Island of the dead, p.7
Island of the Dead, page 7
Shaking his head, he turned, ready to hack at the next insect—only to find that there were no more. The banana grove was littered with corpses and body parts, some of which still twitched, but nothing remained standing, save for him and his three companions. Judging by their expressions, Mathias and Chuy came to the same realization. The youth’s posture sagged. Panting, he eased his axe to the ground. The merchant stepped cautiously forward, picking his way around the fallen ants.
“We did it,” he gasped.
“Well…” Einar grinned. “Mathias, Fhad, and I did it. You just shook your stick at them.”
Chuy smiled. “Find me a better weapon and I’ll do more than that, barbarian.”
“Indeed?”
“Well, perhaps not. But I’ll make it look good.”
The three turned to Fhad, who continued to tramp about in the gore, crushing the creatures beneath his feet.
“He’s going to cut himself, stomping on them like that,” Mathias observed. “His feet are bare.”
“I don’t think he cares,” Chuy replied.
“The heat of the battle is still on him. My people call it berserker.” Einar cupped one hand around his mouth and yelled, “Ho! Fhad! It is over.”
Slowly, the big man ceased his rampage. He stood amongst the carnage, chest heaving with each deep breath.
“Is anybody hurt?’ Chuy asked.
“I got a few bites,” Mathias replied, “but nothing serious.”
Einar nodded. “Same.”
Fhad glanced down at his body, which was covered in ant blood. “I can’t be certain. I don’t feel any pain, but I won’t know until I wash up.”
“That will have to wait,” Einar said. “Our former captors, if any of them still live, no doubt heard the sound of that fight.”
Chuy glanced into the jungle. “And if none of them are still alive?”
“From what I’ve seen of them today, the dead can hear just as well as the living,” Einar said. “Regardless, we need to get moving.”
“We could stay here,” the merchant suggested. “Surely, the tunnel is safe now that all the ants are dead.”
Einar shook his head. “We don’t know that they are all dead. And I suspect none of us want to crawl back inside and see for ourselves, correct?”
All three men murmured in agreement.
“Let us head further inland then.” Einar bent down and scooped up a few bananas. “Each of you bring some food along.”
They each took a moment to prepare. When they were ready, Einar led them toward the mountains in the island’s center.
FOUR
The vegetation thickened as they trekked further inland. The scattered thickets of trees turned into a claustrophobic, towering forest. The canopy overhead was dense enough that the waning sunlight barely filtered through it. As a result, the undergrowth was sparse and limited to ferns, flowers, and an occasional cluster of berry bushes. Saving their bananas, the four men snacked on the berries as they went along, taking care to avoid any fruit that was unfamiliar to them.
“It’s getting dark,” Mathias observed. “Perhaps we should make camp?”
“Not here,” Einar replied. “I want to put as much distance between us and the dead, and the living—”
“And the ants,” Chuy interrupted.
Einar nodded. “Aye, and the ants. I want to get as far away from all of them as this island will allow. The sun is going down, but we’ve got some time before it is truly night. We can make our way well enough in this forest. There aren’t a lot of things to wade through or trip us up. No vines to get tangled in. At least not in this area.”
Mathias and Chuy both jumped, startled, as a multicolored bird rustled overhead and took flight, squawking. As its cries faded, the men heard another sound—the distant chatter of monkeys.
“I must wonder,” Fhad said, “if the ants on this island grew to such an enormous size, what about the rest of the wildlife?”
“I considered that,” Chuy said. “The birds we’ve seen so far have all been normal size, although since they are migratory, they probably came here from elsewhere.”
“I noticed some boar tracks earlier,” Einar said, cocking a thumb over his shoulder. “Back that way. They seemed of normal size, although a full-grown boar is something to be wary of, regardless.”
“I could do with some roasted boar right now.” Chuy’s tone was wistful. “At a marketplace back in the city, there was a stall next to one of mine that used to serve it every day. My mouth waters just at the memory.”
“You had more than one stall?” Mathias asked.
The merchant nodded. “Oh, indeed. I had an even dozen.”
“So, you are wealthy,” Fhad replied.
Chuy’s expression darkened. “I was. Once. But I’m not anymore. Now, I’m just another shipwrecked slave. My wares, my trade, my stalls… all gone. Seized by the government, along with my money.”
“Were these wives you slept with worth it?” Einar asked.
“At that moment they were. But in hindsight? No. I suppose not.”
They walked in silence for a moment. Then Einar glanced over his shoulder.
“Cheer up, Chuy. For what it’s worth, you make a fine castaway. Perhaps you can rebuild your wealth here, on this island. Granted, instead of copper or jewels or gold coins, your currency may have to consist of bananas and berries. Although Rat found a coin on the beach while we were exploring. Perhaps there are more.”
“No offense, Einar, but I’d rather focus on getting back to civilization than creating one of our own here with you. You’re a capable man and good to have around, and without you, we’d either be dead or still enslaved. But unless we come across a hidden tribe whose members include the fairer sex, I intend to leave this place.”
“Could this island be inhabited?” Fhad turned to Mathias. “Did you hear anything like that, during our journey? Any information that could prove useful?”
The young man shook his head. “Only what I’ve told you. Beyond that, nothing. This island wasn’t even on the charts. Nobody knows we are here. And depending on how much the rest of the fleet was scattered or destroyed in the storm, it may be some time before they figure out we are missing.”
“But eventually they will,” Chuy said. “And when that happens, they’ll surely send a rescue party.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Mathias said. “We are at war. They may assume the enemy sank us. Even if they don’t, how would they know where to look? And why would they think we were still alive?”
“The boy is right,” Einar said. “They’re not going to send out a search party for what was primarily a slave galley. War is a mill, and men—be they slaves or soldiers—are just grist for that wheel.”
“You always have such a positive outlook, barbarian,” Chuy replied. “Between that and your cheery disposition, I’ll bet you were popular with…”
His words faded. Einar had stopped walking and stood staring ahead of them. Chuy, Fhad, and Mathias paused alongside him and fanned out. Then, each of them gaped.
A little farther ahead of them stood a black obelisk nearly twice their height. The smooth, nonreflective surface seemed to draw the shadows into itself and was unbroken save for some finely etched lettering about halfway up its height.
“Listen,” Einar said. “Do you hear that?”
Frowning, the others cocked their heads and listened.
“I hear nothing,” Fhad whispered.
“Exactly,” Einar replied. “The forest has gone quiet.”
“The dead men?” Chuy whispered. “The ants? Something else lurking about?”
Instead of answering, Einar stood tall and slowly scanned their surroundings. It was then that he realized the forest had thinned somewhat on either side of them, bordering on a flat clearing covered in tall grass and multicolored wildflowers. Had they gone a few more steps, they would have emerged into it. His nostrils flared, breathing in the scent of the plants and loam. But there was nothing else on the wind—no stench of putrefaction or rot, or of carefully oiled blades and armor, and no sweat, save their own. He sensed nothing amiss, but the stillness was unsettling, regardless. At the very least, there should be bees, butterflies, and other insects flitting between the flowers, and birds perched far overhead.
He turned his attention back to the obelisk. Beyond it was more meadow. He looked left and then right and spotted more obelisks, spaced evenly at intervals throughout the landscape. If one drew an imaginary line connecting them, they would encircle the flat grassland.
“I don’t sense any sort of predator,” he murmured, brow furrowing. “I believe it is the obelisks that makes nature hold its breath. Do any of you recognize the writings on them?”
“I do,” Chuy said, “but I cannot read them. It is the language of the first men. The civilizations that existed before ours.”
“Atlantis?” Fhad asked.
Chuy shrugged. “Aye, Atlantis. Or possibly Nod, Lemuria, or Mu. It’s hard to say which. As I said, I can’t read them. I only recognize their form.”
Einar turned to Mathias. “How about you, lad? You’re educated.”
“Me?” Mathias’s eyes went wide. “Yes, I have some education, but I never learned to read this. No one has in centuries. Those languages are lost now, just like the people who utilized them.”
Einar crept closer to the obelisks. The others followed him.
“Well, I can read them,” Einar boasted. “They say that they are very old, and that they have stood here a long time, and that we are not the first human feet to tread upon this island.”
“Really?” Chuy gaped in surprise. “It says that?”
“I don’t know what the carvings say,” Einar admitted. “But I know these things to be common sense. If no one has spoken this language in hundreds of years, then it stands to reason it was one of the first people who erected this obelisk and chiseled the glyphs into it. And all the others, too.”
He swept his hand to the left and right, indicating the rest of the obelisks. His three companions studied them with wonder.
“Do we dare pass through them?” Fhad asked. “Their alignment seems purposeful. Could there be an underlying sinister intent?”
“We can,” Einar replied, “or we can walk around them. Or head back the way we came and take our chances with the dead. Or those damned ants.”
He turned back to the meadow and stared straight ahead, noticing something odd. There was a flurry of activity beyond the obelisk. The bees, butterflies, and other insects, so noticeable in their absence on this side, were plentiful on the other side of the stone. Curiously, however, they made no sound. Birds flew overhead, but they, too, were silent. Einar’s brow furrowed.
“There is magic at work here.”
“Let us hope it is good magic,” Chuy said.
“There’s no such thing as good magic.”
“I would tend to—”
A branch snapped behind them. All four whipped around to see three of the soldiers from the beach limping and shuffling toward them. It was apparent to all that the men were dead—from their unsteady gait and glassy gazes to the wounds on their battered corpses. One man’s entire throat had been torn out, and the ghoul struggled to keep its head upright. Another was missing an arm. The third had lost its nose, ears, and one eye. Einar took note that none of them had suffered brain injuries, however, adding further proof to his theory.
“We should make a decision quickly,” he said, readying his sword. “Carve our way through them and head back toward the beach, flee around these damnable stones, or try our luck passing straight through them. Those are our options.”
“There are only three of them,” Fhad said. “It should be easy enough for us to kill three dead men.”
“There could be more,” Mathias argued. “And we still don’t know if any of the other galleys are shipwrecked here. If so, then this island could be teeming with the dead.”
“The lad is right,” Einar said. “There may be more zombies hidden in the trees, following along behind these three. I’m loath to run the circumference of the circle for the same reason. And yet, I do not trust my eyes when it comes to the other side.”
“Why?” Chuy asked.
The zombies crept closer.
“Because,” Einar said, turning around to point at the obelisk with his sword, “it is an illusion.”
To demonstrate, he jabbed his sword into the air next to the stone. The blade disappeared as if snuffed from existence. When he pulled it back out, it was whole again.
“My gods,” Fhad murmured.
“I don’t think so,” Einar said. “This is the work of something far older than the gods.”
The corpses closed the distance between them. The foursome fanned out, holding their weapons at the ready.
“Decide,” Einar said. “Do we stand our ground or do we—”
The rest of his sentence was cut short as a lasso fell over his shoulders. Then he was yanked backward, into the illusion.
His vision blurred for a moment, and Einar toppled backward, dropping his weapon and landing hard on his rump. His teeth clacked together, and he bit the inside of his cheek. Spitting blood, he struggled to rise. Before he could, his vision cleared again, and what he saw made him dizzy. Directly in front of him was the meadow and the tree line, as well as Chuy, Fhad, and Mathias, all of whom were facing toward the dead men and oblivious to his plight. However, although they were mere feet away from him, with grass and loam beneath their feet, Einar found himself sitting on a street lined with cracked paving stones. Even more bewildering was the fact that, in the places he’d seen wildflowers and grass just seconds ago, there were now buildings and people.
“Chuy! Fhad! Mathia—”
Hands gripped him from behind, cutting off his shouts. If his companions heard him, they didn’t react. Roaring, Einar shrugged free of his captor’s grip and stumbled to his feet. The lasso had slipped down his torso, pinning his arms to his sides. It was made from thick, tough hemp fibers. Had his circumstances been different, Einar might have admired the craftmanship. Instead, he spun around, following the length of rope to the man who held the other end. He appeared to be about Chuy’s age, but fatter and completely bald. A waxed, blond mustache drooped around the corners of his mouth, which was open in gaping astonishment. Five more men stood on either side of him, all with similar blond hair.
One of them held up his hands and spoke. Einar did not understand the language, but the tone indicated that the man was trying to be soothing and reassuring.
Spitting blood again, Einar threw himself backward, yanking the lasso free of its owner’s grip. He landed hard a second time and immediately sprang to his feet again. As he did so, he saw that Mathias had turned around and was staring in confusion.
“Mathias,” he called, “don’t just stand there!”
Instead of responding, the lad behaved as if he couldn’t see or hear Einar. The barbarian frowned. He supposed that made sense. He himself had seen an extension of the meadow when he was on the other side of the black obelisk.
His captors fanned out and stepped backward, moving cautiously. All of them now held their hands up, indicating peace. Scowling, Einar exhaled, forcing the air from his lungs. Then he breathed in again, deeply, and filled his chest. He flexed and strained, working his arms. The rope fragmented and then snapped. Freed, he grinned. The lengths fell at his feet, and the blond men stared at him.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the shambling corpses were now upon his comrades. Moving quickly, he reached out and grabbed Chuy and Mathias by their necks and yanked them toward him. Then, he did the same to Fhad.
One of the captors spoke again. It was a different language this time, but still not one that Einar understood. Another tried a third tongue.
Chuy panted, wild-eyed. “What is this place? Did we die?”
“I’m not dead,” Einar grunted. “Though I fear I’ve possibly lost my wits.”
“The zombies!” Fhad raised his weapon.
“They can’t come through.”
Einar turned and saw that the speaker was the bald man who’d held the lasso.
“They can’t come through the barrier. Do you understand my words now?”
“We do,” Chuy replied.
“Good. Only those of us on this side can bring something through. Watch.”
The four castaways turned back to the meadow. The dead men stumbled about, searching for them.
“They see what you saw,” the bald man explained. “The standing stones shield this place both physically and psychically.”
“An invisible wall,” Einar surmised. “I’ve seen the like of such things before.”
“Not quite, but along the same principle. The standing stones encircle our village. If your foes try to breach that circle, they will believe they are still walking through the meadow, when in fact, they’ll remain in the same place. Only those of us in here can allow them through.”
Einar bent and picked up his weapon. “What is your name?”
The bald man spread his hands out in a welcoming gesture. “You may call me Lemiah. With me are my companions Mozulath, Lodrovull, Nuill, Chinsalel, and Nitarill. We are the—”
