And now we have hope! Flocks of birds sighted each of last three days. Crews work with vigor, all eyes…
I must go, hearing a disturbance on deck.
"Land!"
"Land!" Halloran heard the cry and passed it along, racing to the bow of the Osprey. He could see the lookout atop the mast of one of the carracks, perhaps Dragonfly, gesturing frantically.
"What's this? Probably another cloud bank, if you ask me!" Daggrande clumped up to Hal's side, squinting forward in annoyance.
For several minutes, they could see nothing. Other men of the legion gathered around them, as all unoccupied hands stared intently to the westward.
One by one the mast-top lookouts called down their confirmations, and the breeze seemed to freshen with the expedition's aroused hopes.
Gradually Hailoran saw it. Mutters of speculation, quickly growing to a rumble, spread among the men as the image before them slowly took on color, shape, substance. Finally it became a line of green, close to the horizon but extending for many miles from west to east.
Almost imperceptibly, more details became apparent: white-crested breakers upon a wide reef, a smooth shore of tight sand, palm trees and other vegetation growing back from the beach. The lookouts even saw a bright stream flowing into the sea, offering the promise of fresh water.
From the chronicle of Colon:
May the wisdom of the Silent Counselor guide my brushes and my hand.
In the age when the gods and man were young, there came the time of the Great Dust. The rains failed ten years in a row, and heat blistered the land. This was the time of the Ancient Ones, when the cult of Zaltec began to nourish. His priests adorned themselves with blood and cried out that only through sacrifice could the favor of the gods be restored. Deep in their caves, the black-shrouded Ancient Ones watched and smiled.
Finally, in the tenth year of the drought, the speakers of the tribes heeded the call of Zaltec and the Ancient Ones. Great ceremonial battles occurred, and thousands of captives gave their hearts to fresh altars, newly consecrated to Zaltec. Gone were the flowers and butterflies and feathers offered to Qotal; instead, warm, pulsing hearts were given to the glory of Zaltec.
The rains returned to Maztica, and once again mayz ripened in vast, green fields. But the people had sworn fealty to Zaltec now, and always his hunger must be sated with blood.
Qotal, in his anger and shame, left the land of Maztica, spurning the True World. Turning to the east in his great canoe, bedecked with the golden plumes that were his symbol and his image, he rode the friendly wind beyond the ken of man. A few of his faithful priests stood at the shore, beseeching him to return.
To these few, Qotal promised to one day come again as the King of the True World. His canoe will lower like a mountain in the sea, and his footsteps will shatter the land. The peoples of Maztica will rise up in freedom and joy, when they have proven themselves worthy of his presence.
But until that time, he made these, the highest of his priests, vow their silence. Observing and watching the True World, we cannot advise nor command its inhabitants. And so we remain the Silent Patriarchs until our Immortal Master again returns.
Twin Visages
LANDFALL
Fortieth day, aboard the Falcon
The fifteen ships stand away from shore, behind the protection of a small reef. A fair westerly wind comes from the tropical landmass, but any hard blow from the east will scatter the ships along the beach like matchsticks.
I will take that risk to plant my banner on this, the first western shore to greet us.
"In the name of Helm the Vigilant, Ever Watchful Sentinel and Protector of the Golden Legion, I claim these lands!" The golden pennant snapped straight in the steady breeze, its eagle emblem flapping its wings as the fabric fluttered. The eye emblazoned in the eagle's breast, the symbol of Helm, now seemed to stare perpetually, even as the pennant flapped in the wind.
The captain-general planted the staff of the pennant deep into the sandy shore, surrounded by threescore of his men, with the Bishou, Darien, and Kardann, the Grand Assessor, at his side. The Bishou's daughter stood near the shore, watching several men fill water barrels from the clear stream. Five longboats, transportation for the shore party, rested high on the beach.
Halloran and several other handpicked warriors stood watch over the periphery of the gathering as Kardann began to speak, enumerating the shares of ownership: profits from the venture to be divided among the merchant princes of Amn and the legion itself.
Hal peered curiously into the dense tropical growth pressing close to the beach. The big greyhound, Corporal, paced at his side, surprising him with his obedience.
Looking at the forest again, Halloran had the odd feeling that the jungle watched him in return. Behind him, Cordell went on to define the boundaries of his new domain, a region beginning here and extending an imprecise but extensive distance to the west.
"Hello." The voice behind Halloran fell like tinkling music on his ears; at the same time, his heart leaped into his throat and stayed there. Martine! She talked to him!
"Uh…" He turned to face her, feeling his face flush. "I'm Halloran! And you're Martine!"
She laughed, easing his nervousness a bit. "And this is a paradise, don't you think?" She gestured excitedly along the length of the verdant shore.
"Yes, that is, uh, yes… yes, it is!" He nodded foolishly, and again she laughed. Hal thought that perhaps he had never heard a lovelier sound.
"I've heard of you, you know," said the cleric's daughter, with a coy look. "The general thinks very highly of you, the way your charge broke Akbet-Khrul."
Hal stammered some kind of acknowledgment, too thrilled for articulate speech. He could scarcely believe his ears, and his luck! Here was the woman he had admired over the entire voyage, the one eligible woman on an expedition of hundreds of men — Darien, of course, didn't count — and she was talking to him!
"I'd like to walk down the beach. Will you come with me?"
Never had Hal felt so masculine, so romantic. Neither had he ever felt so shackled, nor so frustrated by the responsibilities of soldierhood.
"I'd — I'd like to," he groaned miserably. "But I have to stand guard here at the — What's that?" He squinted at the brush as he saw a large figure moving there. Martine, rebuffed, turned away and then froze as her eyes settled upon the jungle.
Corporal barked a gruff warning, and several other greyhounds joined in. All eyes turned toward the jungle as the hesitant figures came into view.
The creatures emerging from the jungle were humans, perhaps two dozen in number. They had thick black hair and skin of a deep, slightly coppery brown. They were naked but for tattered loincloths, and carried nothing resembling weapons. Several carried large gourds or bundles wrapped in leaves.
Halloran stepped in front of Martine, his sword in his hand. However, he saw no threat in the appearance of these people. He sensed that they came in peace, but he would remain vigilant.
"What pathetic savages!" said Martine softly. Halloran had to agree with her assessment.
Cordell had expected the spice lords of the Orient to greet them. Thus the captain-General, too, was sorely disappointed at seeing these primitive people. The first encounter with Kara-Tur was not proving auspicious.
One native, taller than the others but still a full head shorter than Cordell, advanced toward the party on the beach. The general watched him, not concealing the disappointment on his face. Finally he and Darien stepped forward to meet him. The jungle dweller bowed, and Cordell calmly acknowledged the gesture. The native suddenly jabbered something in an unintelligible tongue.
Then Darien stepped forward, quietly speaking a quick enchantment. She spoke to the chieftain in the same language, and the man immediately started talking to her, gesturing around them, often pointing to the vessels anchored offshore.
Several of the other natives, all of whom were male, moved closer to Halloran and Martine. The pair looked curiously
at their flat faces and broad noses. Each of the men had a sharp stick driven crossways through his nose, extending several inches to the right and left of his face.
One stepped hesitantly toward Halloran, Martine, and several other legionnaires nearby. He bowed deeply and often before extending the gourd in his hand toward them.
Hal took it, feeling the liquid swish inside of it. Another tentatively extended a bundle of leaves, and they saw that it contained an assortment of lush fruits.
And then Hal's attention fell on the man's necklace, and his heart pounded with excitement. He felt Martine gasp beside him, thrilled to the touch of her hand as she took his arm.
"They look so poor, so miserable," Halloran whispered.
"But they're not, are they?" Martine's voice was also hushed as they both observed the band of natives. "I think the expedition is a success."
Suspended from the necklace of this native, and also several others nearby, swung a crude ornament of pure, heavy gold.
Erix awakened with a pounding headache, and for a long time, she could not remember where she was or how she had come to be there. She remembered that something was wrong, but what had happened?
Darkness surrounded her, and the air smelled of masonry. The stone floor had no reed mat nor straw pallet, accustomed amenities for even the lowliest of slaves. Erix couldn't tell whether it was day or night.
She remembered more, but her mind seemed to go backward. She pictured her family's cottage in Palul, she saw her father's face. With a gasp, she reached for her neck, then sighed with relief as she found her feather token still suspended there, her only remaining link to that distant era.
The picture of a Jaguar Knight snatching her from Palul came into her mind, and then she remembered Kultaka, where she had known Huakal's gentle mastership, Callatl's brutality. With a low moan, she sat up as the rest of the pieces fell into place: her purchase by Kachin, the journey to Payit.
Her head throbbed with agony as she remembered the eager grimaces of the Jaguar Knights who had intruded into her bath. Had they hurt Chicha? she wondered, desperately hoping the girl was all right. Why did they want Erix, anyway? And where was she?
Erixitl almost sobbed in despair. Her entire life had been spent following the dictates of authority. Since childhood, she had been subject to masters who had claimed her by force, or who had purchased her from her captors. Even the feather-lined comfort of her journey to Ulatos was in reality simply a softer form of bondage.
The dingy cell around her indicated that she had now been taken by harsher masters. In fact, the lack of comforts suggested strongly that she was not intended for slavery but for sacrifice. She knew that victims who might be expected to resist the Flowered Altar were often imprisoned in bleak cells until the moment of ceremony that would end the prisoner's life.
Strangely, the thought of dying on the altar did not particularly terrify her — at least, no more than had her sale to Kachin or her battle with Callatl. Instead, she began to grow angry, and as her anger grew, it turned into a fiery resentment against the fates that had swept her along for so much of her life.
"No!" She surprised herself with her vehemence.
Feeling groggy, ignoring the pain in her skull, she stumbled to her feet and leaned against the stone wall of her enclosure. She took a step and felt another wall before her, quickly ascertaining that her cell was a square about three paces on a side. She felt a low wooden door in one wall.
They will not have me! Her anger burned with steadily increasing fury, until her body began to tremble. She pushed away from the wall, growing stronger, and turned to face the door. Sooner or later, she knew, they would open that door for her.
And when they did, she would attack.
"I don't like it! I just don't like it, not one bit!" Mixtal, priest of Zaltec, wrung his hands and nervously bit his lip. He took handfuls of cold ashes and smeared them across his face and arms, habitually covering himself in a manner befitting a high priest of the war god.
"Be quiet!"
Gultec's voice came out a rumbling snarl. The Jaguar Knight reclined on a bench and glared contemptuously at the cleric through the jaws of his spotted armor. "Who are you to question the will of the Ancient Ones? Even I know that when your god and his counselors make a Sending, the likes of you and I had best obey!"
The two men conversed in the courtyard before their apartments, where they had been observing the night sky over Ulatos. Behind them rose a small pyramid, not far from the looming bulk that was the Pyramid of Qotal.
"But our Temple of Zaltec here in Payit is not the esteemed institution that it is in Nexal! Hoxitl must know that, but he fears to tell the Ancient Ones! I don't like it!" Mixtal raised his hands to his scalp, tearing at the blood-caked spikes of his hair.
"The sign of the Viperhand is the ultimate command," Gultec reminded the priest. "And it is granted to the patriarch of Zaltec in Nexal, not Payit. The order is Hoxitl's to give and yours to obey.
"Just be thankful we shall accomplish our task with little further difficulty," growled the warrior. In truth, the priest's anxieties made him nervous.
"And we had to take her from the temple apartments!" Mixtal wailed. "It's not like Nexal, where Qotal is a silent, forgotten god! Oh, no, not here! They worship the Plumed Father here in Payit! And they will not overlook a transgression such as this!" The priest whirled anxiously, then continued.
"Caxal will not protect us. Even he, ruler of all the Payit, fears to challenge the power of Kachin's temple!" Indeed, Caxal, Revered Counselor of the city of Ulatos, never interfered in the workings of the temples. The Jaguar Knights, headed by Gultec, formed the largest and most influential group in the city, and their might was all that kept the temples of Zaltec from banishment.
"What would you have us do?" Gultec sprang to his feet in one fluid motion, towering over the trembling cleric. "Send her back? Ignore the ones who are your masters… and mine?"
"How many days?" The cleric looked at the stars once again, groaning.
"One Tenday, as I told you! We hide the girl till then — the night of the new moon. Your knife will do the rest." The Jaguar Knight took a silent step away from the cleric, his spotted cloak blending into the darkness.
"I just don't like it!" the cleric hissed behind him, but Gultec had already vanished.
Seventh day following landfall, aboard the Falcon.
Each day brings new islands, more information, greater boundaries to these undiscovered realms. Darien speaks to these natives, and always we learn of still greater lands to the west.
I begin to suspect we have come not to Shou Lung, nor even its peripheries. Instead, we have discovered new lands, entirely unknown to East or West — lands claimed in the name of the Golden Legion!
And they are lands of richness! Our casks brim with fresh water, our holds bulge with salted game and many fruits and vegetables. Chief among these is a grain the natives call mayz, which seems to grow in great abundance.
But more than food and water, these are lands of gold. We have stopped at four islands, and each time were met by bands of native humans. Each gave us presents of food and gold, and we saw that the farther we traveled west, the greater the abundance of gold.
The villages of these island peoples are poor, but all of them tell us, through Darien, of great lands to the west, a "world that climbs into the sky." That can only mean mountains, and a mainland.
And the source of the gold.
Halloran stood at the base of the waterfall, letting the spray cool him. He faced away from the deep lagoon where the fleet had at last gained a sheltered anchorage, looking up at the staircase progression of cataracts emerging from inland heights. Impenetrable tropical plant life surrounded the stream before him, but a stretch of lush grasses backed the beach to either side.
"Nice scenery. Still, just an island," muttered Daggrande, joining Hal at the sandy streambank. The dwarf pulled his dagger from its sheath and clucked in alarm, flicking several grains o
f sand from the blade. "I won't be happy till we set foot on the mainland!"
"You won't ever be happy. Still, how do you know it's just an island? The scouting ships have only been out for one day."
"I can feel it in these old feet of mine."
The dwarves, in their ancient, deliberate manner, had a way of understanding things about the earth that superseded the senses of humans. Halloran believed the veteran campaigner.
They looked up the beach to the center of its arc around the cove, where Cordell, Darien, and the Bishou engaged in negotiations with a contingent of the local natives.
Here, for the first time, the delegation had included women. Now a dozen maidens stood quietly to the side as their chieftains spoke to the visitors.
"Here comes the Bishou's daughter," humphed the dwarf. "Be careful. I think she's got her eye on you."
Halloran flushed. "Don't be ridiculous!" But he wondered, hoping that Daggrande could be right. Though he had only spoken to her briefly at their various landings, she always appeared happy to see him.
Daggrande clumped away to save himself the embarrassment of speaking to the woman.
"Hello!" Martine greeted Hal cheerfully, casting an amused glance after the departing dwarf. "Perhaps we can go for that walk now."
"Of course." Halloran offered his arm, delighting in the touch of her hand. He picked his way across the shallow stream, helping her maintain her balance, though she seemed in no danger of falling.
"It's so beautiful!" She gestured at the waterfall and the lush highlands beyond. "Each shore seems more wonderful than the last!"
"I wonder at the people," mused Hal. "Such barbarians!"
"Oh, Papa thinks they're wonderful. They listen to everything he tells them about Helm. Of course, they've never heard of him before. They don't seem to know about any gods, these people, but the Bishou thinks he's converting them all!"
"Still, don't you wonder if there's more to them than what we've seen?"
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