fact, our own was probably derived from it. These books are written in a cryptic tongue known as English, a language no one’s used for a few thousand years.”
Rolf whistled in amazement. And now his curiosity was really fired. “What can you tell us about the Old Time?” he asked.
“Not very much, I’m afraid. The books in the Hall of Books seem to be little more than abstract verse. One reads like a grand saga of their fables. But they do tell of fierce wars — wars between men.”
“Between men?” repeated Basil. “Are you saying that the ancients made war among themselves? Man against man?”
“As incredible as it seems, yes.”
“But were there no dogs to fight?” asked Carlo.
Nigel smiled. They were asking the same questions he had asked, long ago. “Dogs, as I understand it,” said Nigel, “were all friendly beasts back then. Much like our own hunting hounds. Perhaps a few might have been vicious, but they weren’t a threat.”
Not a threat? This startled the men more than anything. Men not fighting dogs! Who would have believed it?
“What else can you tell us?” asked Des.
“This much: that once men ruled ove
r all the world. And many different tribes lived across many different lands.”
“Like the Valley?” asked Basil.
Nigel laughed. “Larger, Basil, far larger. A man could ride for days, even weeks sometimes, and still not come to the borders of his land.”
Basil looked puzzled. “But what might have caused such mighty Empires to fall?”
Nigel rested back on his elbows and sighed. “Probably many things. These lands were warlike, that we know. But many also suffered from plagues and disease. We’ll probably never know exactly what happened. But they’re all gone, I’m afraid, gone forever.” Nigel picked up the book at his side. “But the ancients had great wisdom, despite their follies. Somewhere within the pages of this very book could lie the answers to many riddles, cures for ailments that baffle our physicians. Who knows what potions they speak of, what strange herbs to help the sick?”
Des gazed at the worn pages. “Perhaps there’s something that can help us in our struggle,” he said.
Nigel’s eyes brightened. “That,” he said, “is exactly what I’m looking for.”
*
A gray dawn began to spread across the sky. Hector began to stir. He shook the sleep from his eyes and gazed about. Nigel was sitting up close to the dying fire, his eyes fixed on his book. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, with bags under them. “Haven’t you slept?” Hector asked.
Nigel shook his head and yawned. “I couldn’t,” he said. “There’s so much to learn here, and we’ve so little time to do it.”
“But you have to sleep,” said Hector. “We’ll be leaving soon and it’s a long journey back.”
Nigel shrugged and frowned. “I’m not going back,” he whispered. “At least not yet. I’ve got to explore the Ruins some more, and find out just what else is under all that rubble.”
“But we’re still at war! The Haven needs us back.”
“I know,” said Nigel wearily. “And that’s why it’s so vital that these books we found be brought home right away. But as for me, I can be of far greater use here.”
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