Leviathan (Lost Civilizations: 2)

by Vaughn Heppner

  Lersi cracked Joash across the back of the head. “Lower your eyes,” she hissed. “Speak not, unless asked a question.”

  “Ho! Lersi!” boomed Mimir. He towered above the Gibborim as lantern-light flickered all around. He held an axe, wore chainmail and his dark beard swept down.

  “A trolock is on the beach,” Lersi told him, in an imperious tone. “He slew two Chosen of Yorgash. You must slay him.”

  The giants behind Mimir mumbled angrily. The Gibborim drew themselves before Lersi and Joash. Their taloned hands strayed near their hidden sword-hilts.

  Mimir smiled, putting the haft of his axe over his shoulder. “A trolock, you claim?”

  “I made no claim,” Lersi said. “I told you what is. Now, you must slay this enemy of Tarag’s.”

  Joash marveled. The Gibborim were as tall as men, but no more. Neither were they heavily muscled like fiends. They were lean and supple, but surely, they were no match for giants. Then, he recalled their speed, and was no longer certain what the outcome of battle would be.

  “I assume that you’ll join us against this monster,” Mimir said. “For I heard you say that the trolock slew two of yours.”

  “I would gladly do as you say,” Lersi said. “First, I must bring this Seraph to Tarag.”

  “Step forward, Joash,” Mimir said.

  “No,” Lersi said, putting her taloned hand on Joash’s shoulder. “He’s my charge, and is my duty. He almost escaped me once. I’ll not chance it again.”

  “He’s but a man,” Mimir mocked.

  The cloaked Gibborim hissed.

  “He’s a Seraph of extraordinary strength,” Lersi countered. “And he’s cunning.”

  “Rather say, he is brave,” Mimir said.

  Lersi shrugged. “Stand aside. I must report to Tarag.”

  A giant whispered something to another. Ygg gave an ugly laugh.

  “Is there something you would say to me?” Lersi asked Mimir.

  Mimir gave her an easy smile. “Nay, good Lersi, the Chosen One of Yorgash. I salute your success. Tarag bade you to capture the Seraph, and you’ve done so. I’m glad your charges, the Nebo, didn’t ruin your reputation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mimir made a dismissive gesture. “The offending Nebo is dead. Please believe me when I say, dear Lersi, that his words will rest secure with Ygg and me.”

  Lersi shook her head. “Make your meanings clear.”

  “The Nebo told us how he almost slew the Seraph you hold captive. Luckily, Joash proved too tough. I’m sure your charges merely misunderstood your orders, and didn’t willfully disobey. You may count upon Ygg and me to keep this small matter from Tarag.”

  Lersi considered that. “Your point has been made. Yet, here is the Seraph unharmed. I’ve completed Tarag’s charge.”

  “And with only two deaths, dear Lersi, and against the trolock. Yes, you’ve done well.”

  “Stand aside,” she said.

  Mimir’s smile grew softer. “A moment, dear Lersi. May I examine the Seraph? I’ve seen him before, and I wish to make certain this is not the wrong person.”

  “It is not,” Lersi said. “You may rely upon my word.”

  “And I do,” Mimir said. “But, as I’ve done you a small favor, I ask this one in return.”

  Lersi, her cowl hiding her features, grew still. “The Seraph is mine,” she said.

  “No,” Mimir sighed, as if the entire matter bored him. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

  “Do you declare open war between us?” Lersi asked, in surprise.

  “Not open war. Just give me the Seraph, and all will be well between us.”

  “No,” she said. “I hold him. You may capture the Elonite noble if you wish. The trolock has him. It may interest you to know that he’s the noble who slew Gaut Windrunner.”

  Mimir asked, “I wonder how Tarag will react to the news that the Elonite was boldly taken from you.”

  “The trolock may approach us at any moment,” Lersi said.

  “No, I don’t think he’d be so foolish. There are giants here.”

  The Gibborim hissed, putting their hands to their hilts.

  “If you draw your weapons,” Mimir said quietly, “it will be the last thing any of you do.”

  “You dare to threaten us?” Lersi asked.

  “No threat,” said Mimir. “I merely ask for the Seraph.”

  “Tarag gave me the charge, and I’ve given you my answer.”

  “Yes. Now I’ll ensure that the Seraph remains sane.”

  “No,” Lersi said.

  “Yes,” said Mimir. “For surely you cannot believe that you Gibborim know how to treat humans. You consider them bloodmeat, food, chattel. Never do you honor their bravery. The Seraph will soon lose all hope if he stays in your care. He might become listless and will himself to death.”

  Lersi shook with rage.

  “Calm yourself, O Chosen One. Save yourself any further embarrassment, and possible harm, by releasing him into my care.”

  “You overstep yourself.”

  Mimir lifted the huge axe from his shoulder. In the lantern light, he examined the anchor-sized blade. “Giants, as you know, honor heroics.” He smiled. “Great will be our honor if we challenge the Chosen of Yorgash. Do you not agree?”

  “Consider well your actions,” Lersi warned.

  “I have.”

  “You’re declaring war against us?”

  “Let’s kill her now and be done with it,” a giant said. “I grow weary of her vain threats.”

  “No,” Mimir said. “They’re our allies. True?” he asked Lersi.

  She drew herself to her full height, but appeared no larger than a child before the giants. With an imperious gesture, she, and the other Gibborim, moved past the giants and toward camp. They left Joash behind.

  His bonds were cut, and water was given him.

  Mimir said, “So, we meet again, eh? I think now you’ll finally accept my offer and enter my service. Yes?”

  “Yes,” Joash said.

  “Good!” boomed Mimir. “Let us return to camp and celebrate your arrival.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Falan

  They are like brute beasts, creatures of instinct, born only to be caught and destroyed.

  -- 2 Peter 2:12

  Adah was hungry. It was difficult to keep track of the number of days she’d gone without food. Raw turtle meat sounded like a feast, no longer a chore to swallow without gagging. Worse than the void in her stomach was the ache in her side. Each twist, each movement of her arms brought knifing pain. Each time she was supposed to turn the tiller, it was a battle. Even worse was the ache in her heart. Despite her best efforts, she often thought about Joash.

  The others, their clothes stained by salt and sweat, rowed grimly. Their sunburned faces were stark, their chapped mouths open with exhaustion.

  The sea wasn’t rough today, but they struggled against a current and a steady wind. Off the port bow was a rocky place where seagulls soared. Adah heard the gulls, and the surf pounding against the rocks.

  They didn’t dare land. According to Auroch, the archipelago’s smaller islands were unapproachable. Treacherous shoals abounded, and few beaches allowed one a place to land. The bigger islands were safer in that regard, but people lived on those. Worse, Shamgar held sway over much of the archipelago. Many of the sailors who manned Shamgar’s pirate fleets came from here. And Auroch’s gift had shown him pirate galleys lying in wait, or carefully prowling, looking for castaways.

  To row north of the Siga Archipelago was beyond them. Rowing south would bring them into the regular sea-lanes and closer to the hunting galleys. A bold stab through the archipelago was Lord Uriah’s plan.

  Auroch stiffened. He closed his eyes and leaned forward. After a while, he stirred.

  “What did your vision show?” asked Lord Uriah.

  “A coastal trader.”

  “Whose flag did it fly?”

  “T
he Gray Dolphin.”

  “Dishon’s banner,” Lord Uriah said.

  Like the others, Adah knew Dishon was a mainland city-state south of the Siga’s most western island. Dishon didn’t belong to the League of Peace, nor had Tarsh colonized it in the past. Dishon’s history went back to before the Accursed War. After the war, and after Red Cain, Dishon had been little more than a walled trading post. It had slowly regained population and some prosperity from a people who had a knack for making garments. Wool from the interior Arkites, flax from her own farmers and otter skins from the archipelago, all went into the artisans’ shops that lined Dishon’s most famous streets: the weavers, the cobblers and the furriers.

  From Captain Maharbal, Adah had learned Further Tarsh merchants usually did the longer ranged trading. The other city-states concentrated on local trade. Salt came from the Siga Archipelago, its most prized commodity. Traders also bought herring and mackerel, some tin and a host of well-crafted baskets.

  Auroch said, “The coastal trader sailed out of Ott Harbor.”

  “Do you know when?” Lord Uriah asked.

  “A few hours before noon,” Auroch said. “If we keep our present course, we’ll near Isin Isle. A ship sailing from Ott to Dishon would pass Isin Isle.”

  “At the same time as us?” asked Lord Uriah.

  Auroch shrugged.

  Adah wet her cracked lips. “Lord Uriah,” she said, trying not to cough. It didn’t work. Her side blazed with pain as she coughed, threatening to obliterate her thoughts. She whispered, “We should risk it.”

  Gens grunted agreement, not wasting strength speaking.

  “Are the natives of Dishon familiar to you?” Auroch asked.

  “Some are,” said Lord Uriah.

  “Many of them have bowed to Gog,” Auroch warned. “I’ve talked with ship’s captains who came to the Oracle seeking guidance. It would be chancy putting ourselves in the hands of a Dishon captain.”

  “But a better chance than we have now,” Adah said.

  Lord Uriah’s face was sunburned, and his cheeks were hollow from lack of food. His eyes still burned with a fierce spark. Maybe in a long lifetime, he’d learned to tap deep reservoirs within himself.

  “Did you see any enemy galleys in your vision?” Lord Uriah asked.

  “They’re all around us,” Auroch said. “What I don’t understand, though, is why Gog hasn’t been able to see us. He’s a First Born. His ocular powers are of pre-sight, mine show after-images. Surely we should have been discovered by now.”

  “There are many Seraphs in this boat,” Zillith whispered.

  “Such was my own conclusion,” Auroch said. “But to hear such a thing is different than seeing it.” He gave a wry laugh. “That a few humans have this ability, gives them strength. Sometimes, a Nephilim can shroud his activity, but he can’t disappear from visionary magic.”

  “It is one of Elohim’s gifts to us,” Zillith said.

  “We must decide,” Adah said.

  “We should try for the trader,” Lord Uriah said. “For if we’re to stop Tarag, we must gather enough force in time to halt his advance to Eden.”

  Zillith agreed.

  “Guide us to the coastal trader,” Lord Uriah told Auroch.

  ***

  “There,” Amery said, “on the edge of the horizon.”

  Hours had passed.

  “I can’t see it,” Lord Uriah said.

  “Head a bit more south,” Auroch told Adah at the tiller.

  Adah complied despite her feelings about Auroch. She’d learned that his eyesight was as good as young Amery’s, maybe better.

  Later, Lord Uriah said, “Yes. I see it now.”

  Adah had seen the white sail for some time.

  “Rest oars,” Auroch said.

  Lord Uriah frowned at the pirate.

  “We must regain our strength,” Auroch explained.

  Lord Uriah shaded his eyes against the sun. “They sail toward us. Will they turn away?”

  “I suggested we rest oars, not so we could row with an extra burst of speed,” Auroch said. “Rather, we should be rested so we can fight.”

  “We can hardly storm the trader,” Lord Uriah whispered.

  “Nor do I suggest we try,” Auroch said. “But consider the situation. We’re a dreary-looking crew. To any sailor, it’ll be clear we’ve been at sea longer than is good. Most likely, though, the captain will pick us up. He may gain a small reward at the worst. At best, he’ll gain marketable slaves or a large reward. Some call it ransom. However, once they learn who you are...” Auroch shrugged. “Have Gog’s galleys already paid this captain a visit?”

  “Do you think we can overpower them?” Adah asked.

  Auroch grinned. “They’re sailors, not trained fighting men. Gens, Lord Uriah and I have trained since childhood. Given a small crew, three such as us might be enough to keep them honest.”

  ***

  Time passed. The coastal trader drew closer. It was an open-decked vessel piled with trade goods.

  Those in the boat readied themselves. Gens had a dagger, Lord Uriah his prized longsword and Auroch a spear. Adah had a dagger, but her ribs would allow her little action.

  “A sailor points at us,” Amery said excitedly.

  “What if they recognize you?” Lord Uriah asked Auroch.

  The big pirate shrugged.

  “We might be gambling with the Earth’s future,” Zillith said quietly.

  “Oh no,” Amery said. “I see more sails.”

  “Where?” Lord Uriah asked in alarm.

  Amery pointed far behind the coastal trader. Adah squinted, barely making out a cluster of sails. Surely, a cluster could only mean a squadron of Gog’s galleys.

  “Didn’t you see those in your vision?” Adah asked Auroch.

  He shook his leonine head.

  “Can you make out the color of the sails?” Lord Uriah asked.

  The pirate shook his head, a pinched look on his face.

  “What should we do?” Zillith asked.

  “Stay on course,” Lord Uriah said.

  “If those are slavers,” Zillith said, “they’re sure to sail for the trader.”

  “Maybe we can persuade the trader captain to lighten his load,” Auroch said. “Once we’re aboard, we must remain united.”

  “Therefore, I’ll do the talking,” Lord Uriah said.

  “Yes, wise,” said Zillith.

  Gens grunted agreement.

  Auroch rubbed his chin, his eyes hooded.

  Shouts floated from the closing trader. At the top of the single mast whipped the distinctive flag, a leaping dolphin. A lean man, with straw hat and a black sash around his waist, stood at the tiller. Sailors worked the rigging. Adah counted twenty men. Tarps hid whatever was in the waist. The ship was low in the water, so the load must be a heavy one.

  Lord Uriah stood and waved a stained white cloth.

  The trader shifted onto an intercept course. Soon, wind spilled from its sail. The trader slowed. Adah heard timbers creak, ropes hum and waves slap against wood. A pang of remembrance for the Tiras filled her, and for Joash. Was this ship also doomed? She dearly hoped not.

  “Ahoy the ship!” shouted Lord Uriah, with his hands cupped around his mouth.

  A sailor shouted back, “Who are you?”

  “Elonites!” Lord Uriah roared. “We were shipwrecked. Will you help us?”

  The man with the straw hat spoke with a beefy, bare-chested fellow. Soon, the Captain, the man with the straw hat, spoke to the sailor who’d first shouted.

  “Can you pay for passage?” the sailor asked.

  “I’m an Elonite noble. I’ll pay three times your usual fare.”

  Sailors cheered.

  The beefy, bare-chested man beside the Captain laughed. He had a heavy cutlass in his hand.

  “There are certain traders, when given half a chance, who act like pirates,” Auroch said.

  “Prepare to board ship,” shouted a sailor.

 
“What do you think?” Lord Uriah asked Auroch.

  “I don’t like the look of the big one with the cutlass, he with the red kerchief on his head. He has a cruel smile, and holds his weapon as if he’s used to wielding it.”

  The trader moved closer. It was one-fourth the size of the Tiras, and had eyes painted on the prow. The hull was smooth, free of sea-grass and barnacles. Adah silently thanked Elohim for that.

  Sailors swung coiled lines. Then rough hemp ropes snaked through the air. Auroch and Gens caught and tied the ropes to thwarts. Sailors hauled them closer. The trader’s freeboard above the waterline was two and a half feet, about three times the rowboat’s freeboard.

  “Leave your weapons in the boat,” said the beefy, bare-chested sailor. Shorter but brawnier than Lord Uriah, he wasn’t as solid as Auroch. Behind him, stood sailors with long knives tucked in their belts. They were open-faced men, marked by the sea, wind and salt, although a few scowled.

  “I’ll hand my sword to the Captain,” Lord Uriah said haughtily.

  “No! You’ll give it to me,” the cutlass wielder said.

  Lord Uriah gave the man a stern look. “I’m a noble of Elon, my good fellow. I’m not in the habit of handing my sword to any and sundry. Your Captain is the highest-ranked here. I will give it to him.”

  The cutlass wielder scowled, but several of the sailors looked impressed. No doubt they were awed by Lord Uriah’s manner. Seldom would a trader carry nobility.

  “And the Lady’s retainer must stand armed at her side,” Lord Uriah said of Auroch, who held an Elonite spear.

  “Lady?” sneered the cutlass wielder. “All I see are half-drowned wenches.”

  Lord Uriah scowled fiercely. He grabbed the ship’s rail, and dragged the longboat, so it bumped against the larger vessel. He climbed aboard, and said, “Have a care how you address the Mother Protectress of all Elon.”

  The sailors stared at Zillith in shock. Even those in Dishon had heard stories of the Mother Protectress. After all, the silk route lay through Elon. The stories of the Shurite raiders, the Elonite chariot charges, the wars with the Huri, the legendary Patriarch and Mother Protectress, those stories were old a hundred years ago.

  “You expect us to believe that?” the cutlass wielder sneered.