Heroes of Time Legends: Murdoch's Choice

by Wayne D. Kramer

  He drew his saber and pointed it aloft. “Aaahhh!” he roared, charging forward.

  Steely clangs sang in the air. Zale quickly took down two enemies with the strength and precision of his upper body. Chim wielded a battleaxe in broad circles with his one arm, always an amazing sight. Fump gave up the last of his pocket-sand, stinging several eyes before taking men down with the sword. Beep and Shrew were back to back, Beep pummeling with a mace and Shrew swiping with a cutlass. Boomer sprang from face to face, slashing with his claws and shooting his tiny arrows. From the deck of the Queenie, crossbow and ballista bolts speared the opposition who were not too close to crewmates.

  Zale knew they could not keep this up for long. There were simply too many soldiers, and they fought with militant discipline that would soon outlast his scrappy crew.

  A fallen sword suddenly sprung up and jabbed into the ground. It was an utterly baffling sight. Out of Zale’s periphery, he saw another…then another…and another. He turned to see Fulgar directing them with his arms. What the devil is he up to now? Zale wondered.

  A bright, electrical ball of energy formed in midair ahead of Fulgar, confounding those soldiers nearby. Jagged tines of energy, like miniature lightning bolts, zapped from the ball, guided by Fulgar. One by one, soldiers were struck down by the bolts, causing an epic stir amongst the Gukhanians.

  Then the energy extended out to the upraised swords like lightning rods, expanding the electrical field. From each sword hilt shot additional zaps of lightning. Soldiers screamed all around them. Zale’s crew steadily backed away, some even dropping to the ground to stay clear of the attack.

  By the time this maneuver settled down, there were fewer than a dozen soldiers remaining, all of them looking frazzled. Zale’s crew sprang forth to take them down.

  “Where was that move earlier?” Zale asked Fulgar.

  Fulgar flashed a tired smile. “If I am not careful, the overuse of power will expend a feeble, mortal body like mine. Such electrical and magnetic forces take much to conjure, as you yourself might yet come to realize, Captain.”

  “Ha! If I could do half of something like that, I truly would be a legend.”

  “A similar etheretical affinity is within you. Augustus Macpherson was a renowned Fielder in his day.”

  Murdoch’s brow furrowed. “Are you saying that my forefather had powers the same as yours?”

  “That and more. So you see, it is in your ancestry…in your blood.” He held out his novidian dagger, keeping it still until its white light pulsated around it. In battle it was a thing to be awed and feared. But here, as it rested in Fulgar’s palm, it seemed to Zale more like something heavenly…something ethereal.

  “Please, Captain,” Fulgar said, “now you take hold of it.”

  Zale narrowed his eyes slightly. “Why?”

  “It is perfectly safe.”

  Zale reached for it cautiously, finally curling his fingers around the anelace’s grip. There was nothing all that unusual about its touch. It was light and easy to wield, very efficient as a weapon, and undoubtedly sharp. Yet, there was a strange sort of warmth which flowed into his body.

  “It feels…” Zale considered the sensation. “…almost familiar, in some way, like closeness or something intimate.”

  “And its glow,” Fulgar said, “see how it remains within your grasp. The novidian, it seems, is connecting with you.”

  “Curious case.” Zale felt awestruck. “This, then, grants your powers?”

  Fulgar tapped his chest. “The power, ultimately, resides within the being. For many it is dormant, locked away. Novidian might awaken it, and certainly it is a helpful conduit to direct and strengthen the output, but even without it there is power.”

  Zale offered the dagger back to Fulgar, feeling a strange reluctance to do so. “That is very unlike anything I’ve experienced.”

  Fulgar took the blade and glanced at Zale’s new anthro-panda companion. “I see you have managed to rescue a helpless, furry little anthropod.”

  “Well,” Zale chuckled, “I wouldn’t exactly call him helpless. Turns out that resilite Jensen had did just the trick to set him free.”

  Fulgar placed a hand on Zale’s shoulder, leaning in. “Captain…I feel I should tell you something. I know you believed that the resilite in Jensen’s possession was due spoils to you and your crew, and you reprimanded the young man for having it. What you might not know—what he later confided to me—was that he had purchased the material back from your past client with his own share of that voyage’s payout. It was not stolen.”

  Zale felt lost for words. “That…is very good to know. Thank you for telling me, Fulgar.”

  Fulgar gave Zale’s shoulder a firm pat. “The time for you to go is now. We will hold any further opposition. Go forth to the monument and retrieve the Grimstone entrusted to your name. I am sure that Eloh goes with you.”

  Zale adjusted his hat and walked off, Boomer following close behind.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE TREASURE OF MAC

  8/9/3203

  “So,” said Zale as he entered the forest with Boomer, “how many soldiers did you take down, anyway?” Boomer held up both paws, revealing ten claws.

  “Ten? Wow.”

  Boomer shook his head. “Nah-nah rakaka.” He held up two paws again, closed them, and opened them again.

  “Twenty? Now you’re just fibbing.”

  This time the anthro-panda opened his paws three times. “Rakaka yee-yee kakaka!”

  “Stop it! You lie worse than a Rocknee spear-fisher.” They were notorious for claiming the sort of game brought in by deep-sea fishermen as their own, when everyone knew better.

  Boomer hissed, his fur standing on end.

  “Okay, okay! Whatever the case, you’re quite the little hellion.”

  They came upon a glade minutes later, where rays of sunlight poked through the tree canopy and thinly spotlighted the forest floor. Here they found the monument, which Zale could tell had been cleared of vines and brush by his crew. Imperfectly black, like raw augite, the monument stood slightly taller than Zale. It had four corners, wider at the base and tapering all the way to a sphere at its apex.

  Zale brushed his hand across the monument, looking closely at its surfaces. Kasper had spoken of some sort of riddle. As he perused, he started to hear a quiet pattering sound and looked to the ground.

  Boomer was urinating on the monument like a small boy might against a tree, were that boy covered in fur and a bushy tail.

  Zale cocked his fist. “Boomer! You knock that off. That’s a family monument!”

  Boomer scurried back, unleashing a series of agitated sounds.

  “Go eat some leaves or bamboo or something,” Zale said.

  Back at the monument, Zale found the words he was looking for on the face of the sphere.

  It said, quite simply:

  “The one who succeeds will be in the know;

  Passed down and in memory the way you must go.

  Don’t dare seek to enter that which no one can find;

  Unless the Treasure of Mac is locked in thy mind.”

  “The Treasure of Mac,” he whispered. The words made him shiver. Here, upon this ancient surface, was a direct reference to the rhyme he’d grown up hearing as a child, one of the few memories he carried from his birthparents—a rhyme he now spoke to his own grandchildren, firmly planted within his brain.

  Quietly he recited it.

  “The Treasure of Mac is not very far;

  Once you know where to look, then you’ll know where you are!

  O dear Mac, if you’re here, thy great name is alive;

  Thy back to the river, then ten paces five!

  O most brilliant Mac, the treasure is nigh;

  Your head must be spinning, from looking so high!

  O Mac, you great rascal, thy foundation is rock;

  It’s dark water below, and below must ye hop!

  O wondrous Mac, if here faith do ye lack;
/>   Then ne’er shall ye claim the great Treasure of Mac!”

  “Mac,” he said. “All along, that was actually short for Macpherson.”

  He stood for long moments, staring at the monument in disbelief and trying to process this realization. He wondered if his birth parents had known the significance of this rhyme, or if it had been simply a blithe recitation passed down for generations.

  Boomer zipped up his pants and stood, elbow against a tree, watching.

  “Back to the river, then ten paces five,” Zale finally said. “The river is that way.” He pointed toward the east. “The monument is the starting point. So, with my back to the river—facing west—ten paces five.” He turned to his anthro-panda companion. “Come along, Boomer. Fifty paces for me; probably not for you.”

  Taking what he thought to be normal steps, he counted to fifty. The trees became more spaced out, and a beautiful view stretched before them—the peak of a small mountain miles away, heathery foothills, evergreens in full spruce dappling the downs.

  “Head spinning from looking so high,” he murmured.

  His eyes started up high and worked their way down, where, more to their level, Zale spotted a distinct rock formation just beyond a grassy knoll.

  It started from the ground and rose in gradually ascending tiers. Near the top a massive flat section of rock jutted out parallel with the land, perhaps ten feet aboveground. It reminded Zale of a ship’s plank.

  “Thy foundation is rock,” he said with a deep sigh. “Okay, Boomer, looks like we’ll have to climb onto this thing.”

  Zale grunted and groaned as he worked his way up the tiers of rock. Boomer, of course, had no trouble at all, deftly hopping from one tier to the next.

  “This is a young man’s game,” Zale wheezed.

  Finally they reached the flat section of rock that stretched out over the ground. Zale carefully worked his way toward the end of it. His gut wrenched as he reflected on the next words of the rhyme. He slid his way slowly toward the edge, to where he could see well enough below.

  “‘Dark water below,’ the rhyme says. I don’t see water.”

  The ground below did look darker than typical grass. Indeed, it seemed darker than even the surrounding grass.

  “By ‘dark,’ I suppose it could mean something more sorcerous, perhaps this Void that Fulgar speaks of…but, still. I’m not hopping down into grass just because it’s darker!”

  Then, of course, he couldn’t help but hear more of the rhyme in his head. If here faith do ye lack.

  A gust of wind rustled the trees and the plants below, and he thought he noticed the faintest hint of distortion in the darker grass below.

  “But it’s not water!” he protested.

  Even Boomer looked nervous. “Rakaka nah hop-hop,” he chittered softly.

  “Yeah,” Zale muttered.

  He stared and stared, the words of the rhyme and its warning about lack of faith playing over and over in his head. Then ne’er shall ye claim the great Treasure of Mac.

  “Oh!” he cried. “This had better be worth it.”

  His hop from the rock was meager, but it was enough for him to meet the “dark water” target and, as though an illusion, he disappeared through the ground completely.

  A light, comfortable breeze swept through the field, swaying the reed grass and adding some relief to what had already been a very long day for Jensen and his crewmates. Beside them the Queenie rocked gently with the river’s current, like an overseer of her crew.

  Jensen watched as Yancy led a parade of crewmates toward the ship with armloads of black Gukhanian armor and weaponry.

  “Someone’ll pay good money for this stuff,” Yancy said proudly. “Not sure who, but someone. And we might manage to score some extra barrels of food and drink from the fort before we shove off.”

  “Yeah, man,” Wigglebelly said, dragging a bound-up mass of conical hats behind him. “I hope they have some cheese. I’m in the mood for a good pot of cheese soup, man!”

  Yancy groaned and continued walking toward the ship.

  Jensen shook his head, clapping Fump on the shoulder as he went. Fump was a scallywag through and through, but his resourceful antics never hurt anyone. At least, not intentionally.

  “Get what you can, mates!” Dippy’s voice carried through out the field. “Let’s have the ship ready to weigh anchor as soon as the captain returns!”

  Jensen scoured the field to collect weapons and anything else of interest from the fallen enemies. The task brought him a wave of sadness over the loss of Tate, his fallen shipmate. He lamented all the crewmembers who’d fallen, but he had come to know Tate the best. They had often worked the ship side by side and traded shifts at the helm. Collecting enemy belongings seemed to Jensen like something Tate would have especially delighted in.

  When Jensen thought he had all the armaments he could carry, he managed to pile on one more small, double-edged sword before making his way to the ship.

  Moments later he stopped.

  He saw Starlina’s familiar sky-wood hair, ruggedly feminine and enticing. It streamed in the wind like a stunning banner that Jensen would proudly raise any day.

  “Starlina!” He left his plunder of swords in a pile and jogged up to her. “You came off the ship!”

  She wavered a bit as she stepped off the ramp. “I had to take this chance to be on land. Although, I admit, it feels a bit funny to walk, almost like after having too much to drink at one of my father’s homecoming socials.”

  Jensen chuckled. “You’ve still got your sea-legs.”

  Starlina scowled. “I’ve got nothing of the sort. That is a sailor’s malady.”

  “You’re well on your way to becoming a sailor, I think.”

  “Jensen Karrack, have I smacked you lately? Because I rather think I should….”

  Healer Fulgar approached with a cordial nod. “Nice to see you, Jensen.”

  “Always a pleasure, sir,” he nodded back.

  “Starlina, how pleased I am to see you emerging from the ship’s hold. Some sunshine and free movement can be highly therapeutic.”

  “That’s very much what I thought,” Starlina replied. She took in a deep breath of the fresh air. “Ah! So much better than aboard the ship.”

  “Sir!” Ian Hopper shouted from the afterdeck. The deckhand pointed southward, down the river, trying to catch Dippy’s attention on the shore. “Sir, you’d better have a look at this!”

  Jensen and Fulgar squinted into the distance. Dippy pulled his spyglass. Moments later, he lowered it, looking displeased.

  “Eloh have mercy,” Dippy muttered.

  “What is it?” Jensen asked.

  “It’s Seadread’s ship, tacking its way up the river.”

  Kasper approached from the field, abandoning a bundle of armor. “They’ll block our exit to sea for sure. It’ll take them a good while yet to make it here against the current. I can check if any of our maps show another way around, although finding much detail about the layout of Gukhan might be farfetched.” Dippy shook his head. “It’s of little use, I think.”

  Fulgar’s gaze was still aimed afar. “Daubernoun, please look to the land aside their ship.”

  Frowning, Dippy aimed his glass just off the western riverbank. When he lowered it, he looked pale. “His army of grimkins has already disembarked. They’re charging this way! All hands ashore and ready with arms!”

  “Or arm,” Rosh muttered as he shoved a Gukhanian blade beneath his belt. He drew his own saber and held it ready in his one hand.

  Yancy ran down the gangplank, having just stowed a load of their plunder. “What’s all the hullaballoo?”

  “We’ve got incoming!” Dippy shouted. “Ground assault approaching, crew! We’ll have to fend them off!”

  Yancy adjusted his cap, scowling to the south. “We’ll whip up some surprises for these buggers.” He turned back to the ship, shouting as he ran, “Tonight we stuff our pillows with grimkin feathers!”

&nbs
p; Fulgar turned with urgency to Starlina. “Starlina, we cannot allow them to discover you are here. You are an especially valuable target, and therefore in great danger.”

  Starlina furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about? Do you mean because I’m the captain’s daughter?”

  “Yes, but much more than that. You descend from the line of Macpherson from ancient legend—the one who sealed away the Grimstone. Only one of his bloodline can claim it.”

  Jensen tensed, taking a step toward Starlina. “They might try to use Starlina to retrieve it before Captain Murdoch does… or if he fails.”

  “Precisely,” Fulgar said. “You should go back to the ship and stay hidden.”

  Jensen placed a hand on her shoulder. “We won’t let them near you, Starlina.”

  Her immaculate blue eyes looked directly into his. “Jensen,” she said, “please be careful.” She hugged him and returned to the ship.

  Jensen readied a sword. “I hope you have some more tricks for us, Healer Fulgar.”

  “I yet might,” Fulgar ran a hand down his smooth head. “So long as this body of mine can endure, I yet might….”

  Zale’s breath rose into the air. Some hazy semblance of sunlight attempted in vain to pierce a vast blanket of unnaturally dark clouds, as if ink blotted the sky.

  It had taken him a few moments to recover from the shock of jumping into what appeared to be shadowed grass. Yet, true to the rhyme, it was like landing in water, except he was unable to bob or tread or swim. He only sank, feeling like he might drown in darkness.

  Then he and Boomer were swept by a current, and moments later they emerged from the surface of a black pool. When they pulled themselves out, they were completely dry.

  Under the strained, subdued light, the trees before them appeared as charred rampikes, like black, skeletal fingers poking into the air. The ground around them carried an almost violet tint that Zale couldn’t explain via any biotic or botanical reasoning he knew of.

  From the pool they followed a beaten path. They were outside, but their steps echoed, as if they were inside a vast, empty room of marble. All the plant life around them had full leaves and fronds and stems but also completely lacked in color, as if alive yet also dead.