Robinson Crusoe 2245: (Book 2)

by E. J. Robinson

  Robinson turned quickly to see who had saved him. On the shore, some twenty paces away, stood a dozen human figures wearing loincloths and covered in blue, black, and silver body paint. Half held bows and arrows, while the other half gripped spears. At their heels were the canoes from across the river.

  How could they have crossed so quickly? Robinson asked himself.

  He instinctively took a step back, but the locals notched more arrows and began yelling at him in some incomprehensible language. He raised his hands, noting the men seemed more frightened than angry.

  Just when it seemed like the painted men were about to attack, a young child pushed her way to the front, motioning for them to lower their weapons. They did so, reluctantly.

  The girl was also painted in silver, black, and blue, but Robinson thought he could see auburn hair underneath. Her complexion looked lighter than the others, and she had eyes that bore intelligence.

  Once the men had lowered their weapons, the girl stepped closer to look Robinson over. When she finally spoke, he was stunned by her words.

  “You must be Cru-soe. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Revelations

  The ship was in full sail when Friday finally awoke. The room was dark, and the endless swaying made her want to vomit.

  A blurry figure set a damp compress to Friday’s head before wiping spittle from her mouth. Friday wanted to bat the hand away but didn’t have the strength.

  The woman slowly came into view. Friday recognized her as one of the older slaves. She muttered something unintelligible, motioning to Friday’s right eye. Friday reached up and discovered it was closed. She briefly wondered if she had lost it, but there was nothing to be done, so she chose not to worry about it.

  With her remaining eye, Friday took in her surroundings. She was shocked to see she was not in the hold but in Arga’Zul’s berth. She tried to sit up, but something cold and hard tugged at her ankle. She glanced down to see a leg iron tethering her to the hammock. The skin beneath it had already grown raw.

  Friday collapsed back into the hammock, and pain stitched her body from side to side. Her fingers reached under a blanket to find heavy bandages covering her ribs. She instinctively took a deep breath, and it felt like her lungs were being ripped out of her chest. She fought another wave of nausea and tried to remain still.

  The slave woman patted Friday’s hand and whispered more words she couldn’t understand. Friday wanted to ask her about Nameless but was afraid to hear the answer. The last thing she remembered seeing was one of the Flayers duck into the beaver dam and leap back as if being attacked. She couldn’t remember what happened afterward. So be it. Friday had done everything she could to help the girl, even after she had betrayed her. Friday hoped the Goddess would take pity on the child.

  Friday was startled from her reverie when she felt something cool against her lips. She tried to turn her head, but the woman held her and uttered a word she thought meant ‘drink.’ Friday opened her mouth and felt the cold water rush in. It stung her throat going down, but it almost immediately revitalized her. She swallowed greedily, even as the water spilled down her face and neck. She finished the cup, saying only, “More.”

  Her voice sounded foreign to her, scratchy and thick.

  The woman shushed her and put a stale piece of bread to her lips instead.

  “Eat,” she said in the common tongue. Likely, it was the only word she knew.

  Only after Friday had inhaled several pieces did she ask, “How long?”

  The woman looked around warily but did not answer.

  While the bread did help ease the pain in her belly, nothing could temper the headache that gripped her skull. It was like her head had been split in half. As she chewed, she felt soreness in her jaw and neck. She had been beaten badly. Had she come close to dying? She had suffered many injuries in her lifetime but couldn’t remember feeling worse. From the taste of vomit and blood in her mouth and the smell of urine stemming from her underclothes, she suspected she’d been unconscious at least a few days.

  The cabin door swung open abruptly, and a large shadow that could only have been Arga’Zul filled the frame. A narrow shaft of daylight streamed in from behind him, searing Friday’s brain until she cried out.

  “Out,” Arga’Zul growled. The slave woman quickly left.

  Friday listened as Arga’Zul stomped across the room and pulled a wooden chair to her bedside. Once he sat, Friday expected him to grab her by the hair or face, but it didn’t happen. Instead, he waited until she turned her face in his direction.

  “You live,” he grunted.

  She couldn’t tell if it was surprise in his voice or exasperation.

  “I cannot die,” Friday croaked, “without killing you first.”

  Arga’Zul laughed loudly, but this time it felt strange. Friday swore if it had been anyone else, she might have said it was tinged with relief. She immediately dismissed the notion.

  A moment later, she felt something warm touch her lips. She drew back, but Arga’Zul glowered and said, “Drink.”

  She was about to refuse, but then the smell of the broth hit her. She opened her mouth, and the delicious brew spilled down her throat.

  Once it was done, he set the bowl on the table and waited.

  “How long?” she asked.

  “Six days,” Arga’Zul answered.

  Friday felt the draw of the river and realized they were moving faster than usual.

  “You’re at full sail,” she said.

  He nodded. “We are almost home.”

  She craned her neck toward the table and saw it had been wiped clean. All his maps and scrolls were gone.

  “You’ve found what you were looking for,” she said.

  He didn’t respond at first. His eyes remained on her. And then, surprisingly, he spoke.

  “Three days ago we came upon an inlet. Normally, it is too shallow for my ship, but the recent storms had raised the water. There, two leagues in, was a small city of the ancients. An insignificant place by any standard, and yet there, at last, I found what I have been seeking. Funny how often the things you search for can be found right before your eyes.”

  At that moment, the ship drifted to the west, and a stream of light breached the curtains in the back. Arga’Zul’s face was revealed, and Friday was surprised to see how wan he looked. Yes, his skull and cheeks were bruised where she had struck him with the chain. His brow bore a crescent of stitches he had most likely done himself. But what was most surprising was the fatigue that accompany his wounds. It was as if he too had suffered mightily. The war chieftain saw her watching him and turned away, but it was too late. Friday at last understood the truth: he was in love with her.

  In the past, she might have taunted him with that knowledge. But now, she chose to hold it like a diamond close to her heart. She would only reveal it when the time was right. Arga’Zul was like a mountain made of the hardest stone. It could only be destroyed from the core.

  “How long before we arrive?” Friday asked.

  “Two days if the wind holds. Three if not. Are you eager to see my homeland?”

  Friday snorted. “Should I be?”

  “No,” he said, leaning close. “You have escaped me a second time. I will suffer mightily for that when my people hear of it.”

  Friday tried to chuckle.

  “Forgive me for injuring your precious ego.”

  Only then did Friday feel Arga’Zul’s hand maneuver slowly across her head to take her mane in his hand.

  “I forgive nothing. You paid a trifling price for your escape attempt, but that was for my crew. My debt I see to here and now.”

  He raised a razor in his hands. Friday tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. He brought the blade down quickly. She felt her hair tear where he cut it, at the roots. His hands trembled as he hacked away. He did not stop until it was all gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nameless

&
nbsp; “How do you know my name?” Robinson asked.

  Nameless didn’t immediately answer. The painted men squabbled nervously amongst themselves, only stopping when the girl spoke. They loomed around her protectively.

  “Step away from your weapons,” she said.

  “Why would I do that?” Robinson asked.

  “Because if you don’t, they’ll kill you.”

  Robinson put the painted men’s number at eleven. Too many. Nameless gleaned what he was thinking.

  “They don’t like strangers. They would have killed you already, but you bear the mark of the Aserra. They know the Aserra are great warriors and do not want to anger their tribe, but they will protect their people if they must.”

  “Tell them I mean them no harm,” Robinson said.

  “Words are useless. Only deeds.”

  “If I step away,” he asked, “can you guarantee my safety?”

  “Why do you think you’re still alive?” Nameless smirked.

  Robinson studied the strange girl before acquiescing. One of the painted men ran forward to retrieve Robinson’s axes. As he approached, Robinson noticed he wore strange plastic armor on his shoulders and that his face paint was designed to resemble a cat. He wondered what crazy religion was responsible for such bizarre affectations.

  The tallest of the cat men made a clicking noise, and two of his party ran forward to grab the Render corpses and pull them into the forest.

  “They burn the bodies, but only in the forest. I cannot say why,” the girl said.

  “I asked you how you knew my name.”

  “I’ll tell you, but first we need to return to the island. They don’t like to be away from it long. From what I understand, it offends their gods.”

  Nameless turned back to the tallest of the cat men and spoke to him. Their conversation was strained, but the import eventually got through. The man shook his head several times, but the girl was adamant. Eventually, the pack stepped back, and she waved Robinson to follow.

  “This way. You’re safe for now.”

  “What do you know about their gods?” Robinson asked.

  “Only that they think I’m one of them.”

  The cat men took Robinson and Nameless back to their island via their canoes. Once on the ground, the canoes were hidden, and the group headed into the forest. The path was small and muddy and traversed a number of winding slopes and dizzying switchbacks. Robinson was quickly lost, but Nameless watched, undaunted, from atop the shoulders of two men. Finally, they stepped underneath some tall, ancient forked pole of faded yellow before entering a small village.

  The village was nothing more than a score of mud-covered, thatched huts, but everywhere Robinson looked, he saw the same painted colors of blue, black, and silver as well as crude drawings of black cats. Atop the fence line were rows of what looked like distended skeleton heads, but when Robinson drew closer, he saw they were only ancient helmets of some variety, with bars to protect the combatants’ faces.

  Hushed voices ran through the crowd as Robinson passed. Others pointed out the mark on his arm, while a few hissed at him like hungry felines. The womenfolk were busy cooking food over fires and tanning hides, while the children carried freshly picked turnips and beets.

  They led Robinson to the largest of the mud domes and ordered him inside. His only source of light was the coals of a fire. The walls were colored with stick figures engaged in some kind of violent game that he didn’t understand.

  Sometime after dark, a woman brought a bowl of fish, rice, mushrooms, and herbs in a simple but tasty broth. Later, the leader returned with Nameless and two of his biggest cat men. They had trouble entering with their shoulder armor intact. Robinson didn’t see how they maneuvered in them during a fight. One of the men placed kindling in the brazier and stoked the fire to life.

  “This is the leader of the village,” Nameless said. “He wishes to know your purpose here.”

  “Wait,” Robinson said. “Before we get to that, how did you know my name?”

  The leader spoke to Nameless, but she shook her head forcefully and held up a hand to silence him. Then she turned back to Robinson.

  “Like most men, they are not patient, but I’ll try to answer what I can. I am called Nameless. It is not the name I was born with, but it is as good as any. Some months ago, marauders from the river attacked my village. They butchered my people and razed our home. I am the only one they spared. I was taken as a slave aboard their ship. I was treated badly, but not as badly as some. I learned quickly to keep my head down and mouth shut. I worked, listened, and learned.”

  The leader of the cat men again tried to interrupt her, but Nameless held out her hand. Again, the man sat back, frustrated.

  “On this ship was a girl. Your age perhaps. She had been there longer than any other. The master of the ship was cruel to her, but his cruelty afforded her some protection. The crew called her ‘rose’ because she was beautiful but pricked like thorns. They spoke of how she once traveled with a boy who carried two axes and fought like the devil. Together, these two slayed many of their kind.”

  Robinson’s heart was pounding in his chest. He had so many questions but fought to remain silent as Nameless continued.

  “The girl remained unbroken despite the abuses heaped upon her. I alone discovered she had a plan for escape. One night, she broke her bonds, but rather than flee, she sought to cut the master down in his sleep. I alerted the guards to stop her. It was, I believed, my only hope for survival. And yet, when this girl fled the ship, she took me with her, even though she knew I had betrayed her. She gave me life when I tried to bring the end to hers.”

  Robinson nodded but let her continue.

  “We swam to this island,” Nameless continued. “But the master and his dogs were quickly at our heels. In the end, we could not outrun them. So the girl gave up her freedom for mine.”

  Her eyes fell to the fire, as if reliving the event all over again. “It was she who named me Nameless, though I never learned hers.”

  “Friday,” Robinson said. “At least, that’s what I called her.”

  Nameless nodded.

  “What happened afterward?” Robinson asked.

  “She was beaten badly and returned to the ship. I remained hidden, but the search for me was brief. The next day, the master’s ship was gone.”

  Robinson took a heavy breath. He was relieved to know Friday was alive, but the details haunted him.

  “How long ago did this happen?” he asked.

  “A moon, maybe. By now the master should be close to home.”

  The leader of the cat men whispered to the girl again.

  “They fear the master, as do most along the river. But they fear the Aserra too. They seek a truce with your people for your release.”

  Robinson looked the men over and saw the fear in their eyes. They were simple folks, trying to carve a life from the harshness of this land.

  “How do you understand their language?” Robinson asked.

  “It is a mix of many spoken on the river. And I have an ear for such things.”

  “And you said they think you’re a god? Why?”

  “The master came to their island and left me behind. I have scratches on my arms from the trees and an animal whose home I shared. And I have red hair. They believe I am from the kingdom of cats, whose gods they follow.”

  Nameless shrugged, and Robinson fought to contain his smile. The leader of the cat people interrupted again, the frustration in his voice mounting.

  “Look, I don’t see any reason why the Aserra would harm these people,” Robinson said. “But I can’t speak on their behalf. All I can offer them is this: if they help me, I promise I will hunt the master down and kill him, or die trying.”

  Nameless shook her head. “I see now why she likes you. You are the same inside.”

  Nameless relayed this offer to the cat men. Eventually, the leader agreed. As he and his men stepped outside the tent, he spoke a word, and a cheer
went up. Then a celebration began. Men began to play wind instruments, while others beat on the helmets like drums. The energy was spirited, and the leader was being congratulated for making his accord.

  Food and spirits were thrust into Robinson’s hands.

  “You should see this,” Nameless said as she guided him through the village to a small perch that overlooked the area behind them.

  Robinson was stunned. There, a great coliseum sat half-submerged in water, thousands of seats from its upper deck still recognizable despite centuries of erosion. The tips of yet another yellow, pronged post could be seen not far from them, along with a towering mural that still read: Home of the Carolina Panthers.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Where Dark Rivers Run

  The cat people had gathered at the beach with one of their canoes waiting in the water. It was small and looked the least secure, but it was better than nothing.

  Nameless had ordered the canoe be stocked with enough provisions to last him several weeks. The leader had grumbled but ultimately acquiesced. They’d be glad to be rid of Robinson, especially since he was Aserra. His promise to kill Arga’Zul didn’t seem to factor into things.

  “They tell me this tributary joins the Missup on the other side of those mountains,” Nameless said. “If you keep course, you should find it easily enough.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Robinson asked.

  Nameless looked over her shoulder at the cat people.

  “And go where? Here, I’ll live, grow. In time, I will find a mate and bear children. My line will continue, and my parents’ sacrifice will not be in vain. And I could do worse than being considered a deity.”

  Robinson looked at the water, which was still surging from the rain. The extra days had given him a belly full of food and some good rest, but as always, he lamented the loss of time, knowing it meant Friday was that much farther away from him.

  “One other thing,” Nameless said. “The master is believed to choose his destinations at whim, but when I was aboard, his path was very specific. I believe he’s searching for something.”