EXILED Defenders of Ar

by Jack Lovejoy

  Not to the safety of the deck; there was no safety anywhere tonight. Even when morning came, the blackness of the sky only faded into a sullen yellow-gray; the terrors of the sea were now more visible, the exhausted crew more terrified. But Severakh was relentless. Never sleeping, never seeming to tire, he continued to make his rounds, inspecting, encouraging, haranguing, reprimanding where necessary.

  The rains came and went in violent downpours; the winds abated, then burst out again with gale force; the sky shaded from black into yellow-gray, then back again. For three days and three nights the storm continued to rage. The pirates, unused to such rigorous labor, grumbled and protested and at last refused to work at all. Severakh had them marched to the starboard rail.

  “Which is it, lads,” he demanded, pointing over the side, “work or swim?”

  They muttered and glowered and cursed under their breath—then returned to work.

  Not until the afternoon of the fourth day did the overcast sky begin to patch and tatter; not until that night did the sky itself break through. Shimsham, with the loss of his “navigation gear,” had in fact ceased to navigate. He lay groaning on his bunk, often delirious, sometimes shrieking that liskash were all around him. Branwe was now their only hope.

  How far they had been blown off course was unknown.

  Shimsham was too wretched to care. The pirates merely shrugged. Not until the polestar was again visible could Branwe himself determine their latitude. For all anybody knew, they had already been blown past the Shadow Islands, to die of thirst somewhere at the ends of the world.

  “Up with you, lad.” Branwe found himself shaken from a sound sleep. “There’s a break in the clouds.”

  “Cajhet?” He sat on the edge of his bunk, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

  “Hurry, lad.” Cajhet shook him again. “The old man himself sent me down here, and if we’re not back on deck in two minutes, he said he’d kick me overboard. And he’d do it too. I think he’s just waiting for the chance.”

  Branwe found the grim old warrior pacing the afterdeck.

  Cajhet hung back, uncertain whether the two minutes had elapsed or not. The wretched Shimsham, looking more dead than alive, sprawled with his back against a coil of rope.

  “Didn’t save me a drop,” he groaned. “The liskash have been at me for days.”

  “Some reptiles with long necks really will be at you, if you don’t shut up,” Severakh growled at him. “It’s only because of my good nature that you’re still aboard. Come here, lad.” He beckoned to Branwe. “I understand your navigation has something to do with the polestar. Zanira was visible when I sent for you, but now it’s behind the clouds again. You’ll have to be ready the next time it peeks out. Here, you two.” This time he beckoned to Cajhet and one of the steering crew.

  “Take hold of this scoundrel and toss him”—Shimsham howled and clutched the coil of rope—“back into his bunk.”

  Shimsham relaxed his grip, and allowed himself to be carried down the nearest hatch below decks. Meanwhile Branwe, his simple navigation gear in hand, braced himself against the starboard rail, and waited. And waited. The storm waves had subsided, but the seas were still heavy, the heavens still overcast. Pillars of moonlight burst through the tattering clouds, then as abruptly disappeared again. It was barely an hour before dawn before he at last got his chance.

  Even in his best shape it was unlikely that Shimsham could have taken an accurate reading tonight. Two hands were needed—one to hold the little board at arm’s length, one to measure with—which left no means of support on the rolling deck. Just aligning the bottom edge of the board along the horizon needed rare coordination, and the break in the clouds lasted only minutes.

  “Looks good, sir,” Branwe reported. “We’re almost right on course. Only needed a small correction of the steering oar.”

  “The storm’s abating,” said Severakh. “You’re on the night watch from now on, lad. No other duties. Keep a sharp eye on Zanira, and also on the three moons—when they’re all visible again, that is. I’ll show you what we’re looking for tomorrow.” He gazed thoughtfully out across the dark, choppy sea. “I don’t know how much time we’ve got before they triangulate, but we’ve got to put in somewhere—and soon—or we’ll never get there at all. We’ve tattered some canvas, lost the mainsail entirely, split the foretopmast, and I’ve got half the watch section pumping and baling below decks. Just keep us on course, lad. The Shadows are an archipelago. There’s bound to be somewhere we can put in for repairs, before sailing on to the main island.” He now gazed thoughtfully up at the overcast sky. “If only I could see the position of the moons ….”

  It was a gaunt and miserable Shimsham who dragged himself up on deck two days later. Liskash no longer troubled him, but he was still nervous that they were lurking somewhere out of sight, ready to pounce the moment he turned his back. He had finally been able to hold down a few morsels of food and drink, although the latter was not the kind he really needed.

  “Does that look familiar?” Severakh pointed to a low-lying mass on the horizon. It was a sultry morning, only the bottoms of the fluffy masses of clouds were tinged with gray, and a fresh breeze hissed through the riggings. Most of the sails were reefed, so no undue strain would widen the rifts in the hull or the damaged foretopmast. “Can you even see it, you wretched little squint?”

  Shimsham was indeed squinting across the white-capped seas. “My eyes ain’t what they used to be, but if that’s the first island you spotted, we still got a ways to go. Shadow Island is what we’re after, which gave its name to the whole group. It was on one of these small islands that me and the other two was marooned, and where we built ourselves a raft.”

  “You said you were alone on the raft.”

  “Uh, well, I was. Most of the time, leastways. We had short supplies, and a long way to go. I awoke one morning and found myself alone. The other two must have accidently fallen overboard in the night.”

  Severkh eyed him suspiciously, his fingers twitching as if tempted to seize him by the throat. “Yes, I think I can guess what kind of accident that was, and why you were marooned here in the first place. Now get out of my sight!”

  The island turned out to be more extensive than they had supposed; its rugged southern coast indicated that it was probably just a remnant of a once far more extensive land mass, perhaps a continent. Harborage was poor—a mere roadstead sheltered by a rocky headland—but the sea was calm now, and Severakh immediately set most of his crew to work on repairs.

  The remainder, including all the pirates, he marshaled into a foraging party, which he would lead in person. All empty water kegs were loaded aboard the ship’s four longboats.

  “Down to my cabin, lad.” He drew Branwe aside. “Now’s the time you might need that sword given you by the old wizard.”

  Frothy waves washed over a beach of coarse gravel, glistening pinkish-red in the noontide sun. The vegetation was exotic; in the distance, on the middle slopes of the mountain range which divided the lush island like a spine, rose ancient ruins; or was it a natural formation? Not even Branwe’s keen eyes could really distinguish from so far away.

  The pirates unloaded the empty kegs as sullenly as they had manned their oars. Why had they all been brought ashore? Did the old warrior intend to maroon them here? Or was he just cautious about leaving too many of them aboard ship? Severakh did not betray his motives; neither did he allow the pirates to remain near the longboats once the water kegs had been replenished at a nearby stream.

  “It’s paradise, sir,” the first scout reported in. “Never saw anything so beautiful as the valley yonder. Makes you just want to lie down in the shade, and never go away.”

  “We need supplies, not naps,” Severakh growled at him.

  “Anything to eat?”

  “Just like a big garden, sir. In patches, at least. The rest of the valley’s pretty muc
h like it is here.”

  “Only in patches?” Severakh looked curiously at him. “Why not the whole valley?”

  The scout shrugged. “It is kind of strange, now that you mention it, sir.”

  The Lurkers in the Mirage

  BRANWE WAS certain that the shrewd old Severakh had noticed the pirates whispering secretively among themselves—huddling together in small groups, flickering mutinous glances at anybody who came near them—although he appeared to be looking the other way. Were they in fact plotting a mutiny? Or, more likely, a mass escape into the trees? The regular sailors were now enough to crew the Zanira. Had Severakh brought the pirates ashore just so they could run away—and good riddance?

  He had assigned all the necessary mrem and resources to ship repairs, which would take a good two days to complete. Exploring the mountainside ruins—if indeed they were ruins—would keep both the pirates and idle crewmrem from hampering the work. His mrem all bore weapons, and well outnumbered the disarmed pirates.

  As the column marched inland, Branwe noticed the pirates stealthily edging to the front, their eyes darting furtively back and forth, as if scanning the trees and underbrush for a gap to shoot through. He doubted that any obstacle would be thrown in their path—as soon as they found one. Again Severakh appeared to be looking the other way.

  In the morning sunlight the valley seemed even more of a paradise than the scout had reported it. Certain patches were so lush and enticing that they appeared artificial; too similar and perfect to be natural, Gardens? Was the island inhabited? The pirates exchanged sly glances. If they somehow managed to escape, they would at least not starve to death.

  Severakh’s mrem also hankered after some relief from shipboard rations, and never in their lives had they seen such cool rippling pools, abounding in fresh fish, such succulent fruits and berries. To a mrem they were tempted to rush straight into the nearest garden and begin the feast.

  Branwe alone stood aghast. Clutching the Demon Sword in his right hand, he saw before him only a valley of horror. He could not understand why the others were not falling back in loathing and disgust; rather than gazing before them with longing anticipation. At last he suspected some evil magic at work, and laid the Demon Sword on a rock.

  Instantly the valley of horror was transformed into a paradise, its garden patches enticing and beautiful. Snatching up the sword, he saw once more only horror and loathsomeness. Where the others saw mirages of paradise, his own eyes, unclouded by the power of the Demon Sword, saw only flattish multilegged reptiles. There were no cool rippling fish ponds around them, nothing but gnawed bones and excrement. Nor did the bones look reptilian. They looked, in fact, exactly like the bones those around him would leave here, were they too enticed into a mirage. Anxiously he beckoned to Severakh.

  “Hold this sword, and take another look around the valley, sir.”

  “Reptile magic!” Severakh sneered. “Never used for any higher purpose than getting a meal.”

  With the eye of an old commander, scrutinizing every rise and declivity within sight, as if searching for some advantage—in an impending battle, or trying to detect signs of a lurking enemy, he examined the terrain in detail. He then passed the sword, back to Branwe, and once more examined everything around them; then he took the sword back again. Thrice he repeated the exchange, until confident he knew what was illusion and what was not.

  “Halt!” he cried, and beckoned the entire company around him. “Now listen, and listen carefully. Don’t be fooled by the garden patches that seem to be all around you, and don’t let me see you even thinking about going near them. They’re deadly traps. Understand? They might be why some of our scouts haven’t returned yet.”

  That he was not more explicit about the danger was curious to Branwe. Severakh’s own men would obey his orders as a matter of course; but the pirates seemed more mutinous than ever, whispering secretively amongst themselves at every opportunity—especially after one of the missing scouts did return.

  “They’re ruins all right, sir,” he reported. “Oldest I’ve ever seen. Looks like they were built thousands of years ago, and not by mrem.” He lowered his voice: “But there are mrem here, or leastways something like mrem. Only saw footprints, though.”

  “You mean to tell me that one of my scouts isn’t sure whether footprints are mrem or not?” Severakh looked him up and down.

  “Yes, sir.” The scout now lowered his voice to a whisper.

  “They’re mrem footprints—and handprints, too. Looks like they sometimes walk on all fours.”

  Severakh gazed thoughtfully toward the mountains and the ancient ruins. “Perhaps the Shadow Islands really are remnants of a lost continent,” he said at last. “Maybe this is how it was in the beginning.”

  Meanwhile Branwe had noticed consternation among the pirates; they had been watching something out of the corners of their eyes, careful not to stare openly at it. Looking in the same direction, he at last spotted two pirates creeping up on one of the flattish, multilegged reptiles, as if they were going to pounce on it, instead of the other way around. It was evident that they could not see it yet.

  But what did they see? Or their perplexed comrades? He was now reluctant to put down the Demon Sword, even for an instant, and beckoned to Cajhet.

  “Do you see those two pirates trying to sneak away?” “Sure,” he said, “and between you and me, good riddance.

  I spotted ‘em crawling off into the underbrush, but where they’re now hiding I can’t say. Funny the way they just kind of disappeared, like into a mist. Except it’s morning, and the sun is shining.”

  Branwe started to reply, then froze in horror. So did the pirates, but it was too late for them. The multilegged reptile hit them with poisoned fangs, and in seconds they were both truly frozen, unable to stir. Then out of hiding scuttled five little multilegged reptiles, evidently at some signal from their mother. Maternally she began to tear gobbets of flesh from one of her paralyzed victims, and to feed her young. The second pirate would furnish her own dinner.

  Like Cajhet, the other pirates had lost sight of their two comrades in what seemed like a strange kind of mist, and could not see what was happening to them. They were warier and more suspicious than ever, though their eyes still watched furtively for opportunities to escape, as the column resumed its march toward the ruins. They seemed leery for the moment about further attempts.

  Due to Severakh’s vigilance there were no further incidents of any kind, all the way to the foothills of the spine of mountains. Only then did he call a halt. While rations of food and water were being distributed, Cajhet sidled up to Branwe and whispered:

  “There was something funny going on back in the valley, wasn’t there? Something you didn’t tell me about? But old Severakh knows, don’t he?”

  Branwe had not been cautioned to silence by his commander, and saw no reason not to inform Cajhet about the true nature of the mirages they had seen, and what lurked inside them.

  “Whew, glad I didn’t try it then.” Cajhet was shaken by the account. “No thanks to the old mrem, I can’t tell you how sick I am of ship biscuit and salt fish, so I was kinda sneaking over to one of them gardens, thinking I might improve my diet, when I caught him watching me. But he didn’t bark, or chew me out, like I expected. Just turned away and pretended he hadn’t noticed. And now I know why.” He glanced over his shoulder and whispered: “It’s the fluffy pink dressing gown. Bet on it! He’s worried somebody else might hear about it, and he’d never live it down.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Cajhet put a sly finger beside his nose and winked, but said nothing more.

  It did not take long to explore the ruins, which had clearly lain uninhabited for millennia. Nor was there any doubt they were of liskash, or at least not of mrem, construction, although the use of pointed arches seemed to be in crude imitation of early mrem architecture
. The ruined structures were more indicative of magic than intelligence.

  Of the mrem themselves, only barefoot tracks were found, the tracks of creatures that walked on two legs but still ran on four.

  It was on two legs, both walking and running, that the pirates at last made their escape. There was no pursuit. In fact, had they been bolder, they might have slipped away any time they chose, these last few hours. Severakh merely shrugged when they were reported missing, and remained thoughtful all the way back to the longboats.

  “This must be how it all began,” he muttered to himself.

  “For thousands of generations, forgotten in the mists of years, the struggle for supremacy between liskash size and magic, and the evolving intelligence of our own ancestors, must have continued relentlessly, just as it still does here today. Just as it still does in the world at large. Especially around the walls of Ar—if they still stand. Forget about the pirates,” were the first words he cried aloud, as he and what remained of his foraging party at last boarded the Zanira. “They’ve got their struggle to survive, and we’ve got ours. You’ve done good work while I was gone, troops. But now let’s concentrate more on the hull. We can always repair sail under way.”

  There was little more he could do now, and for once he indulged himself in an afternoon nap. Despite his age and the exertions of the past months, he looked a lot sprier than Shimsham that night, when they appeared together on deck. Certainly he looked a lot sterner.

  “None of your lies or stories now.” Severakh glowered at him. “You’ve held out on me for the last time, scoundrel. Oh, now don’t start whimpering again! I’ll put you ashore, and the pirates will really give you something to howl about. And nobody’s going to feel sorry for you, so don’t try that old dodge either. All three moons will be visible in an hour or so, and it looks like they’re getting close to focusing a perfect triangle on these islands. That rocky headland shelters us from the worst tangletides here, but what about Shadow Island itself? And what about the triangulation of the moons? Can the phenomenon be judged more accurately than by the naked eye?”