Medieval Mars: The Anthology (Terraformed Interplanetary Book 1)

by Travis Perry

  “Very well. But this discussion isn’t over.”

  It turned out Waleran’s method of climbing involved using a length of rope and chopping footholds with a small axe he’d withdrawn from his pack. It was incredible the things that man had thought to bring with him. It was slow, arduous work. Eventually he reached thick branches that aided his ascent.

  He took a glance down. He’d made some considerable distance now. Best not to look down. He continued upward. His world brightened. He was now above the canopy of many of the shorter trees. It was beautiful up here. There was the sky. How he’d missed it.

  Squawk! Alastair turned to see a giant bird swoop past. Was that an eagle? Did birds really grow that big? Like the dogs yesterday, it was as big as a man. Its wingspan massive. He surveyed his surroundings. There were more of the giant birds resting in the treetops.

  “Do you see anything?” Waleran’s voice was distant but clear. Oh yes, he was supposed to be looking for their destination.

  Up ahead, a stream curved through the jungle. In the distance it seemed to converge with a larger river. That was where they wanted to head. “Yes. I can see which way we need to go.”

  Movement caught Alastair’s eye closer to the ground. Off in the distance a group of men strode through the jungle. It was difficult to make out their features from this distance, but they didn’t look happy.

  “We’re going to have company soon,” he called down to Waleran. “And I don’t think they’re friendly.”

  • • •

  Alastair dropped to the cushy ground. “There are giant birds in the treetops. Incredible creatures.”

  Waleran frowned. “Never mind that. Tell me more of these people, Alastair.”

  “They weren’t dressed like us. It appeared they wore animal skins.”

  Waleran nodded. “That makes sense. The climate is warmer down here, and there is no room to grow crops like cotton. They would be living off what’s available, just as we do. These people are likely very different from us, Alastair. I only hope their language is similar enough to ours that we can communicate.”

  “Do you think they’ll attack us?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “They had an aggressive bearing. They were carrying what I assume were some type of weapon. Long bent sticks.”

  “And they couldn’t have been hunting animals?”

  Alastair shook his head. “There were too many of them.”

  “Very well. You’re going to have a chance to try out your sword skills for real, on more than just a dog. Just don’t be too sure of yourself.”

  Alastair nodded. “I understand.” He gripped his sword, but didn’t draw it. People. He was going to have to fight people. He swallowed. Did that mean he would have to kill? That would be difficult. Alastair was not a killer. He shook the feelings off. What did he think he had been training for all this time?

  “Which way is our destination?”

  Alastair pointed.

  “And that is the same direction the people are coming from?”

  “Yes.”

  “That may not be a coincidence.”

  Waleran started walking. Alastair followed behind him. They made their way slowly, straining their ears for every possible indication that their foes might be near.

  The first projectile came without warning. A long thin stick whooshed past Alastair’s head at impossible speed and embedded itself in a tree. Alastair’s eyes grew wide. Feathers decorated the back end of the stick. The front end must have been sharpened in some way because it had sunk itself deep into the trunk.

  “Take cover!” Waleran yelled.

  Alastair hid behind a broad tree. “What in the name of the Viking of Chryse isthat?”

  “A war arrow. A type of weapon used in other kingdoms outside our own. Ideal for combat at middle distances. It allows you to kill your opponent long before he is close enough to harm you.”

  “How does it move so fast?”

  “Those long bent sticks you saw? They’re war bows—like the kind used to hunt rabbits, but much bigger. They use them to propel the arrows at high speed.”

  “What can we do against weapons like these?”

  Waleran didn’t answer. Instead he drew his knife and began to hack at the tree he hid behind, separating the thick bark from the trunk.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making a shield. You’ll need one too. Use your sword.”

  He drew his sword. “Won’t that blunt my blade?”

  “A sharp blade will do you no good if an arrow kills you before you are close enough to your enemy to use it.”

  That was a good point. Alastair began to hack. “As thick as this bark is, do you really think it will stop those arrows? You saw how it buried itself in the tree.”

  “I know, but it’s all we’ve got. Maybe it will help slow them down. Maybe we can use the shields to deflect the arrows. I don’t know. I’m improvising here.”

  Why had there not been another arrow? Perhaps the first had been a warning shot. Maybe there was a single enemy out there waiting for reinforcements. Waleran put away his knife and held the shield. He leaned out just a tad from his tree. No arrow came. “We mean you no harm,” he yelled. “We are visitors to your jungle on a mission of peace.”

  A flurry of arrows flew.

  Waleran ducked back behind his tree. Either his message had not been understood, or their attackers didn’t care. Obviously, visitors were not welcome here.

  “We have to fall back,” Waleran said.

  “You mean retreat?”

  “Yes. If they get some of their number behind us we’ll be surrounded, and then it’s all over.”

  Alastair swallowed. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. All those stories he’d heard of glorious riders doing battle, the clash of swords. To be killed by a flying stick before you could even get to your enemy? That just wasn’t sporting.

  He clutched his sword in one hand and his makeshift shield in the other. At Waleran’s beckoning, he sprinted back in the direction they had come. He took cover behind another tree, just as his companion did.

  “All right. This is how it will work,” Waleran explained. “We go back a little at a time and take cover.”

  Three times they did this. They’d not seen another arrow since that flurry after Waleran had called out. Would their attackers let them live, as long as they went back where they’d come from?”

  “All right. This time we run. We keep going and we don’t look back.”

  No, this wasn’t right. Their quest couldn’t end here, not like this.

  “Run!”

  Alastair winced but followed. His legs pounded the leafy ground; on and on he ran—in retreat, in shame.

  Lynessa’s Curse: Chapter 3

  Alastair collapsed to the ground and drew in gulps of air. Waleran had stopped running, which meant it was safe for him to finally take the rest he needed. They must have run solid for half an hour. He never could have done that back home on the Nirgal Plateau, but down here something was different. He was stronger, faster, as if there was something in the air. No doubt Waleran could explain it.

  “I think we may be safe for the moment,” Waleran said. “They haven’t pursued us, and we’ve done exactly what they wanted. Retreated.”

  “Why do they object so to our presence here? We mean them no harm. We just want to help people.”

  ‘They have no way of knowing that. It has probably been decades, maybe centuries since they’ve had contact with people outside their own group. We could be invaders. We present a high risk of threat to their way of life.”

  “So they try to kill us before even finding out? No attempt at getting to know us at all?”

  “If they were trying to kill us, Alastair, we’d be dead. Of that I am certain. They just wanted to scare us off so we’d leave them be.”

  “Under other circumstances I’d be happy to do just that, but we need the artifact hidden in this jungle. Lynessa’s lif
e depends on it.”

  Waleran sank down and sat on the stump of a fallen tree.

  Alastair began to pace. So these people weren’t bad as such. They were just protecting their interests. If Waleran was right, they’d even shown mercy in trying to scare them rather than kill them. If they were to have another confrontation, what would they do? If they could get close enough, they could fight with swords. He tried to picture plunging his sword into the chest of a living man. Swinging at the air was one thing, but to kill a person? To take their life and see them breathe their last—could he really do that? Would Jesu approve? One of his ten great commandments said you must not kill. He squeezed his eyes shut. Such dilemmas were pointless unless they could formulate another plan. How could they get past those bows?

  He looked down at Waleran. “So what now?” He asked. “You’re not thinking of giving up, are you?”

  “Thinking of it? Oh yes, I’m thinking of it.”

  Alastair opened his mouth to object, but Waleran kept talking.

  “But we’ve come too far now to give up. I think we may have another option.”

  Alastair pulled himself into a sitting position. “Oh?”

  “Remember those giant birds you mentioned?”

  “Yes, the ones I saw when I was up the tree?”

  “They could be our answer.”

  “How?”

  “You’re not going to like this.”

  The blood drained from Alastair’s face. “Why? What are you going to suggest?”

  “We ride the birds.”

  “Ride them? That’s crazy.”

  “They do it in Valles Marineris”

  “I’ve heard stories—not sure I really believed them…but…” He searched for words. He had to object to this, but how was he to argue it? The hardest thing was that Waleran was right. Bird riding might be their only option. “Tell me more.”

  “The Marineris jockeys mount the bird and control its flight by shifting their weight and guiding the head.” He reached into his pack. “We have these.” The same reins they’d removed from the horses before cutting them loose. “The bridle will be useless, but the reins themselves could be tied on somehow. I’m not saying this will be easy. The birds here have not been domesticated, so we’ll be starting from the very beginning.”

  “And we’re not trained jockeys.”

  Waleran nodded.

  “This sounds like suicide to me.”

  “Death is a distinct possibility.”

  Alastair raised an eyebrow. How could Waleran say that so matter-of-factly?

  “It will be terrifying.”

  “It’s either this or we walk back up the hill and go home.”

  Alastair took in a huge breath. He held it in and then let it out over about five seconds. Lynessa. This was all for her. “Kay. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes. I’ll try it.”

  • • •

  For the second time today Alastair was climbing a giant tree. His hands were red and scratched. His arms and back ached. How he wanted to cry out, but that would startle the birds. That would make the whole endeavor pointless. Around the other side of the tree lay a nest. Two adults rested in it. Alastair and Waleran had remained as silent as possible during their climb so far. They couldn’t afford to lose the birds, not after the effort they’d already expended. Not to mention the danger an aggravated bird might present.

  Alastair reached out for another branch. There was a thicker one a little further but this one was within easier reach. He grabbed hold and tested its weight. Seemed fine. He swung up and grabbed the branch with his other hand. Crack! The branch started to break. Alastair’s breath caught in his lungs. His heart pounded. He peered around to see if the birds had stirred. One of them was still in the nest. He couldn’t see the other, part of the nest being obscured by the thick trunk. He had to get off this weak branch quickly. The stronger branch was within easy reach now. Tentatively he reached out. Crack! The branch he was holding gave way. Alastair tumbled down and thudded onto a lower branch. The air rushed out of him. The broken branch clattered down below. The birds must have heard that!

  There was a flutter of wings. The visible bird was no longer in the nest. Curse it all! Alastair clung to his branch—still as a statue. Powerful wings beat the air behind him.Skreek! Alastair turned. The magnificent creature regarded him with cold eyes. Alastair’s gaze was drawn to the razor-sharp end of the bird’s beak. It could tear him to pieces. The bird circled his position a couple of times. It let out another squawk and then flew back to the other side of the tree. Moments later it landed in the nest and ruffled its feathers.

  Alastair jammed his eyes shut and willed his heart to slow. He took in slow, deliberate breaths. Once he had regained control of his faculties, he resumed his assent. He took it slower—safer this time.

  After a few minutes, he reached the place where Waleran was waiting. The older man didn’t say a word, but his stern eyes held reproach for Alastair’s carelessness. They were now up higher than the nest. A sturdy branch stretched out over their prize. Waleran started shimmying along it—positioning himself ready to drop onto one of the birds. Alastair shook his head. Lunacy. Absolute lunacy.

  He followed Waleran. Carefully he positioned himself on the branch and hugged it for life. Don’t look down! He shuffled forward a few centimeters. Then a few more. Eventually he was resting above the bird. Please don’t get startled now. Not after I’ve come all this way.

  Alastair drew a long deep breath. This was it. He had to let go and fall down onto the bird’s back. Would it fly away when it saw him falling? Would he miss his mark and tumble to his death? He couldn’t do this.

  Waleran held out a hand with three fingers raised. It was important they both dropped at the same time—otherwise the other bird would be startled away by a human landing on the first’s back.

  He jammed his eyes shut and pictured Lynessa, her soft features, her deep eyes. Those eyes had seen a lot of hardship in Olympus. She rarely talked about her life before coming to Garibaldi Manor. It must have been hard. The image of her face morphed into a withered husk of a woman. Lynessa at her death bed. She groaned. Those once-beautiful eyes pleaded with him to let it all be over. A tear streaked down Alastair’s face. He couldn’t let that happen. He would find a way to save her or die trying.

  He opened his eyes. Waleran was glaring at him. He lowered one of his fingers. A second later he lowered another one. Alastair glanced down to see that the bird was still in position. Waleran lowered the final finger. Alastair closed his eyes again and released his grip on the branch.

  Air rushed against his cheeks, then thud. Rough feathers mashed against his face. He clung to whatever he could find. An almighty squawk echoed through the treetops. The bird thrashed one way, then another. Alastair held on for his life.

  Mighty wings pounded to his left and right. The bird jerked and rocked. They were flying! Alastair allowed himself a smile. The bird dipped to the right and Alastair began to slip off its back. His heart exploded up through his throat as he clutched up at anything he could hold. His arms almost yanked out of their sockets. He was hanging underneath the bird. The trees were rapidly shrinking beneath his feet. Alastair screamed.

  The bird’s massive clawed feet swiped at him. Alastair swung backward but it wasn’t enough. One claw cut a gash in his thigh.

  His grip wouldn’t hold for long, and his arms couldn’t take hanging like this for long either. Worse than that—those claws wouldn’t quit until he was dislodged. It wouldn’t take much for the bird to succeed. He had to get back onto the bird’s back. Taking a deep breath, he swung himself up and grabbed onto the back of the bird’s neck.

  Crying with the strain, he pulled himself up and wrapped his legs around the shoulders. The bird jerked and shook again but failed to dislodge Alastair.

  He looked ahead. There was another bird not too far away. Waleran rode atop its back. He was right. That crazy fool was right.

  Alastair wasn�
��t sure how much distance they’d made, but it had to be significant. The bird was moving rapidly. It was far from content, however. Alastair had managed to get away from the deadly claws, but the bird continued to shake. Bird jockeys may have found a way to tame their birds, but this one was as wild as could be and it wasn’t giving up. It shook once again. Alastair clutched the feathers for dear life. His hands slipped. He needed to regain his grip. He loosened his hand to get a better hold. Just as he did, the bird made a sudden drop and swoop to the side. Alastair lost his grip and tumbled away from the bird into open free fall.

  • • •

  Alastair’s heart nearly pounded its way out of his chest. The air rushed against his face as a scream tore from his throat. His chest ached. The ground grew closer. River! There was a river down there. Getting closer and closer. Alastair held his arms out before him. They sliced through the water. His entire body plunged under behind them. Alastair thrashed about in the cool water. Which way was up? He was being dragged by the current.

  His head broke the surface. The water was flowing quickly. Alastair thrashed his arms to keep his head above water. He was not a strong swimmer, but he had taken some basic lessons. It was required by Lord Gareth for any that worked down on the Nirgal plains. The Nirgal didn’t move like this water though. His head went under and he got a mouthful of water for his trouble. He rose up again and coughed the water back out. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

  Just as he was about to give up, his fingers brushed something solid. Wood! Alastair gritted his teeth and reached for the log. His fingers brushed it again. He kicked with his legs and moved the necessary fraction closer to grab hold. He wrapped both arms around it and took great heaves of air. He was going to live.

  “Alastair!”

  He spun around. Waleran was a little behind him—clutching to what was little more than a stick.

  “Help me!”

  Alastair paddled with one hand and kicked with his feet. He moved the log bit by bit closer to his companion. When he was close enough, Waleran let go of his stick and grasped Alastair’s hand. Alastair pulled him in so he could grab hold of the log.