The Way of the Seed_Earth Spawn of Kalpeon

by Richard Dean Hall

  Asil next motioned to five men standing far to the front of the caravan. They too pumped their bows and darted ahead toward the far tree line. They were the vanguard and would advance well ahead of the main body, scouting for any cause for concern. In addition to their bows, the scouts also each carried a hollowed ram horn. If they encountered any problem, the horns would alert the caravan. As the scouts disappeared in the distance, Asil stepped to where he was in clear view of the caravan. He surveyed the scene for another moment, then waved his arm in a wide arc. The entire caravan exploded to life with motion and noise as people shouted and laughed to each other. Adding to the spectacle, the people on the rooftop clustered three deep around the high edge of the wall, waving and shouting down at the departing caravan that moved forward in a profusion of noise and rising dust. The caravan clamored away from the city for the first couple of miles, and then slowed to a steady pace as the initial excitement ebbed.

  By late afternoon, the caravan was nearing the first campsite and stream where the herd animals would be watered. As they approached a familiar area, Ott and Graf prepared to peel off from the caravan and head to a high, grassy ridge beyond the men flanking the strung-out caravan. On the far side of the ridge was a shorter, winding path that would allow them to get ahead of the caravan and make sure there were no predators lurking near the campsite’s only water supply. It was a simple procedure that had become a regular part of the trek, and they had done it countless times. At the designated spot, they signaled to Asil and moved out and away from the caravan. They trotted to the distant ridge, and then along the base of the incline as it angled to the right and extended out on the plain beyond. Well out of sight, they came to a place where the angle of ascent to the top of the ridge softened. As they topped the crest, Ott detected movement to his right.

  The wolves were as startled by the men as Ott and Graf were by them. The three beasts sprang from their haunches, backstepping skittishly, but as they caught the man scent, surprise turned to menace. Hair rising down their backs, they dropped their heads low and snarled. Snouts curled back, exposing curved fangs, and they began slinking forward.

  Without hesitation Ott dropped his spear, swung his bow from his back, and nocked an arrow. The closest of the beasts sprang forward and closed to within twenty yards when Ott loosed the arrow. The razor-sharp obsidian point hit with an audible thwack. The shaft penetrated high on the shoulder, angling down and out the lower torso. The beast rolled over kicking, while snapping at the protruding arrow.

  The other two beasts didn’t falter. Ott nocked another arrow and released it at full draw at the wolf directly behind the first. The arrow struck the charging beast in the head behind the right eye. The animal leapt three feet straight up and crashed back to the ground, convulsing and snapping its fangs. Ott turned to the strained, grunting, and snarling barks to his side.

  The largest of the wolves leapt when Graf released his arrow, and the shaft only grazed its flank. Ott watched in horror as the beast lunged for Graf’s throat. Graf pushed off to the side, grabbed the wolf by its neck, and struggled to keep the snapping fangs away from his face. Rearing on its hind legs with a huge paw over each shoulder, the beast shook its massive head trying to get to Graf’s throat. Pushing the snarling snout and snapping fangs back, Graf tilted his head down to protect his throat and released his right hand to grab the knife cinched at his waist. He pulled the knife free, but the beast thrashed from his grip and buried its fangs in his shoulder. The wolf shook its head violently. With snapping jaws, it ripped flesh from Graf’s shoulder and savaged his arm down to the elbow.

  Legs buckling, Graf thrust the knife up and into the belly of the blood-crazed animal. At that same instant, Ott grabbed his spear. Holding the shaft in both hands and securing it under his armpit, he charged forward. The impact toppled the huge beast and sent it crashing to the ground with Graf thrashing beside it. Leveraging his weight, Ott pushed down hard, driving the obsidian point through the animal and into the ground. Still gripping Graf’s shoulder, the beast tore at his flesh for several seconds and then slumped still, black eyes frozen open in the stare of death.

  Graf remained motionless, sucking in long breaths as Ott knelt beside him and pried the beast’s jaws from his shoulder. The vicious attack had savaged Graf from his shoulder down to his elbow, ripping and tearing flesh to the bone. His entire arm was covered in blood that pulsed and flowed from the mangled wounds. Ott stared at the bloody arm as it twitched from the damaged nerves. Graf’s face grew pale and his eyes fluttered shut as shock set in.

  As Ott examined the bloody wounds, he knew there was nothing he could do. Yet he also felt confident that Graf would heal and survive. Both he and Graf had suffered many wounds and injuries over their long existence. Though many had been damaging enough to cause death, they had always survived and the wounds had healed quickly.

  When the beast had first attacked, the adrenaline release in Graf’s brain had signaled the activation of his superreactive biological-response system. Even as the flesh was being torn from his shoulder, millions of synthetic B-virus particles were swarming to counter and destroy any invading bacteria while synthetic stem cells were massing to pack the wounds and begin regeneration of all cells and reconstruct damaged tissue.

  Ott watched closely as Graf’s eyes fluttered shut and he slipped into unconsciousness. He placed his hand on Graf’s chest. Nothing. To anyone else, Graf would appear dead, but Ott knew better. As Graf lay unconscious, millions of the oxygen-rich hemocules created by Robfebe swarmed in his brain, saturating it with oxygen while millions of additional red-blood cells flowed from his enhanced bone marrow to replace that lost at the wounds.

  Ott eased Graf away from the wolf carcass and scanned the rolling plains around them. Overhead, several vultures gathered in the cloudless sky. Ott glanced up at the scavengers. It was time to move. He was sure Graf would recover from his wounds, but there was still a threat neither of them could survive. If they were found by a larger pack of wolves, or worse yet, large cats or boars, they would be overcome and devoured in minutes with nothing left of them but blood-soaked grass. Spotting no movement on the plain, Ott slung his bow and quiver across his chest so he could maneuver Graf up and across his shoulders. There was no time to waste. Leaning forward, Ott pulled his spear from the wolf carcass and trudged off toward the encampment. Sweat-soaked and straining, he plodded ahead while scanning in all directions for the predators he knew would be on their scent. He moved at a steady pace, and by late afternoon spotted the tree line in the distance that gave way to the encampment beyond. With the trees in sight, he fought his growing exhaustion and quickened his pace. The safety of the caravan was just beyond the trees. They would make it.

  With the camp within reach, Ott heaved a sigh and bent forward to adjust Graf’s weight across his shoulders. As he straightened up, he froze in shock and terror at the sight of the five bobbing heads rising from a low depression a short distance out in the grass. The wolf pack had been trailing the blood spoor by scent. Now that they had spotted their prey, they slowed, lowered their heads, and prepared for the kill.

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  Ott rolled Graf from his back and lowered him to the ground. He knew they had little if any chance of surviving, but he drove his spear into the ground and pulled his bow free. The largest male bared its fangs and loped toward its prey. Ott drew his bow full and leveled it. The beast swerved at the twang of the release and the shaft sliced through its left upper leg. The animal dropped to its haunches, snapping at the air, and an instant later hopped up and scrambled forward. Ott dropped his bow, spun, and pulled his spear free as the beast sprung for his throat. Knees bent, he lunged forward, driving the obsidian point into the snarling animal’s chest. Rearing on its hind legs, the enraged beast thrashed as Ott held tight to keep the snapping jaws away. Frenzied by the smell of blood, the rest of the pack closed on Ott.

  Within yards of the struggle, the closing pack was hit with a hailstorm of arrows as sho
uting men broke from the tree line. The men rained arrows into the now yelping beasts. As the wolves snarled and barked in pain, other men with spears rushed forward, jabbing with deadly thrusts. To the rear, Ott twisted his body and lunged, driving the impaled beast to the ground where it flailed about before slumping still at his feet. The attack had ended as quickly as it had started, and as Ott sat in exhaustion, the five vicious predators lay dead in the grass.

  Several men retrieved arrows from the bodies. The rest gathered around Ott and the unconscious Graf. One of the scouts stooped to Ott and asked if they should wrap Graf’s body for transport back to Catal. They were all sure he was dead. His body was pale and limp with no signs of breathing. They were looking at a corpse.

  Ott shook his head and directed the men to put together a carrying platform and bring Graf back to the encampment. Three men trotted off to the trees and returned with saplings and vines. In short order, they completed the platform and placed Graf on it. With Ott walking beside the platform, the men carried what they thought was a dead man back to the caravan.

  At the encampment, Ott described the attack to Asil and helped place Graf in a large, empty tent as the scouts and others stared down at the seemingly lifeless body. Inside the tent, Ott positioned Graf on the platform and cut away his tunic to expose the wounds to his neck, shoulder, and arm. He then cleaned the wounds with fresh water from a large, wooden bowl the men had placed in the tent. The bleeding had ceased, and as Ott washed away the dried blood and caked dirt, he noticed a thin, pinkish film had already formed over the torn and exposed flesh. Ott finished cleaning the wounds, covered the torso with a large piece of cloth, and ordered everyone out of the tent. Hungry and exhausted, Ott sat and ate with Asil before stumbling to his own tent and collapsing into a deep sleep.

  Through the night and the following day, Graf remained in his comatose state while the bioengineered organisms in his body mended his wounds and sustained his life. Billions of synthetic hemocules saturated his unconsciousness brain and all other organs with oxygen normally supplied by blood flow as amino-acid accelerants dramatically increased the production of red-blood cells in his bone marrow and replenished his blood supply. As his brain and organs were oxygenated and sustained, synthetic B-virus particles swarmed in the affected tissue surrounding and destroying infectious bacteria while billions of synthetic stem cells and nanobots repaired cells and regenerated all damaged tissue and muscle mass.

  On the day after the attack, as twilight spread over the encampment, Ott stepped into the tent to check on Graf as he had done earlier in the day. Even though Graf remained unconscious, Ott marveled at his condition. What had been torn and mangled flesh was now completely transformed. The numerous puncture wounds had sealed over, and the ragged edges of torn flesh and muscle had joined. They now appeared as slightly raised gossamer streaks of healthy pink flesh. Ott stroked his fingers over the healing wounds and then returned to his fire, picturing the faces of the man called Barjeen and the woman Robfebe. He knew it was because of them Graf would survive.

  As dawn broke on the third day from the attack, Graf’s heart rate increased dramatically, filling his circulatory system to capacity and flooding his brain with new, oxygen-rich blood. Moments later, his eyelids fluttered and then snapped wide open as his brain regained full consciousness. He rose and peered into the dim gray light as memories of the attack flashed in his brain. Swiveling his feet to the floor, he stood and ran his hand over the sealed wounds. He raised his palm and stared down at the lemniscate.

  As the morning sun glinted above the horizon, Ott finished his meal and stood to once again check on Graf. He pulled to a sudden stop as the tent flap pushed aside and Graf stepped out into the spreading sunlight. Eyes clear, Graf strode forward, nodding to Ott, Asil, and the scouts while whisking his hand over his neck and shoulder. The other men looked on in disbelief as Graf approached the hearth and gulped down a ladleful of water. As he refilled the ladle, Ott and Asil exchanged understanding glances.

  Graf had survived.

  As Graf ate ravenously, Asil ordered the scouts ahead and sent other men through the camp to have the caravan prepare for departure. If they left soon, they could reach Antakya by late afternoon.

  Later, with the caravan formed and ready to depart, several of the younger men watched with a mixture of confusion and astonishment as Graf weaved among them and made his way to the front of the caravan. Only two days before, they had viewed his savaged body and thought for sure he was dead. Now he stood erect and strong at the front of the column ready to continue the journey. The older men in the caravan just smiled at the perplexed looks of the younger men. They had come to understand that Asil and the others were different, just as many other generations before them had. At Asil’s signal, the long caravan shuffled forward in a low swirl of dust that rose in the air to the sounds of bleating and bellowing animals.

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  When the caravan neared the coast, the breeze began to chop and Ott could taste the salt on his lips. He’d always enjoyed the trip, and even though this one had been marred by the encounter with the wolves, his spirits rose as they approached the sea. Leaving the grassy plain behind, the ground turned to sandy soil and they entered craggy, rock-strewn bluffs patched with windblown scrub brush and sparse, twisted trees. In a panoramic sprawl, the bluffs were dotted with clusters of white-plastered homes that sparkled in the bright coastal sun. They wound their way along the wide, well-worn, serpentine road and finally came to a lower promontory area that gave way to the city of Antakya. Ott looked down at the sprawling city and white sand beach that extended to a rock-ringed lagoon and the sparkling blue sea that spread to the far horizon. He never tired of the sight, and the sea was always strangely alluring. As he scanned the shimmering blue water and white-capped waves, he wondered what kind of lands lay across the water, and if he and the others would ever visit them.

  With Asil, Ott, and Graf at the front, the caravan shuffled out of the bluffs and down toward the main entrance of the city, where the scouts and an excited crowd had gathered in welcome. At the very front of the crowd stood a man of immense physical stature. His name was Ilker, and he was the leader, or lugal, of the city. He towered over everyone in the crowd with a round, bald head that sat squarely on broad shoulders. Dark, sparkling eyes accentuated a broad nose that sat above thick facial hair and a beard plaited in a braid that hung to the middle of his massive chest.

  As Asil, Ott, and Graf approached, Ilker’s face lit up in a toothy smile and he erupted in rolling laughter. To Ilker, the arrival of a trade caravan from Catal was more than the exchange of goods; it was an occasion to celebrate. Ilker had first encountered Asil, Ott, and Graf when he was a young boy and had accompanied his own father to greet the caravans. At the time, his father had told him Asil and the others were different from other people and he would someday understand. The comment had little meaning then, but as he had grown to manhood and succeeded his father as lugal, the obscure had become clear. Asil and the others never changed. Like everyone else, Ilker accepted it with bewildered wonder, and the arrival of a caravan from Catal was always met with celebration.

  As Ilker and other elders laughed and talked with Asil, Ott, and Graf, the caravan proceed into the city to prepare for the trading that would take place the following day. Animals were secured in low-walled corrals, and the grain sacks were unloaded and emptied into storage sheds. They would be refilled the following day with salt. With the animals tended to, all the trade goods were set out for display in the large trade plaza at the city’s center. Once the work was completed, the men and women of the caravan made their way to the rear of the city to participate in a daily activity everyone enjoyed each day. Like the people of the Catal, the people of Antakya bathed regularly. At the far-left side of the rocks ringing the lagoon, sandy white beach stretched down the coast, and in the late afternoon, the people gathered on it to splash in the rolling surf. With the sun still bright overhead, the people of the caravan joined
the large crowd on the beach. As Asil and Graf laughed with Ilker, Ott stood in the gentle surf staring out at the far horizon, wondering what lands lay beyond.

  Wiping salt spray from his face, Ott spotted something far off on the water. Shielding the sun with his hand, he squinted at the strange shapes moving parallel to the shore. The objects were square and completely black. He counted twenty. Kicking through the surf, he approached Asil and the others and pointed to the strange objects. Ilker studied them for a few moments and then turned to Ott, shaking his head. He had never seen anything like them and had no idea what they were. They were far larger than any boat he had ever seen, and they sat too high above the water. He knew of no boats that would venture so far out from the coast. The men watched the objects until they faded from view.

  As the objects disappeared in the distance, Ott sensed they would return. Apprehension washed over him. It was the same feeling as when a predator was prowling nearby.

  Out on the sea, a tall, muscular, whip-lean man with a brown, weatherworn face stood on a high section of planking in the bow of a wide-keeled ship. He peered across the water at the distant shore. There were towns and villages along this section of coastline. He had seen their fires when sailing these waters in the past. Back then he hadn’t had enough men or boats to raid them, so he had to satisfy himself with the smaller villages farther down the coast. The tall man swung his head back to the other ships gliding through the water behind them. Each carried thirty warriors. This time he had enough ships and enough men. And the ships had plenty of space to pack in slaves and whatever else they could take.

  The tall man smiled with a twisted sneer and looked up at the large, black sail as it fluttered and bloomed full in the steady wind.