Edit History: Minor changes were made to this story on 1 August 2021.
Children of the Serpent is based on the Lost Race genre popular in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The story is set in an alternative Earth of the 1930s whose geography, geology and climate history is different from the one we are familiar with (particularly with regard to evolution and the freezing over of Antarctica), and this introduction has been written to delineate fact from fiction.
This adventurous tale takes place in the locale of South Georgia and the South Sandwich Islands, which exist in our world as well as the alternative version in this narrative, the island group being situated approximately 864 miles east-southeast of the Falkland Islands.
In both worlds South Georgia and the South Sandwich Islands are a British overseas territory located in the southern Atlantic Ocean. The island group consists of a remote and inhospitable archipelago, largely rugged and mountainous, with the principle island (in our reality) being South Georgia, allegedly first sighted by London merchant Anthony de la Roché in 1675, with the southern eight islands of the Sandwich Islands Group being discovered by Captain James Cook in 1775.
In this fictional narrative the largest island of the archipelago is Goliath Island (so named for its size), lying approximately 250 miles north of the Traversay Islands, which are part of the South Sandwich Islands, and it is in this imaginary land that the drama of the story unfolds.
Matthew Williams leaned on the rail of the Sea Queen – a decommissioned World War 1 Acacia class minesweeping sloop - and gazed speculatively upon the towering mist shrouded cliffs of Goliath, Island of mystery, which lay a mile off the rolling ship’s starboard side. His eyes beheld the heaving swells that crashed thunderously against the isle’s rugged coast in a maelstrom of flying spray and seething surf. Landing was impossible in the continuous welter of surging turbulence that hammered the isle’s bleak and barren precipices, and so the ship must stand at anchor a mile from its perilous and tumultuous shore.
But even if the island had a beach one could land upon the all encompassing cliffs, which rose about the rugged coast to dizzying heights, would thwart every attempt to penetrate its interior of craggy mountain ranges capped by glistening snow and ice, and deep primeval valleys shrouded by veils of ghostly mist.
The island, as its name suggested, was substantial. Spearhead in shape it was approximately 502 miles in length and 203 miles at its widest, its longitudinal axis being oriented in a north-south direction. Some surveying had been done, but only by air - in 1931 the British Goliath Expedition, whose base of operations had been South Georgia Island, had mapped parts of the landmass by aerial photography using a single engine de Havilland Fox Moth equipped with long range fuel tanks.
The photographs provided intriguing evidence of something unusual. The leeward side of the island had been predicted to have a milder climate, being sheltered by a high mountain range that ran the length of the landmass. It was anticipated that any vegetation would consist of mosses, lichens and grasses, which was typical of the Antarctic tundra of the other islands whose temperature was an average maximum of 0o C in winter and 8o C in summer.
But a single intriguing photograph of a deep valley suggested something else entirely. Through a break in the clouds could be glimpsed what might have been a flash of water with a hint of steam rising off it, and perhaps substantial vegetation about the shore. But when the plane returned to investigate further, dense clouds had closed in; veiling the valley in swirling mists and nothing more could be seen.
The Royal Geographical Society, a supporter of the expedition through research grants, together with the Royal Botanic Gardens, who had been shown the photograph with the hope that the vegetation might be identified, were greatly excited by the possibilities the image hinted at - unique pants and animals often evolve on isolated islands, and such discoveries would greatly add to science.
A landing on the lake by seaplane had been proposed for the purpose of exploration, but the photograph gave only hints, not certainty. Was it a lake, and if so how large? Could a seaplane land safely on it and take off again? Were there hazards hidden beneath the water’s surface – rocks, dead trees? The enigmatic image gave no indication whatsoever.
Naturally, the risks were deemed too great and the proposal had been abandoned... until now. Williams ceased his speculations concerning the enigma that was Goliath, and turned his gaze to the aircraft on the ship’s aft landing pad – a Focke-Wulf Fw61, the world’s first practical helicopter initially flown in 1936, now two years ago.
The airframe of the craft resembled a plane, but two steel outriggers projected from the fuselage on either side instead of wings. At the end of each outrigger was a three bladed rotor driven by the engine through gears and shafts, and at the nose of the machine was a small propeller that acted purely as a fan to cool the engine during low speed flight and hovering.
Lord Leighton, Williams’ uncle - a wealthy philanthropist and a member of the Royal Geographical Society – had purchased the machine from Germany and was the prime mover behind the expedition. He had offered his nephew, who was a pilot for Imperial Airways, the opportunity to be involved. At the time Williams had been piloting C Class flying boats on the service from Southampton to Alexandria and the young man, not lacking a desire for adventure, had jumped at the offer.
Williams shifted his attention to the three engineers that swarmed about the craft, performing pre-flight checks. The weather was cold but clear and the sea quieting after the storm of earlier in the day. Very soon now Williams would be on his way in the single seat helicopter. His mission was to reconnoitre the suspected lake, primarily to determine its potential for a seaplane landing, the winged aircraft more suited to carrying the equipment and personnel of a future expedition if conditions proved favourable.
The young man turned his gaze back to the island. His mood was one of conflicting emotions now that the moment of departure was drawing near – excitement and at the same time a degree of nervousness from an awareness of the danger of his mission, dangers that heretofore he had downplayed with the brash overconfidence of youth. He felt set apart from the other crew that lined the deck to see him on his way. Not set apart in a superior sense, as if he was somehow better than his comrades, but set apart in the sense he alone was embarking into the unknown.
It was a solemn occasion. The men were quite, their usual seamen’s ribaldry stilled. They liked the young pilot, his good natured manner – a stark contrast the stuffiness of the British officers of the Sea Queen. Each hoped he would return safely, but knew no guarantees could be given. It was quite possible Williams was going to his death. If something went wrong there was no hope of rescue for the expedition had only one helicopter.
The sound of footsteps broke through Williams’ solitude. He turned and saw Captain Hobson, leader of the expedition, approaching. The captain was a somewhat dour man, and Williams would have preferred his uncle’s company right now. But Lord Leighton had fallen ill on the eve of departure, and under doctor’s orders had absented himself from the expedition.
“I’ve been informed the machine is ready.” Hobson extended a gnarled hand. His seamed and bearded face, weather-beaten by decades of a hard life at sea, broke into a rare and genuine smile. “Good luck and Godspeed.”
The two men shook hands firmly. Williams thanked the captain. Not one for speeches the pilot waived smilingly to the crew. “See you chaps later,” he said with a trace of bravado, and then swiftly climbed into the cockpit of the helicopter and closed its retrofitted canopy.
Williams gripped the machine’s cyclic and collective controls, and set his feet on the pedals. The helicopter’s counter rotating blades whined to a whirling blur as the Englishman throttled up. The watching men cheered encouragement as the touchy machine lifted from its landing pad and climbed skyward. Williams circled the steamer once, gazing down at the waving figures, now as small as dolls, and then set course for Goliath. Thoughts of danger fled away under the exhilarating stimulus of flight. Williams was in his element. Grinning, he inwardly laughed at peril, firmly resolved to bravely face whatever threats lurked beneath the veiling mists and clouds of this mysterious, unexplored land.
Soon the titanic cliffs loomed before him, intimidating in their frightful ruggedness that climbed the sky to a thousand feet and more in places. And at the foot of the unscaleable escarpment - which girt the island like the curtain wall of a giant’s castle - boomed the surging sea whose driving waves would have savagely hurled any ship against the jagged coast, smashing it to ruin.
Williams soared above the stony barrier with the freedom of a bird. He checked his compass and the map, made a minor alteration to his course and within an hour was flying above the mysterious valley that was his destination.
To his right was the cloud piercing mountain range. Its serried peaks, which were capped by snow and ice, gleamed brightly in the clear cold air. They ran Goliath’s length like the spines of a slumbering stony dragon and fell away precipitously to minor tors in which the fog obscured valley nestled.
Williams began his descent and started the fuselage mounted cinematic camera. If a landing by seaplane was impossible then the film would at least provide clearer images than high altitude photographs. The machine entered the fringes of the billowing mists. Damp blinding whiteness engulfed him as he tensely watched the altimeter. Slowly, he descended into the murk - deeper, deeper still. Though hidden by swirling vapours he sensed the jagged menacing walls of the narrow valley rising all around him. No winged aircraft could safely fly in these conditions. A slow vertical descent was the only sane option unless the clouds cleared, which was a rare event.
Turbulence struck the helicopter. Williams grimly fought to steady his buffeted craft. Here was the danger he’d anticipated – deadly winds created by the rugged topography. A sudden downdraft which exceeded the climb capability of the aircraft caught the machine with its icy blast.
The ship plummeted, was swept sideways by another pummelling gust. Williams dropped through the low clouds into clearer air. His eyes widened in horror. A jagged pillar of rock rising from the valley floor leapt from the fog towards him. Frantically, he worked the controls as his spinning machine plunged towards the soaring spire. Straining rotors bit the air. The erratic machine veered, but not quite fast enough. The starboard rotor clipped the stony pillar. Sparks and whining metal flew. The craft fell, spun alarmingly.
The damaged rotor, now unbalanced, tore itself apart. A blade flew off. It struck the other assembly with a tremendous clang. The craft shuddered violently. Both rotors were now a broken ruin. The helicopter plunged. The ground rushed up – a terrifying madly whirling image of trees and water briefly glimpsed through thinning mist.
Williams had no time to panic. He was fighting for his life. He jabbed a button. Explosive charges blew away the damaged blades. The retrofitted parachute ballooned, jarringly slowing the plummeting machine as another switch killed the engine. A sudden gust caught the craft; thrust it towards the rocky spire, still dangerously near.
The helicopter struck the soaring pillar a glancing, terrifying blow. The fuselage crumpled, battered by a jutting spur of stone. Williams swore. The machine scraped past. Dangling nose down the battered man saw the ground rush up with alarming swiftness. The parachute had opened just below its minimum height. The landing would be very hard, possibly fatal.
Into the trees the stricken craft plunged. Williams was slammed against his safety harness. One growth caught an outrigger. The helicopter toppled sideways, crashed heavily to the ground. Williams’ head slammed against the cockpit canopy and he was plunged into dark unconsciousness as the parachute settled over him like a shroud.
**********
Williams regained consciousness and with its return came agonizing pain. He muttered a few choice words as he opened his eyes and winced. Gingerly, he touched the lump on his skull. His padded flying helmet had absorbed some of the impact and prevented a fracture. He was very lucky to be alive and knew it.
The pungent smell of leaking aviation fuel spurred him to action. He had to get out of the wrecked machine and fast. Fighting through his aches, he quickly released his safety harness, flung open the cockpit’s canopy and tumbled from the helicopter to the loamy soil.
Struggling up he stumbled away from the wreck, forcing a path through the tangled undergrowth of giant ferns. Behind him shorting electrics ignited the now dangerously concentrated fuel vapours. A tremendous roaring fireball engulfed the stricken craft. The shockwave of the explosion struck Williams, hurled him over a declivity.
He fell, yelling wildly, rolling uncontrollably down the steep incline. With a splash he tumbled into the lake and screamed again, almost choking on the hot, nearly scalding water that engulfed him. Williams fought for the surface, his sodden clothes and boots weighing him down. With an effort he burst through, gasping air and struggled for the shore. Williams crawled onto the bank, wracked by pain, his strength spent. He collapsed in a sopping heap, his mind blank from the shock of his ordeals.
It was some time before Williams could rouse himself to action. He peeled off his soaking clothes, wrung them out as best he could and spread them on a large boulder; uncertain as to whether they’d fully dry in the warm sauna-like air. Sitting on a smaller rock he considered his predicament. That he was still alive was something of a miracle. Everything else, however, was about as bad as it could get. The helicopter, the only means of aerial transport, was completely destroyed along with his equipment and supplies.
Williams cursed his stupidity. He should have grabbed his rations at least. Still, any delay in fleeing the wreck might have cost him his life. His escape from the explosion had been a near thing. He thought of comrades, friends and family. They’d be frantic with worry. Like many young men he’d embarked on a dangerous enterprise with an ounce of caution and a ton of boldness. But now it had been brought home sharply that he wasn’t indestructible.
Still, there was no point in upbraiding himself. For the sake of those who loved him as well as himself it was better to invest his time and energy in the battle for survival that lay ahead.
Looking about he examined his surroundings. Growths resembling tree ferns predominated. Their strange boles, covered with a shaggy pelt of dark brown hair, rose to an average height of twenty feet. The trunks were bottle shaped in appearance and had a middling girth of about three and a half feet at the widest point while the lush crowns – dense fronds of darkest green – had a spread of approximately ten feet.
The undergrowth consisted mostly of tall ferns, each about three feet in height. A thin mist covered most of the forest floor to a depth of about a foot. The light was dim, the sun, which at these latitudes was low on the horizon, was further obscured by clouds and tall mountains. Williams shuddered despite the warmth. It was an oppressive, claustrophobic scene.
He turned his attention to the lake. From the brief, fragmented glimpses he had of it as he fell he received the impression it filled the entire valley but for a thin border of forest about the shore. A fog of steam rose off the surface of the water, obscuring much of the lake’s extent, and he correctly deduced that geothermal activity was responsible, not surprising considering the island had several active volcanos at its northern end. The lake of hot water no doubt acted as a heat sink, warming the valley to temperatures well above what would otherwise have been near freezing conditions.
The entire scene – the dark primeval forest with its creeping steamy mist, the foggy lake and the cloud obscured sky all combined to create an eerie twilight world that filled him with deep unease, so different was it from the pleasant and familiar English countryside. And if that wasn’t bad enough it then began to rain, adding further to the dampening of his spirits.
A sound broke through his melancholy mood. Williams tensed. The noise was reminiscent of something at the edge of memory. It was coming from the lake. Feeling vulnerable, he struggled into his sodden clothes as he gazed intently across the water. The noise grew nearer and he recognised it – the sound of swift paddling.
The prow of a canoe burst through the fog-like steam. A man stood in the bow. He saw Williams through the thinning mist and shouted a command. The craft veered in the Englishman’s direction – long and low it shot towards him, powered by a dozen brawny men rowing furiously.
For a moment Williams looked on in frozen disbelief, astounded at the completely unexpected sight of human beings. Then awareness of the danger sharply pierced his brain. The demeanour of the rowers was clearly hostile – the brutal look upon their faces eloquent of savage fierceness.
Williams sprinted up the bank, but the heavy rain had made conditions treacherous. Half way up the steep acclivity he slipped upon the muddy earth. With a cry of fright he tumbled down the slope. The canoe touched shore. Warriors leapt from it as the cursing Englishman managed to grab a tree and halt his wild plunge.
In alarm Williams struggled up only to slip again. Cursing, he slid almost to the very feet of the charging savages. The warriors fell upon him. One screamed as the Englishman’s boot smashed viciously against his shin. Then the rest were on him like smothering army ants and his flailing figure disappeared beneath the writhing mass of whooping primitives.
Brutal fists quickly pounded Williams to submission, and the bruised and bleeding Englishman was swiftly bound hand and foot by his savage captors, who then gazed at him in puzzled and chattering speculation, their unintelligible but melodious tongue quite at odds with their tough muscular appearance.
Williams boldly returned the victors’ stares, beaten but not cowering before his foes. They were of a stocky build, heavily muscled with powerful arms noticeably longer than an average human. All were redheads with wavy hair worn in a long queue. The warrior’s eyes were large, wide set and deep sea green, and their skin, heavily tattooed with black arabesque designs, was pale and free of freckles. Their faces were broad, square jawed and adorned with carefully trimmed beards. The brow ridge of each was prominent and the nose slightly flattened.
Each wore a pennant shaped black loincloth supported by a wide brass studded leather belt from which hung a machete-like sword of bronze and a heavy knife of the same alloy. Sturdy sandals and necklaces of large semiprecious beads completed their scanty apparel.
A commanding voice cut through the speculations of the crowding warriors. They parted silently, bowing submissively, and through the gap arrogantly strode a man, one of importance – Rangin the tinu-na, or chief’s son as we would say in English, his significance denoted by the band of gold he wore about his brow and the imperious hauteur of his patrician visage.
The fellow – the same one who had been standing in the bow of the canoe - gazed at Williams in a haughty, condescending way, a distasteful grimace upon his face as his critical eyes swept over the Englishman’s sodden and begrimed garments.
Williams, despite his predicament bristled incautiously under Rangin’s condemning gaze. Normally, a good natured easy going man, something atavistic, something dangerously primitive, had been stirred up within the pilot. The Englishman had taken an instant dislike to the arrogant tinu-na, his mood not being helped by the rough treatment he’d just received.
His silent, sullen stare of defiance didn’t go unnoticed by Rangin. A cruel smile curved his tormentor’s lips. Defiance from a prisoner wasn’t something the tinu-na could tolerate. He’d show this fool who his master was. The leader of the warriors barked a harsh command. Men grabbed Williams roughly. The Englishman struggled wildly, cursed luridly as his clothes were cut away.
But bound as he was, hand and foot, he was helpless to resist his foes as they stripped him of his garments leaving him as naked as the day he was born, and then dragged him to the steaming lake. Williams was thrust into the hot water, held under until he thought he was going to drown.
He was pulled out, gasping and spluttering and then thrust under again before he could fully catch his breath. The ordeal was repeated a half dozen times until the Englishman was hauled from the water barely conscious. The tinu-na grabbed his hair and jerked his head up, ginning with evil pleasure at Williams’ suffering.
Williams looked into the man’s leering visage and with his remaining strength managed to spit on Rangin’s face in a reckless act of panting defiance. It was a stupid thing to do, but the Englishman’s torturous ordeals had left him in an irrational atavistic mood.
The tinu-na swore as he wiped his cheek. He looked at Williams, eyes wild with rage, hands balling white knuckled to blocky fists. With a savage yell he struck the Englishman, his fists slamming again and again with pile driver blows until the pilot hung limp and bleeding in the arms of the brawny warriors who held him.
Rangin, breathing hard from exertion and wild passion, glared at Williams as he fingered his knife. He felt like disembowelling the Englishman and slowly strangling him with his own entrails, but held himself in check. Questions needed answering – who was this strange man, where did he come from, were there more of his kind and were they a threat to his people?
With suppressed rage the tinu-na slammed his knife back into its sheath. His father, Kutoa, the tinu (chief), would be most displeased if the prisoner died before such questions were answered. But after the captive had divulged this information... Well, then he’d be expendable.
Rangin issued additional orders. His warriors dumped the unconscious Englishman in the bottom of the outrigger. The party boarded their craft. The men bent to the oars and their powerful physiques sent the canoe speeding into the swirling mist and rain, its serpentine prow arrowing for the further shore.
The tinu-na, calmer and in a more reflective mood, gazed back, wondering what had caused the thunderous noise and flash of light that had drawn him from his fishing and to the source. Could it be connected in some way with his captive? He would have liked to have had a look around, but the stranger might be one of many lurking in the forest. No, best return to the safety of the city and alert his father to the potential danger. Perhaps later on a strong expeditionary force could be sent to investigate.
Rangin looked at his still unconscious prisoner. He’d caught more than just fish today, and a strange foreboding came upon him at the thought of what it might portend.
*******
Williams sat awkwardly in the canoe. He’d regained consciousness about fifteen minutes ago. How long he’d been out he didn’t know, but it must have been some time for the pain of his wounds had subsided to a dull ache, and the further shore was now a hundred yards away. Rangin, who had been trying to question him had given up in a surly mood when it was evident Williams couldn’t speak the language, and so the Englishman could give his full attention to what his startled eyes beheld, for the rain had stopped and the steamy fog had thinned, giving him a fairly clear view of the amazing scene before him.
From the mist rose a city, but one like nothing he’d ever seen before. The houses, raised on posts, were cruciform in plan with the arms of equal length. The facade of each arm was triangular and rose to a height of fifty feet, and from the apex of each triangle the roof sloped back to the beehive shaped dome in the centre of the cross – a dome that rose slightly higher than the building’s triangular facades. The roofs were of thatch and the walls woven from a bamboo-like plant that had been split into strips. The facades were painted in swirling designs of red, yellow and black similar to the tattoos of his captors, and the posts of the houses were carved with stylised half human half animal figures representing protective nature spirits.
The buildings were ranged along the lake’s shore in neat rows with gravel streets between them, and from their number Williams estimated the population to be about four thousand strong. Beyond the city and at the moment obscured by steamy mist, lay the horticultural gardens of the conurbation. Here, uku the staple crop was cultivated. These were plants resembling members of the genius Lilium, with large fragrant flowers, but with the difference that the growths had a substantial edible tuber similar to a yam in form and colour.
Williams shivered at the scene before him – the strange houses seemed to float on the mist that rolled beneath their carven posts, their triangular facades sail-like, as if they were outlandish ships on a ghostly sea. It was a preternatural, ethereal panorama, one tinged with the menace of the unknown, and the Englishman felt cold fear seep into his bones at the thought of having to confront singlehandedly the situation into which he’d been precipitated.
The rowers drove their craft into the shallows, and the grate of its keel on pebbles broke through William’s brooding disquiet as he speculated on his fate. Men leapt from the canoe and hauled it onto a beach of black sand. The thongs about the Englishman’s ankles were cut and he was roughly hauled from the outrigger, manhandled up the beach and onto a street that ran along the shore while a warrior dashed ahead to inform Kutoa of his son’s return.
People came out of their houses at the sound of the commotion and stared at the Englishman as he passed on by. Williams was as naked as one could be. Humiliated, he soon reddened under the bold stares of the curious onlookers, particularly the women. Rangin, sensing something of his feelings grinned and made a broad and unflattering joke at William’s expense, which drew uproarious laughter from his men and several watchers who had overheard the coarse remark.
With an effort Williams controlled his expression and kept silent, determined to deny his captors the satisfaction of seeing him react to their ribald cruelty. Head high and back straight, he marched down the way, his seething but concealed anger helping keep fear at bay, at least for the moment.
Soon, they arrived at a building similar to the other houses of the city but on a more impressive scale, being six times the size of the commoner’s dwellings and undoubtedly the ruler’s residence. Mounting broad timber stairs the party entered the building and Williams found himself in what appeared to be a spacious antechamber.
Though a prisoner and likely facing death or worse the Englishman nonetheless looked curiously about, his interest stimulated by the sheer strangeness of his surrounds. The room was softly lit, not by daylight for the chamber was without windows, but by luminescent orchid-like plants that grew in many woven baskets hanging from the beams of the exposed trusses. Their greenish light weirdly tinged huge masks hanging upon the straw hued walls.
The black masks stood out dramatically against the light background. Each was adorned with a colourful headdress of bright plumage. Yellow swirls carved and painted snaked across their cheeks. Oval red rimmed eyes stared back at Williams malevolently. Bared teeth as white and pointed as a shark’s added to the sinister aura of the things.
Williams turned his troubled gaze from the unsettling carvings. The party was approaching the far end of the room where a podium had been constructed. On the podium was a huge chair in the form of a squatting stylised human figure with a head much like the masks that adorned the walls. Its arms were raised, elbows bent. One hand bore a kite-shaped shield, the other a short spear. Its seat, formed by the bent knees, was occupied by a burly, stern faced man of middle age whose barrel chest was crisscrossed by a web of ugly ritual scars.
The party approached and the Englishman was forced to his knees. Then the others knelt, heads bowed, both arms stretched out before them in salute. Rangin gave a succinct account of events to his father the tinu, and concluded thus:
“The stranger cannot be but one. There must be others of his kind, perhaps from another valley we know nothing of. My tinu, I do not think we should harm the prisoner. Let him be taught our language, for he knows it not. Then, when he is fluent in our tongue we can question him as to his origins and his people, and after that he can be killed or made a slave as it pleases you.”
“You speak wisely,” replied Kutoa after a moment’s thought. “We have enough trouble with the Nakahu, and the arrival of the stranger may add our problems. Let him be placed with the other captive. The Nakahu prisoner knows our language and can teach him. When he is fluent in our tongue then the interrogation can commence.”
The tinu clapped his hands in dismissal. Williams was hauled to his feet and hustled from the building. The Englishman knew his captors had been discussing him, but being ignorant of the language hadn’t a clue as to what was said. He did, however, feel confident that he wasn’t about to face immediate death and relaxed a little. He sensed they were curious about him and this may have bought him a reprieve. But for how long was impossible to know.
With this in mind the Englishman observed his surroundings, memorising the layout of the city as best he was able so he could devise his escape. The conurbation was orderly planned, divided by a grid of gravel streets and broad avenues like the one they now trod upon. After a few minutes his captors turned down a side street that led to the first stone structure that he’d seen.
It was a circular building that was two hundred feet in diameter. It rose to a height of forty feet with a giant frieze encircling its girth – one pierced by a round door ten feet across. As he drew near, Williams saw that the tower was built of huge blocks of granite set together without mortar, the joints being so fine and carefully crafted that not even a hair could slip between them.
The tower had an aura of hoary antiquity. The dark stone was scabrous from weathering and blotched with moss and lichen, and the ruin was broken at the top indicating it had once been much taller, the jagged edges now worn smooth by countless rains. It was also evident that the fallen debris had been cleared away, and the building repurposed by his captors, but for what reason he couldn’t as yet fathom.
As Williams drew near the Englishman eyed the frieze of huge figures encircling the enigmatic tower, and his nape hairs rose at the sight. There was something unsettling about the carvings. They were too badly eroded by time for details, but nonetheless he sensed in them something alien – something not quite human in their blurred visages that sent a chill of fear – a premonition - racing up his spine.
The Englishman pushed aside the feeling. I’m being unnerved by the weird environment, he thought. “Come on Matthew,” he muttered in self reproach. “Get a grip on yourself. No good jumping at proverbial shadows.”
Shortly, they reached the entryway. Rangin issued commands to the four warriors guarding the portal. The men, muscles bulging with effort, rolled aside the huge stone disc that was the door. Ponderously, it rumbled into a recess in the thick wall. A hard shove sent Williams stumbling within the ruin. He tripped on the uneven floor, fell painfully and swore. Looking up the Englishman saw Rangin gazing at him sardonically, mocking him with a cruel smile.
Williams struggled up and spat curses at the man, but the tinu-na had turned his attention to other matters. He called out in a loud clear voice:
“Isrusa, come forward. I have brought you a strange fellow prisoner who is ignorant of our tongue. Do not harm the man. Rather, teach him our language upon the order of the tinu. Fail and it shall be to your detriment.”
And with that warning, pregnant with dire menace, Rangin bade his men seal the building’s strange portal.
The stone door rumbled shut. The echoes of its closure died away and in the ensuing silence a soft footfall made Williams turn. A being had emerged from the shadows of the crumbling rooms that encircled the inner wall of the ruin, and the Englishman’s eyes widened in disbelief as he gazed upon it. Fear seized him like the talons of a raptor. His hands were still bound behind his back and he was trapped in the tower with this thing.
The unnerving being emerged fully into the light and Williams nervously backed away, alarmed by its disturbing strangeness. The creature was humanoid in form. Its body was covered in scales, black and glossy and as fine as those of the lizards in his parent’s country garden. Instead of hair the head was sheathed in close set stubby cones, canary yellow in colour, which swept back from the high brow and to the nape.
The ears were triangular. Its eyes were large and the colour of luminous amber, and above them, in the place of eyebrows, arched fleshy yellow protuberances similar to a rooster’s comb, but not as large. There were no eyelashes or other hair of any kind, but the eyelids were edged with minute versions of the fleshy eyebrows arching over them.
The nose was remarkably human in appearance as were the being’s yellow lips. The body was slim, graceful. The creature had breasts, small and distinctly conical with prominent yellow nipples. The being’s hips flared as with a human woman and the presence of a yellow vulva further added to the conclusion it was female.
Williams continued to back away as the being advanced. The thing that disturbed him most was the disconcerting blend of human and reptilian characteristics. The being was somewhere in between – not truly one, not truly the other; a woman, yet not a woman. The juxtaposition of contradictory features set his mind frighteningly awhirl.
The Englishman backed up against the wall and the touch of cold stone on naked flesh together with his taut nerves made him jump. Williams leapt away from the chilly granite with a cry of wild alarm.
The approaching being mistook his actions for attack. Isursa hissed. Her full lips, like the skin of a chameleon, changed to the vivid red of anger. Her hand flashed out, her long canary yellow nails, almost talons, swiftly striking at his eyes. The Englishman jerked his head twistingly away, gasped in pain as his cheek was slashed by the clawing blow. He stumbled, barely dodged another strike.
Hampered by his bonds he lashed out with a kick. Isursa nimbly leapt aside, easily avoiding the clumsy attack. She caught his leg, heaved it up above his shoulder. Unbalanced, he tumbled to the ground, taking the bruising fall on his back, chin tucked to chest to avoid cracking his skull on hard stone.
Isursa was on him in an instant. Her strong hands clamped upon his throat, her claw-like nails sank into his flesh. In a wild panic Williams kicked, gasped for breath as he was mercilessly choked. Isursa’s face was cast in ruthlessness. She looked upon him coldly, mercilessly, Rangin’s threats quite forgotten in the heat of battle passion.
There was fear in his eyes, she saw, but strangely she could not see hatred as was the case when she’d killed other Jadaki, or Hairy Ones as her people called humans. Isursa’s rage abated, curiosity replacing her initial wrath. She eased the pressure about his throat and studied him thoughtfully as he lay gasping helplessly beneath her.
No, there were definite differences between this stranger and the other Jadaki. His hair was black and his eyes brown. His skin was also of a slightly darker colour and there were subtle differences in his features and the proportions of his body. Isursa, now calmer, remembered Rangin’s threats. Best she let this strange Jadaki live for now. Besides, teaching the creature might prove an interesting distraction from the boredom of captivity. It was a risk, she knew, for if he discovered what she was doing he might inform her enemies to gain favour with them. Still, she could always kill him later if necessary, and make his death look accidental.
Isursa touched her brow, and uttered her name. Then touched Williams similarly and looked at him questioningly. It took several repeated gestures before the shaken Englishman grasped the meaning of her actions.
“Matthew Williams,” he gasped hoarsely, his breathing still laboured from the effects of her brutal stranglehold. And so his lessons in the foreign tongue of a strange people thus commenced.
**********
Four months had passed and Williams, with little else to do but fill the day (and it was a long one for it was the Antarctic summer where daylight is six months in extent) by learning a new language, was now reasonably fluent in unko, the tongue of his savage captors, and with his growing fluency had slowly come some understanding of the strange peoples of this tor girded land of mystery.
Isrusa was a member of the Nakahu – a humanoid people that the Englishman suspected had evolved from an arboreal species of reptile in what was clearly an example of convergent evolution. Her people were warm blooded and the mothers suckled their young, unlike the reptiles Williams was familiar with. They were, however, ovoviviparous as are some serpents – the female’s fertilized eggs were not laid, but retained within the reproductive system (not the cloaca of the reptile, but a more complex organ with separate excretory and reproductive pathways) where they hatched, and then emerged into the world as miniature versions of the adults.
According to the legends of her people their home had been Koz - a southern land of vast extent, warm and green with life. But slowly change had come upon the continent - glaciers had crept down from the high mountains and the snow grew deeper decade by decade, the winters harsher. Life retreated, died. The fair land became a desolation of bitter cold, and the surviving Nakahu were forced to flee to the warm valley of Goliath or Zaru as they called the isle.
Williams could only conclude that the southern land of which her legends spoke was Antarctica, and the knowledge left him stunned, for he knew enough of science to realize climatic change spanned a scale of geologic time. It was now known that Antarctica had been a green and fertile land, but at some point during the last Ice Age, which had ended 12,000 years ago, the polar continent had begun to freeze over.*
Scientists speculated that as yet unknown factors had caused a change in the pattern of ocean current circulation. This, it was theorised, had created a powerful Antarctic circumpolar current which blocked the warmer, less saline waters from the North Atlantic and Pacific from flowing towards Antarctica, resulting in a dramatic cooling of the land.
The Nakahu had rebuilt their civilization in the warm confines of the geothermal valley. Here they flourished. There were very few dangerous predators. The climate was warm year round with only a slight drop in temperature during winter. Life went on in Arcadian placidity, unchanging and bucolic. Then strife and disaster struck with the coming of the Jadaki.
These humans had come from the north in flying canoes, according to the tales of the Nakahu, fleeing the distant land of Atla, a land overwhelmed by a cataclysm that had sunk it beneath the sea – a disaster that even their great magic could not avert, for the ancient Jadaki had been mighty sorcerers.
Initially, there had been a wary peace between the two peoples, but slowly disputes had arisen over land as the Jadaki grew in numbers, for they reproduced at a greater rate than the Nakahu. Hostility and resentment flared, fuelled by differences in appearance and culture. Armed conflict had broken out. Red war erupted.
The Jadaki, who had hastily fled their sunken land, still possessed some magic – terrible weapons that spat lightening and blasted warriors with all the fury of heaven’s bolts. The Nakahu fought back with their own dark sorcery – weird living instruments that seemed to be an outlandish cross between an octopus and bagpipes (if Isursa’s descriptions could be believed) that spat envenomed darts and jets of liquid fire.
Both sides suffered terrible casualties. Much was destroyed, precious knowledge irrevocably lost. The few survivors on both sides recovered, but each at a vastly lower level of civilization, barely a step above the Neolithic. How long ago these events took place no one knew for sure, but the amazed Englishman correctly guessed it must have been many thousands of years. The history of civilization would clearly need to be amended.
Williams drew his mind to the present. Hatred between the two peoples still simmered. Occasionally, one side would attack the other, but the violence was confined to sporadic skirmishes rather than all out war as both were evenly matched. Isursa had been captured during such a battle – one between her hunting party and the raiders. She was the daughter of Umin, muru (meaning chief) of the Nakahu, and was being held as a hostage by Kutoa.
The tin and copper deposits – essential for the manufacture of bronze – had been exhausted in the Jadaki’s territory, and Kutoa hoped to use Isursa to force Umin to cede land rich in these ores to his people. Each ten-sleep (about 10 days by conventional reckoning) a Nakahu delegation had come to discuss the matter and assure Umin that his daughter was safe and well, but from what Williams could see negotiations had stalled.
Although Umin loved his daughter he wasn’t a tyrant with unbridled authority. He had to take into consideration the views of his peers who had adopted a hard line stance. Kutoa and his inner circle were growing increasingly frustrated at the lack of progress. Tensions were building and Williams sensed that the crisis point was fast approaching where all the aggravations would violently explode.
The grating of the stone door broke through the Englishman’s reflections. It was about noon, (although such terminology was misleading considering the length of the Antarctic day) and the Jadaki party, as he had been forewarned that morning (more accurately, the end of the sleep period) had now arrived to escort him to the presence of Kutoa.
The door fully opened and a warrior beckoned. Williams turned and gazed at Isursa. The serpent-woman returned his stare with an enigmatic expression. Despite their time together she was still largely a closed book. It was clear to Williams that she was wary of him, and he had to admit that his feelings were of a similar nature. They were different species, each disturbingly alien to the other.
Shrugging aside these thoughts he stepped forward to meet his escort. The way was open and for a brief moment he thought of escape, but then dismissed the idea. Where would he run? The Sea Queen and her crew would have departed months ago, giving him up for lost, probably dead. When would the next expedition arrive? When he’d been in Germany the year before learning to fly the helicopter he hadn’t liked what he’d seen. Hitler and his Nazis were a growing menace that threatened Europe. If war erupted, and he felt it likely, then it might be years before another ship would come.
No, his only hope was to befriend his captors if at all possible, and with this in mind he stepped placidly forward as naked as the day he was imprisoned, and let the four warriors lead him from the Nakahu ruin that was their makeshift penitentiary.
Shortly, he stood before Kutoa as he had all those months ago. Although it irked him Williams knelt before his captors, head bowed and arms outstretched in greeting to the tinu as well as his son, who sat upon an ornate stool to the right of his father.
“I have been informed you are now fluent in our tongue,” spoke Kutoa. “I would know of your origin and your people,” he continued. “You are alone and without friends; a prisoner whom I can destroy,” and as a man crushes an insect the tinu tightly clenched his fist to emphasise the point. “Do not try my patience or lie to me.”
Williams, somewhat haltingly began his account, for there were many words and concepts that his captor’s language lacked, and so on numerous occasions he was forced to use very rough equivalents to explain his origin and the circumstances of his arrival on the island. But the gist of it was this: that he was a member of a friendly people who had come out of curiosity and meant no harm to anyone.
“If my magic canoe hadn’t been destroyed,” concluded Williams, referring to the helicopter in a terminology he knew from Isursa his captors would understand, “then I would have left. But now I must remain until my people rescue me.”
Kutoa, who’d been intently listening, leaned back in his anthropomorphic chair, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“We found a strange thing of metal near where you were captured,” said the tinu after a moment’s silence. “And our legends tell of a time when men possessed magic that enabled them to fly and do other wondrous things.” The chief gazed at Williams intently. “You must be a sorcerer, then, to fly through the air like a bird. Such a man would be of great value to me. Use your magic to aid us in wresting from the Nakahu their tin and copper, and in return I will reward you with your life.”
Dread settled heavily upon the Englishman. The look of intense expectancy on the tinu’s face made Williams fully aware his life was on a knife’s edge. The pilot was certain Kutoa wasn’t the kind who’d take “no” for an answer, especially when negotiations between the hostile parties had reached an impasse over vital resources. The air was electric with tension. In the hushed room all eyes were upon him. If he flatly refused there was sure to be an explosion of wild violence. In desperation he decided to temporise.
“I merely flew the magic canoe. Those who created it were sorcerers. I know nothing of the mystic arts.”
Kutoa’s eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared and his body went rigid - he was using every ounce of will to remain calm, to restrain his volcanic temper. “I think you lie,” he harshly said. Then, turning to his son: “Fetch Kutuma the sorcerer. We will seek his opinion on the matter.”
Within a few minutes, although it seemed an age in the strained silence, Rangin returned accompanied by an elderly man whose withered body and skull-like features reminded the nervous Englishman of an Egyptian mummy. The situation had obviously been explained to the sorcerer on the way, for he launched into his opinion without the need for any preamble.
“It is inconceivable,” he began, addressing his expectant audience, “that a man could fly without some knowledge of magic.”
Kutuma paused for a moment to let his words sink in. The old fraudster was a cunning devil. Like most witchdoctors and their ilk he relied on sleight of hand techniques to deceive his fellow tribesmen. He saw in Williams a potential rival who could weaken his own prestige, and for this reason was determined to eliminate the Englishman.
“My tinu,” he said, knowing full well how to turn his volatile chief against the stranger. “Do you remember our legend of the warrior Votunu who was seduced by the Nakahu maiden? These serpent-women have strange powers. Perhaps he has been won over by the creature during his captivity and has pledged to aid her and her people. It is the only explanation I can think of for his refusal to aid us, who are of his own kind.”
Kutoa’s face became a study first in shock, then in absolute revulsion as the sorcerer’s words sank in. The thought of sexual intimacy between a human and Nakahu was as loathsome to the tinu as maggots upon a rotting corpse.
The brewing storm now broke in all its fury. Kutoa shot to his feet, a feral look in his eyes. His fists balled into bony sledgehammers. He leapt at Williams with a wild cry and struck him to the ground, disgust writ large upon his hate contorted visage as he cried a shrill command in hot outrage.
“Guards,” he fiercely yelled. “Seize the prisoner. Drag this filth from my sight and kill him with neither mercy nor compunction. He is the lowest of degenerates and a traitor to all True Men.”
Williams swore as he staggered up. The hard faced guards were swiftly closing in upon him. Words would fail but desperate action might succeed. With a frenzied yell born of spurring fear and knowing he was fighting for his life he swiftly leapt upon the nearest man, fist swinging in a wild blow.
His vicious right slammed against the hapless fellow’s chin as he tried to draw his sword. The savage blow sent him crashing to the floor. Kutoa yelled commands. The remaining warriors, swords drawn, charged. Williams ducked a decapitating swing, punched his opponent in the groin. The man dropped his blade, doubled over in utter agony.
Williams shoved the gasping man into the path of another. The two collided and tumbled to the boards. A third antagonist vaulted his fallen comrades, sword swinging in a vicious blow. The Englishman leapt in close, caught the fighter’s wrist and jammed the brutal stroke. Williams twisted his opponent’s limb. The man swore in pain, dropped his weapon, but managed to kick the Englishman’s shin.
Williams’ swore, lost his hold on his opponent’s arm. The two clinched, wrestled desperately. The Englishman’s protagonist broke his grip, caught him by the throat. Williams gasped, choked. He couldn’t breathe. With a savage victory cry the fourth warrior raced towards the helpless pilot who had been forced upon his knees. Williams struggled but to no avail. He could only watch in utter horror as his second assailant leapt at him, sword thrusting to plunge between his ribs.
*Endnote: In our reality Antarctica began to freeze over 34 million years ago rather than just 12 thousand years ago, most likely due to a combination of reduction in atmospheric carbon dioxide levels and changing ocean currents.
Rangin yelled an order and the darting sword halted within an inch of William’s side. Kutoa turned upon his son, angry words spewing from his lips like burning cobra venom.
“What is this?” he cried in wild fury. “Would you show mercy to this creature?”
“Not at all,” smoothly spoke Rangin who had neither forgotten nor forgiven Williams for spitting in his face and now, seeing the prisoner was no longer of value due to either ignorance of magic or connivance with the Nakahu, had seized the opportunity to avenge his injured pride.
“For consorting with our enemies a swift and simple death is insufficient punishment. Let the man be imprisoned until we devise a gruesome means of execution befitting the foulness of his crimes; one that will also serve as a dire warning to others who might be tempted to consort with the Nakahu.”
Kutoa settled as he contemplated these cunning and appealing words.
“You are right,” he slowly said. “Isursa will not be harmed for the moment - she may yet prove useful to us. But this man ... Let his death be as horrid as his foul perversions.” Then, turning to the other warriors who had struggled to their feet: “Return the prisoner to the tower and guard him well.”
Kutoa smiled an evil smile imbued with all the pent-up and brooding passion of reprisal as Williams was roughly seized and dragged from the building. The Englishman neither protested nor resisted. He’d hoped he could befriend his captors, but now saw that every hand was turned against him. Kutuma and Rangin had succeeded in poisoning the tinu’s mind. Any attempt at explanations would be futile. Clearly, his only chance at life lay in swift escape and so he must conserve his strength for that.
Shortly, he was before the tower’s circular door. Burly guards rolled the ponderous disc aside and he was shoved so violently through the portal that he again stumbled and fell painfully to the rough paving. The door rolled shut behind him. Williams muttered an oath and rose. Isursa stood before him.
“Your meeting with the tinu does not appear to have gone well,” she calmly observed.
The Englishman bit back a sharp remark. Isursa had a habit of stating the obvious that he found infuriating at times. They weren’t enemies, but neither were they friends. Even after all these months each was still wary of the other. There was no emotional connection. Isursa had taught him unko in a proficient and impersonal manner, and he sensed she was studying him as a man might study an exotic animal, but that was largely the extent of their interactions. When not instructing him she kept mostly to herself. Williams, heretofore put off by her strangeness and reserve, now realised he had made a serious mistake by not trying to pierce her reserve. Perhaps, he thought, a common enemy could act as the bridge between them.
Succinctly, he explained what had transpired in the tinu’s presence and concluded thus: “Kutoa has not harmed you yet, but he is a violent and brutal man who has no love for you or your people. He will not stay his hand indefinitely. If we work together perhaps we can escape.”
Isursa tilted her head sideways. “You would cooperate with a Nakahu,” she asked doubtfully. “That is an anathema to the Jadaki.”
“I may look like a Jadaki, but I am not one,” he replied. “You and your people have done nothing to harm me and I have done nothing to harm them. Why shouldn’t we cooperate? The Jadaki are our common foe, and I am not a member of their tribe. I have received nothing but insults and injury at their hands.”
Isursa thought long and hard, carefully considering his words. What he said made sense and by now the serpent-woman realised she also needed help if her secret plan was to succeed.
“Come with me,” she replied, arriving at a decision – not an easy one for she had to put aside her deep suspicion of the Jadaki – her traditional enemies whom Williams bore a strong resemblance to.
The anxiously waiting man relaxed a little and followed Isursa to the area of the ruined tower that comprised her private quarters – a place where he had never been before, for she had made it clear it was out of bounds to him.
Stepping through the arched doorway Williams found himself in a windowless chamber not too dissimilar to his own – a largely empty room that comprised a quadrant of the tower wall whose vaulted ceiling rose high above his head. A hammock, stool and several nondescript items comprised the cell’s furnishings, so it wasn’t these unremarkable miscellanea which caused the Englishman to pause in deep astonishment.
Four flagstones had been prised away and beneath the heavy slabs, now revealed, lay an alloy disc with two large rings set in its scabby face. The metal was dull and pitted with the corrosion of millennia, but sturdy despite its great antiquity, and as Williams looked upon the thing his pulse quickened with soaring hope for beneath the rusty cover was surely an egress from their prison-tower.
“It has taken me many sleep-periods,” explained Isursa as Williams swung his gaze upon her, “to loosen these heavy stones with sharpened bones from our prison fare. This tower was one of many constructed by my ancestors long before the coming of the Jadaki. The war I told you of destroyed much knowledge, but my people retained more than the Hairy Ones.
“These towers, the residences of learned men and women, all had chambers built beneath them, and when I couldn’t find the entrance to them it was clear to me it had been concealed. These flagstones looked a little different from the rest, and so I took a chance, one which has been amply rewarded.
“Here,” she continued, handing the Englishman a pointed bone, one of several lying near the disc. “You can help me pick away the remaining dirt and rust that jams the metal seal, and together we should have strength enough to pull it free.”
Williams eagerly set to work. But even with their combined efforts progress was painfully slow – care had to be taken not to break the thin bone tools, which blunted easily and had to be sharpened frequently by rubbing their tips on the rough stone. The Englishman could well understand how it had taken months for Isursa to loosen the flagstone’s mortar and pull them out, and he began to worry that even with their combined effort it might take many weeks to free the metal plate – plenty of time for Rangin and his father to devise some horrid means of execution.
They had been steadily working for about an hour when the sound of the prison door being rolled aside jerked Williams’ head in that direction, and in an instant sick fear came upon the jittery man.
Isursa hissed violently and grasped one ring of the disc. “Take the other and pull with all your strength,” she swiftly urged.
Williams didn’t need encouragement. The coming of the guards could only mean his captors had devised a grisly death for him. He heaved mightily as did Isursa, but despite their desperate efforts the stubborn disc didn’t budge a fraction of an inch. The sound of running feet was a spur to the straining man – the guards, finding his room empty, were coming to investigate Isursa’s.
Wild fear leant him almost superhuman strength as the sounds of the rushing warriors drew ever nearer. Williams pulled mightily, thighs, arms and back quivering with the strain. He groaned, threw all his strength against the obdurate plate as did his struggling companion.
The metal gave with a rasp. The plate popped free like a cork and pungent amethyst gas gushed from the aperture. Williams and the serpent-woman staggered back and tumbled to the floor as Rangin and six warriors burst within the room. The Jadaki halted, looked on in frozen shock as the purple vapour quickly dissipated. But their consternation didn’t last for long - the tinu-na swiftly cried a sharp command and in an instant his savage men rushed the fallen pair.
Williams cursed as he heaved himself erect and raised the disc like a shield. A sword clanged violently on the metal plate. Isursa, from a crouch by the pilot’s feet used her tool to stab his assailant in the groin. The man howled, collapsed upon the floor. Five others quickly took his place. Swords stabbed, hacked, rang on the alloy cover. The sweating Englishman backed away, shielding himself and Isursa from the wild blows. It was a valiant effort, but outnumbered doomed to failure.
A sword slashed Williams’ arm. He dropped the heavy plate with a wild curse. His back was to the wall. By his side Isursa fiercely gripped her makeshift dagger as she stoked her courage to meet the savage onslaught of the hated Jadaki.
But as the foe prepared to charge the couple in a wild whirl of slashing blades, a sudden movement from the edge of vision drew Rangin’s startled eye. He turned his head, cried in utter fright. His wild yell, imbued with crawling fear, drew the gaze of all within the room.
A snaky horror was rising up from the opening in the floor. The thing climbed higher, further still until it almost touched the lofty ceiling of the room. The creature swayed cobra-like; its thick spiny scales, olive green, rasped with the sinuous movement of its nightmare form. The skull was crocodilian in appearance with long narrow jaws. The dark eyes, though, were laterally positioned and mounted in swivelling turrets.
The thing’s mouth yawned. A hose-like tongue darted from the gaping fang lined maw. A copious spray of volatile liquid jetted from the ropy organ. Rangin and his men leapt aside. The fluid splattered the room’s threshold, smoked then burst into roaring flame.
Wild chaos erupted. One warrior, splashed by the liquid screamed horribly as the fluid caught violently alight. The man staggered, wreathed in flames. The others rushed for the exit only to be driven back by blistering fire. The monster’s head darted, its liquid expended. Jaws crunched savagely on bone. A Jadaki howled, was jerked aloft wriggling in the creature’s grinding jaws. The thing tossed its head, flung the hapless man against the wall with a sickening blood soaked splat and then darted for another.
From the floor Williams looked on in utter horror, saw the creature snap at Rangin. The tinu-na swung his sword in a lusty blow. The blade rang on the monster’s scaly hide. It jerked back in preparation for another savage strike.
“Into the hole,” cried Isursa as she grabbed Williams by the shoulder.
“What?” gasped the startled Englishman with incredulity.
Isursa didn’t argue. She slid within the gaping aperture. Williams cursed. He threw a glance towards the flame barred door. Darting howling warriors struggled before the backdrop of the roaring glare. Swords clanged on steely scales. Savage imprecations filled the air as desperate men battled for their lives. There was no way out and in but moments the monster’s crushing jaws might pulverize his bones as it had two other Jadaki.
Williams swore. He threw a final glance at the battling Jadaki; saw Rangin leap the flaming barrier which had subsided. The chief’s son was no doubt rushing for reinforcements. It appeared he didn’t have a choice but to take a desperate risk and plunge feet first into unknown peril. As he slid within the hole the monster’s swaying body caught him for a moment. Air whooshed from his lungs as he was crushed against the edge. Spiny scales stabbed his naked flesh and he would have screamed if he had the breath.
The creature moved. He slid free, crashed against the thing’s coiled body then dropped painfully to the floor of the subterranean chamber. Williams forced himself to stand against the agony of his contusions. His senses reeled from his injuries and from the remnants of the purple gas which had kept the monster in suspended animation.
A movement caught William’s eye. He turned. Fear gripped him like a vice. The creature was coiling itself back into the chamber. It had killed the remaining Jadaki and now sought to rend the rash interlopers who dared to trespass upon its hidden den.
The Englishman looked wildly about the spacious chamber. His heart seemed to skip a beat. Isursa lay by an iris door on the room’s further side, overcome by traces of the gas. He reeled towards her, stumbled, sprawled upon the floor. Williams tried to struggle up but collapsed again. Behind him he heard the rasping scales of the monster – unnerving, terrifying - now almost fully within the room. The fear of horrid death came upon him in a wild rush.
Terror lashed Williams. Wild fear lent him strength. He clung to consciousness. By sheer willpower he struggled to his knees, to his feet. Staggering to Isursa’s side he collapsed against the iris door, clung to it with clawing fingers.
Williams turned, panting with exertion. The monster was now fully within its lair. Baneful eyes blazed at him, vibrant with malignant life. The Englishman fought off paralysing horror. He gripped the lever by the metal door, heaved mightily as he kept an apprehensive eye on the creature.
The portal spiralled open, slowly, painfully – and infinity of time to the anxious man who knew in but moments he would succumb to the remnants of the debilitating gas. The creature coiled its terrible length in readiness to strike. Williams grabbed Isursa and hauled her up with a mighty effort. He stumbled through the entrance, the insensate woman in his trembling hands, darkness crawling at the edges of his vision.
Consciousness was fading fast. Isursa slid from his failing arms. He reeled, lunged at the other lever which he prayed would close the spiral door. Through dimming vision he glimpsed the monster strike. It leapt at him – huge, terrible, fang lined maw horribly agape. Then darkness swamped his senses and drowned him in black oblivion.
Williams dimly heard a sound. It seemed to come from a great distance as if drifting through a sea of fog. His disjointed mind took several moments to realise that it was his own name being called. He opened his eyes and looked upon Isursa’s concerned face, her colour changing lips pale blue with worry.
“Are you in much pain?” she genuinely asked, for she was not ungrateful for his saving of her life, which for her had established the beginnings of an emotional connection.
Williams winced as he gingerly sat up. He was amazed that they were still alive. His falling body must have struck the lever and closed the door just in time.
“Nothing I can’t deal with,” he replied as he looked at his bruised and bleeding body whose injuries were not as bad as they appeared to be. “What was that thing?” he continued, pointing at the closed door and the quiescent creature beyond it. “And what is this place?”
“The creature was a guardian – a magical creation left here by my ancestors in enchanted seep to protect the vaults beneath this tower,” she explained.
The Englishman looked at her sharply. “You knew of its existence and yet you didn’t warn me.”
“I suspected, but didn’t know for certain. If I’d told you would you have been so eager to help me?”
Williams’ face hardened. “I don’t like being kept in ignorance. I could have easily been killed.”
“A quick death compared to the one our enemies would give us,” she replied sharply. “So long as I am a hostage Kutoa can use me against my people. I would rather die whilst trying to escape than see that happen.
“Come,” she concluded curtly as she stood. “We must be on our way. The Jadaki do not give up easily. They will bring more warriors. If they succeed in slaying the guardian they will surely follow us.”
Williams stifled a hot reply as he got to his feet. There was no point in creating a rift between them. He felt their alliance was a fragile thing and he wisely decided to drop the issue. If he continued to show good will then perhaps she’d trust him more.
They walked in silence down the circular tunnel that stretched out interminably before them, the Englishman in a thoughtful and subdued frame of mind. Before, he’d been uncertain how much of what Isursa had revealed about her people’s history was factual and not merely the fantasy of legend, but now before his eyes was clear evidence of an advanced civilization far older than that of humankind.
Williams ran his fingers over the tunnel wall. It was as smooth as glass – clearly the passage had been bored and polished by machines, for no hand, human or otherwise, could achieve such a precision finish. Above him on the ceiling was more evidence – large cubes of phosphorescent crystal whose pale pearly radiance illuminated the dusty way, and then there was the guardian: a created creature, moulded by weird science as a potter shapes clay upon the wheel.
The Englishman shuddered. He had stumbled into something that was beyond his experience. He was out of his depth and on a path to who knew what and where. Williams shifted his gaze to Isursa – enigmatic, alien. He felt reoccurring fear rear up within him – an unnerving swirl of formless apprehensions. He stumbled a little, but pressed on, battling the rising tide of morbid dread.
After an indeterminate time an archway loomed before them where the tunnel gave egress to another chamber. Isursa quickened her pace at the sight, only to stumble when a section of the floor gave beneath her tread.
The trigger mechanism released several crystal cubes from the ceiling. They shattered on the floor before them whilst others burst behind. Amethyst gas puffed out. Strange insects rolled from the broken forms. Williams and the serpent-woman halted in surprise. Both looked on in growing horror as the now awakened creatures madly scuttled at them – dozens of black and spiny beetles as large as eggs, huge mandibles oozing green venom.
Williams turned, swore. “They’re behind us too,” he gasped.
“We can’t turn back,” cried Isursa. “We’ll have to leap the things.”
Both charged towards the rushing horrors as the others swiftly closed upon them from behind. They leapt with all their might, the rearmost horrors snapping at their heels. The hoard of spiny bodies collided in a tangle, milled about in confusion as their prey sailed above and sprinted through the arched doorway.
Williams briefly glimpsed the nature of the room – spacious, a long high bench running down its length, one cluttered with miscellanea. He leapt upon the worktable, Isursa swiftly following him as the swarming beetles, now reorganised, burst within the room.
The Englishman frantically looked about, searching for a makeshift weapon as the scuttling creatures began to swiftly climb the bench’s legs in a rolling tide of horror. His darting eyes fell upon two metallic objects, long and slender with three spheres bulging on their lengths. Williams snatched them up, tossed one to Isursa and with his own clubbed the foremost bug as it gained the table top.
Isursa joined his frantic efforts, battering left and right with all her strength. But the things were tough, tenacious. The couple’s wild blows had no effect but to sweep the ghastly things from bench, and no sooner had they hit the floor than the bugs were swiftly climbing once again.
Williams began to tire. Sweat flew from his swinging arms which grew leaden with every frantic sweep. They were pressed back to back battling for their lives. Isursa’s lips were orange with fear. The things sensed their failing strength, massed for a final wild rush.
This is it, thought Williams as his knuckles whitened on the rod and his finger accidently pressed a stud that he hadn’t noticed heretofore.
A narrow beam of livid light erupted from the weapon at his touch and burst against the wall in an explosive coruscation of wildly hissing sparks. For a moment Williams was frozen by the completely unexpected, but then the rushing creatures snapped him free and he swung the flaming ray upon their hurtling forms.
The bugs burst sickeningly, their innards boiled by the power of the beam as he swept the ray across them like a blowtorch, and in less time than it takes to tell the entire swarm had been obliterated.
Williams lowered the rod and wiped the sweat from his face with a trembling hand. Their escape from a horrid death had been a near thing, and now that the danger had passed the strain of his ordeals began to show. Unsurprisingly, it was some minutes before either of them regained their composure.
Isursa, her lips now their normal yellow, gazed at the weapon in awe, ignoring her own as the device had components missing from it and was useless. “This is ancient magic,” she observed in a hushed tone. “Never did I think I would see such a thing.”
“A weapon of your people?” asked Williams.
“No,” she replied. “The weapons of my ancestors were living things. “This is ancient Jadaki magic, but what is it doing here?”
Williams looked about the rectangular room, now able to give his full attention to it with the passing of the threat. The long wide bench, which stretched almost its entire length, was covered in strange mechanisms – some seemed to be powerful microscopes, but of that he could not be certain. Others, however, resembled abstract sculptures whose function was beyond his comprehension. In addition there were four other rod-shaped weapons which, unlike Isursa’s, hadn’t been disassembled for analysis.
The entire room - obviously some kind of laboratory - had the look of having been hastily abandoned, probably during the ancient conflict between Jadaki and Nakahu. Some equipment had fallen from the bench as if the occupants had fled chaotically, and against one wall was a pile of mouldering scrolls that had tumbled from their niches as if important documents had been grabbed in frenzied haste. Williams revealed his suspicions to Isursa as he slid from the bench.
“I think you’re right,” replied the serpent-woman as she watched him examine a dusty indeterminate instrument. “According to our legends things were very chaotic towards the end. The Jadaki advanced rapidly, driving us from our territory and to the valley’s further end. It cost them many lives and...”
Williams head jerked up. He stilled her speech with a raised hand. “What was that?” he whispered nervously.
Isursa stiffened. “Footsteps,” she replied tensely, her lips changing to orange as she turned her head. “Many men are coming. Quickly, let us shelter in the room’s other doorway,” she concluded as she made a grab for a working weapon.
But before she could grasp the rod an arrow winged thorough the archway. The shaft caromed angrily off the tabletop in a near miss. The serpent-woman hissed, jerked back her hand. Both bolted for the second portal as a dozen fresh and eager warriors burst within the room, Rangin in the lead and thirsting violently for blood.
With a wild yell the chief’s son loosed another arrow, narrowly missing Williams due to over eagerness. Isursa and the Englishman darted within the doorway as other flying shafts hissed above their ducking forms. Williams poked his weapon out, fired the ray in a sweeping arc. One man screamed horribly, was cut down. The others dropped to the floor, the blazing beam slashing stone above their heads like a sword of fire.
“Magic,” wailed one warrior in utter horror.
“Hold,” cried Rangin, fighting down his own unnerving terror. “I’ll slaughter the entire family of any coward who flees. We killed the monster with our poison arrows when we sunk our shafts in its eyes. Our weapons are just as deadly,” he concluded grimly as he swiftly loosed another arrow.
The speeding barb hissed within the portal, ricocheted on stone and nearly struck the nervous Englishman. Williams fired again, but was driven back by another swift flight of arrows. He jumped in fright when Isursa gripped his arm – an indication of how tensely wound he was.
“We must flee,” she warned. “I’m familiar with that poison. The slightest scratch can kill and we’re outnumbered.”
Williams nodded. They were pinned down by the enemy. It was only a matter of time before a lucky shot would end their lives with just a scratch. Grim faced the couple retreated in a state of extreme anxiety as more flights of arrows wildly ricocheted down the tunnel’s narrow way. A spinning shaft struck Williams as he backed away. He gasped in fear, then calmed a little. He was very lucky – it was the fletching, not the poisoned barb that had hit him.
A figure darted across the tunnel’s mouth, loosed a shaft. The Englishman fired, missed as did the enemy’s barb. Sweat was upon William’s brow. The warriors were repositioning themselves for a better line of fire.
Williams felt like a rat trapped in a maze with marauding cats hot upon his tail. There was only one thing he could do – a dangerous risk if this passageway led nowhere, but he felt he had to take the chance. He raised his weapon and sent a stabbing beam of fire to lance against the tunnel’s ceiling above its entryway.
Sparks erupted with volcanic fury. Stone crumbled. A chunk of masonry fell, and then another tumbled to the floor as the raging beam ate like fuming acid. Williams swept the ray from side to side. Stone shattered, cascaded; shook the passageway with its crashing fall. Dust billowed chokingly. The couple stumblingly retreated as the weakened ceiling collapsed entirely in a roar of whirling rock that completely blocked the tunnel’s entryway, and caused the foe upon the other side to curse in utter rage.
**********
Williams eyed Isursa with growing concern. Approximately twenty four hours had passed since they’d emerged from the subterranean passageways through a concealed stone door; one hidden in a rugged cleft several miles from the habitation of the Jadaki. Here they’d briefly paused to cobble makeshift loincloths from a beard-like epiphyte and bathe their wounded bodies in the lake. Their primitive garb and cleansing ablutions complete, they’d continued on their way, and were now at the boarder of Nakahu territory as indicated by the fallen, moss encrusted stele that Isursa sat in rest upon.
He thought she’d be relieved that they were on the verge of safety, but her anxiety was plain to see, and belied his logical assumption. The Englishman sat next to her and placed his arm about her shoulders in amiable comradeship, for shared adversity had slowly drawn them together. Their escape from captivity, the struggle through dense forest and its hazards all required the need for each to help the other. All these incidents on their own were small, but the whole was greater than its parts, and now he saw that though her body wasn’t human she had more in common with Mankind than he’d supposed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You’re nearly home. Soon you shall see your father and be safely within the walls of his abode.”
Isursa looked at him, a morose expression upon her face. “I fear that by escaping I have inadvertently given the Jadaki the very means by which they can destroy my people.”
She touched the ancient weapon Williams carried with him. “Rangin is no fool,” she continued. “He saw you use this thing and will soon discover how the others work. Jadaki shields will stop our arrows, but our shields will be useless. The burning ray will cut through wood and flesh as easily as a sharp blade sunders rotten cloth. We cannot stand against this ancient magic, and they have more of these devices than we do.”
Williams swore softly. Being so focused on survival and escape he hadn’t thought through the implications of events, and a sick feeling came upon him as now he clearly saw what Isursa had perceived. Rangin and his father were ruthlessly ambitious. Seizing the copper and tin mines wouldn’t be enough. Now, thanks to the power of the weapons they could conquer the entire territory and reduce Isursa’s people to a debased state of slavery, or worse utterly exterminate them.
“Don’t blame yourself,” he consoled. “No one could have known of the presence of these weapons. Besides, the others may not work at all.”
The last was a forlorn hope and both knew it. The ancient Jadaki had had a science far superior to anything the modern world possessed. What powered the device and how it worked was beyond William’s comprehension – something future generations of the outer world might discover.
The Englishman pushed aside these bleak thoughts as he stood. “Come on,” he said. “The sooner we inform your father the sooner plans can be made. We mustn’t give way to despair. Surely, something can be done.”
Isursa smiled a little as Williams extended his hand and helped her rise. They resumed their trek, the serpent-woman in a slightly better frame of mind. They had traversed about half a mile when Williams caught a flash of movement from the edge of vision.
A figure leapt from the bush, slammed against him before he could react. Isursa hissed in alarm as he crashed upon the ground. More forms erupted from the undergrowth. Bodies piled on the struggling Englishman in swift attack, pinning his arms, his legs. A blade was pressed against his neck and wild fear came upon him at its razor touch.
“Stop,” cried Isursa frantically. “This man is a friend. He helped me escape the Jadaki and saved my life on more than one occasion.”
Hesitantly, the blade fell away from William’s throat and his wary foes slowly released him. The Englishman rolled over and met the guarded looks of the Nakahu who were returning from their hunt.
Houpu, leader of the party turned to Isursa, incredulity plain to see upon his face as he spoke to her in cori, the language of the Nakahu.
“We are overjoyed to see you free, but it is difficult to believe that a Nakahu would befriend a Jadaki. Are you well Isursa? Is this creature a magician who has ensnared you in a web of evil sorcery?”
“I’m perfectly well,” she replied imperiously, her lips growing red in anger. “More importantly, I have urgent news for my father. I command you and your men to escort us to his presence without delay.”
Cowed and feeling out of his depth as a simple hunter, Houpu was only too willing to defer responsibility to Isursa, daughter of Umin his muru (chief). He was only following orders and be it upon her head if the strange Jadaki proved treacherous. And so the party set off with haste towards the citadel of the Nakahu despite the doubts of many of the warriors concerning the presence of the Englishman.
An hour and a half later Williams, tired and footsore, gazed upon the Nakahu habitation, which had been built on a spit of fortified land jutting out into the steaming lake that lay before him at a lower elevation.
The gray stone buildings were ring shaped and two stories in height, their central courtyards being surrounded by a portico that gave access to public spaces about the inner circumference, and also to stairways leading to the encircling veranda of the upper floor where the private rooms of the residence were located.
Lengthy rectangular towers projected from the outer wall of the buildings, giving them the appearance of giant cogwheels, and it was clear to the Englishman that any attackers would find themselves caught in the crossfire from these structures. The habitations were huge - large enough to accommodate the extended families that formed the clans which were a characteristic of Nakahu society, with a hundred people or more occupying each waru as the domiciles were called.
The waru were arranged in neat close set rows, each linked to the other by networks of rope suspension bridges high above the ground so if a building was overrun by the enemy its occupants could retreat to another and the ropes severed, or reinforcements sent to aid those besieged.
No windows or doors were in evidence on the ground floor of the waru. Access was by a ladder to a recess in the upper story, with the ladder being drawn up in times of danger. Arrow slits were the only form of aperture in the outer wall of the buildings, these located well above ground level.
The rooms of the habitations were illuminated mostly by light spilling in from the circular courtyard through the waru’s portico and veranda, with additional radiance provided by lattice skylights set with flattened pieces of translucent animal horn (softened and shaped by boiling) from the omas – a boar-like creature indigenous to the island.
Overall, the waru had a hunkering, fortress-like aspect – austere and uninviting. But as Williams was to pleasantly discover this severity was purely external. The Nakahu had a love of art and the interior of the waru had been lavishly ornamented with intricate carvings of naturalistic and abstract forms on nearly every surface that could be sculpted. On the polished floors borders of marquetry in pearly shell, and wood in hues of bronze and ebony, added to the extensive decoration.
They began their descent, eventually halting at the gatehouse of the towering wall that formed part of the encircling defences of the serpent-people’s stronghold. Again, Williams was met with suspicion and hostility, but Isursa’s authority prevailed and the glowering guards let them pass.
The Englishman’s discomfort continued as they entered. Between the rows of waru were cultivated plots with numerous Nakahu at work. Many recognised Isursa and shouted joyous greetings, but for Williams there were only looks of hate and hissed insults. It seemed to the pilot that wherever he turned he was met with mistrust and unfriendliness. The friendly shores of England seemed more distant than the moon, and he was hard pressed not to fall into a deep pit of black despair.
A runner had gone ahead to announce their coming, and so it was that Umin met Isursa at the entrance of his waru. He embraced her with fatherly affection then, after a lengthy discussion in cori with his daughter, turned his wary gaze upon the waiting Englishman.
Williams saw that Umin’s physique displayed characteristics typical of the males of his species – broad, powerful shoulders and narrow hips; thickly muscled arms chest and legs. His body was covered in ebony scales that were coarser than a serpent-woman’s. His head was sheathed in closely set stubby cones, canary yellow in colour, and in addition there was a Mohawk-like crest of these protuberances that was absent in the females of his people.
He was dressed in the unisex garb of the Nakahu – a kilt of silky cloth decorated with embroidered geometrical designs in yellow, red and blue. Fiber sandals shod his feet, and a crown-like headdress of white plumes – the symbol of his rank - completed his apparel.
“Isursa vouches for you,” said Umin in unko, the language of the Jadaki, for many of his people were bilingual. “But to me you look too much like a Hairy One to trust entirely,” he continued with a scowl of frank disapproval.
“Father,” objected Isursa sharply.
“He may enter in peace,” conceded Umin with a grimace. “But I intend to have him carefully watched.”
Williams kept silent as they entered the waru and descended to the ground floor via another ladder in a well-like shaft. It wasn’t exactly the gratitude he’d been hoping for, but he made an effort to look on the bright side of things – at least he wasn’t being dragged off to some dingy cell or the executioner’s chopping block.
News of events quickly spread through the city, and in a remarkably short time important personages had gathered in the public space of the courtyard. Here, the danger was explained by Isursa and the power of the ancient weapon demonstrated. An oval shield was propped up using a spear and Williams sliced through it with the ray. The display caused uproar. People leapt to their feet in a panic, shouting wildly.
One fellow in particular – a powerfully built Nakahu whom the Englishman had observed glaring at him with thunderous hostility from the moment the meeting had been called, cried out stridently above the consternated throng:
“Kill the Jadaki,” he wildly yelled in cori. “Slay him before he murders all of us with his evil sorcery.”
Williams didn’t need to speak cori to know the fellow was inciting hatred. He’d well and truly had enough. The Englishman was trying to help these people and so far he’d been met with nothing but hostility and suspicion.
“Silence,” he roared. “If treachery was my goal I’d have turned the weapon on all of you rather than the shield. The Jadaki are no friends of mine. Why do you think I helped Isursa? Are these the actions of an enemy? Are all of you so blinded by fear and prejudice that you cannot see I’m here to offer aid?”
The crowd, understanding what he’d said in unko, fell silent, but William’s accuser stepped forward aggressively. “I will not be lectured to in my own home,” he spat with venom, “least of all by a dirty Hairy One.”
“Enough,” interjected Umin. “Remain silent, Kinuno,” he continued shooting a warning look at the Englishman’s detractor.
“But ...”
“I said remain silent. You are not the muru of our people and you never will be, so do not presume to act like one.”
Kinuno bowed low to hide his snarling sullen look and backed stiffly within the crowd as Umin turned to address the confused and jittery throng.
“My councillors and I will convene a private meeting to address the looming threat in detail. In the meantime all clan-leaders ready your warriors, prepare our defences. These are my commands until further orders are announced.” Then turning to Isursa: “Escort this Jadaki to the rooms reserved for visitors. Arrange for his needs and meet me in the council chamber.” Then to Williams: “You will be summoned should the need arise. Now,” continued Umin extending his hand, “the weapon if you please.”
**********
It was the Antarctic summer where daylight is six months long, but a darkness almost as black as night had fallen due to a pall of heavy ominous cloud. The hour was that of early evening by conventional reckoning and Williams, now fed and clothed in fresh Nakahu raiment, restlessly paced the narrow confines of his room, which was lighted by bioluminescent plants in hanging baskets. So far he hadn’t been summoned to the meeting, and his impatience was growing by the minute for he felt he could make a useful contribution.
Moving to the door he looked out into the dark courtyard. His guestroom was located on the ground floor and the occupants of the dwelling had retired to their private rooms on the upper level for the period of sleep drew near. An occasional fragment of conversation, muffled and unintelligible, drifted down from above momentarily breaking the silence. The colonnade was deserted and shrouded in the gloom of the approaching storm.
No guards were visible. The watchers were either well hidden or Umin had revised his appraisal, decided Williams wasn’t much of a threat, and with the looming crises had posted every available warrior at the stronghold’s walls to deal with the greater danger of the Jadaki.
Damn the wait, thought Williams irritably. I’m getting cabin fever cooped up in the confines of this room. I need to breathe some fresh air.
The Englishman stepped cautiously into the colonnade. No irate shout of alarm shattered the silence. No spear armed warriors leapt at him from the darkness. Emboldened, he began a slow circuit of the portico to stretch his legs and ease the tension from his body.
Williams had traversed about a quarter of the way when the sound of raised voices made him pause and quickly step behind the concealing mass of a pillar. Cautiously, he peered around the thick column. Some distance away he spotted two shadowy figures. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated one. Williams grimaced. It was Kinuno – his chief detractor.
“What is the Jadaki to you,” harshly grated out the angry fellow as he roughly gripped the other by the arm. “I desire you, as you well know.”
“Let go” – Isursa’s voice, sharp with anger.
Williams tensed. Both were speaking in their native tongue, and although he couldn’t understand what was said he sensed this was a lover’s tiff. He hesitated to intervene in a private matter.
Kinuno muttered something unintelligible. There was a violent struggle in the darkness, a muffled cry cut short by rolling thunder. Williams didn’t need to speak the language to know what was going on. He leapt from concealment, rushed towards the wrestling figures. Grabbing Kinuno by the shoulder the Englishman spun him round and drove his fist against the fellow’s chin. The serpent-man reeled. Furiously, Williams stalked forward, sank a vicious blow into his adversary’s gut. Kinuno gasped, doubled over. His pain contorted face met William’s striking knee and the brutal impact sent the serpent-woman’s molester crashing to the floor.
Isursa quickly interposed herself between the pair. “Enough,” she hissed in warning.
Kinuno wiped his bloody face. Both men glared at each other with utter fury that boded further wild violence.
“You will say nothing of this,” she harshly ordered Kinuno. “My father will not be pleased if he learns you have laid violent hands upon me, and you well know his anger will be great and his vengeance swift. In turn I will say nothing, for you are our best warrior and we need every man of fighting age. Now go!”
Kinuno slowly rose with sullen insolence, his lips dark red with both blood and violent anger. “You need me, but we don’t need that filthy Jadaki.”
A dangerous look came upon Isursa’s face – the desire to hurt this arrogant, presumptuous fellow. “You seek me as a wife not because you love me but for the privileges our marriage shall bring to you. I would rather be ... I would rather be mated to a Jadak! Now leave us!”
For a moment Kinuno stood in rigid shock and disbelief. A flash of lightening illuminated his face and Williams saw his hatred - hotter than fire and more poisonous than cyanide. Thunder crashed like a cannonade. The Englishman readied himself for further violence but Kinuno, with enormous effort, managed to contain his towering rage and jealousy. The serpent-man turned on his heel, and without another word walked stiffly across the courtyard, vanishing into the gloom of rain that began to pour in drenching torrents.
Delayed reaction set in. Isursa staggered. Williams caught the serpent-woman. She clung to him and he held her. In the darkness it was difficult to tell she wasn’t human. Her skin with its fine scales was soft and warm, and her firm breasts pressed against him as any human woman’s might. Her natural scent reminded him of nutmeg. It was an intimate moment that the startled Englishman found strangely arousing.
“Are you hurt?” he asked his voice a little unsteady from the power of his emotions.
“No, I’m just upset,” she replied softly, still clinging to him. “Though we fight the Jadaki, and viciously, there is very little violence among ourselves. It is a rare thing and quite shocking to us. You have made a dangerous enemy in Kinuno, and for that I am very sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he replied. “You are my... my friend and friends help each other.”
Isursa’s eyes met his, amber and luminous in the dark. She seemed on the verge of saying something, then looked away and gently freed herself from his embrace.
“I was on my way to bring you to the council when Kinuno, who had excused himself from the meeting on the pretext of relieving his bladder, accosted me in the darkness of the storm. Come, lest we are late and suspicions thereby aroused.”
Friends, thought Williams as he silently followed her. He reflected on the surge of anger he’d experienced when he heard Isursa’s muffled scream and the knowledge Kinuno was responsible. He could have easily killed the serpent-man. Were these powerful emotions, feelings that he now realised had been slowly developing, engendered by more than just friendship?
And then there was Isursa’s insult she’d hurled at Kinuno – that she’d rather be mated to a Jadaki. Williams could have felt offended by that remark, for the implication was not at all flattering - the equivalent an Englishwoman saying intimacy with a dog would be preferable. Was her comment something like a Freudian slip – an unintentional revelation of subconscious feelings - that she truly desired him despite all their differences? Somehow he sensed there was a deeper meaning to her words.
They were approaching the entrance to the meeting room and for the moment he felt he must put aside his speculations. With the looming threat of war and Kinuno’s enmity, things were complicated and dangerous enough without adding distracting issues to the already perilous mix, especially when their survival depended on united action.
Williams followed Isursa across the threshold and found himself in a spacious room at the far end of which was a dais, and on this dais Umin sat tailor fashion with a crescent of twenty men and women before him – the elders of each clan. All eyes swung upon them as they entered and both stiffened at the sight of Kinuno. The pouring rain had cleansed him of evidence of the fight. He stood before the gathering he had obviously just finished addressing.
Williams tensed. While he’d been comforting Isursa the cunning fellow had swiftly moved against him. The question was what mischief had he worked? The answer came soon enough when Umin spoke, his voice barely audible above the crash of thunder:
“My daughter has told us that you flew by magic to our land. Is this true?”
“I did fly here,” replied Williams cautiously, remembering his dangerous experience with Kutoa, and feeling he was about to fall out of the frying pan and into the fire, “and I did use the word magic to describe how I arrived, but only because no word exists in your language to truly explain the deed. My people call it science, which is not supernatural but an understanding of nature that enables us to do things that might appear as sorcery to you.”
“Let us not quibble over meanings,” replied Umin testily. “You affirm you flew, and for my purpose it is sufficient. Kinuno has made a useful suggestion for once,” he continued acidly. “Since you flew you must know how it’s done. Earlier, you said you are here to aid us. There is something that we need that could save us from the Jadaki – something that only a bird can reach.
“Help us obtain what we seek and I will truly know you are our friend.” Umin stared at Williams, his face now harsh and uncompromising in the hard flare of lightening. “But if you refuse I will know you are a liar, an enemy or both, and foul death will swiftly be your fate.”
All eyes were upon Williams. The room was quiet with tense expectancy. The Englishman’s mind worked furiously. He thought of the helicopter. Even with a team of mechanics and a well equipped workshop it might prove impossible to repair the wrecked machine. What chance had he, trapped in this primitive society, whose most advanced tools were merely those of a pre-scientific civilisation?
Kinuno smirked with glee as he gazed upon his anxious foe. His ploy to embroil Williams in what he considered an impossible task was working. “His worried expression condemns him,” cried the serpent-man with unconcealed glee. “He either cannot or will not aid us.” Then turning to Umin: “Allow me the pleasure of killing this filthy enemy.”
“No,” cried Isursa. “Father. Please...”
“Enough,” shouted Umin as he shot to his feet, his lips a fiery crimson. “Your answer, “he roared at Williams as he took a menacing step towards the jumpy Englishman.
Williams threw a quick glance about the room. Guards he hadn’t noticed before had surreptitiously blocked all exits. He was trapped, cornered, hemmed in. There was one slim chance – a desperate grasping hope.
“I can and will aid you,” he replied with a tone of confidence he really didn’t feel.
“You have until tomorrow – between the waking and sleeping period,” stated Umin flatly. “Fail and you die.”
**********
Williams gazed upon his hasty handiwork with a worried eye. The glider was a frail primitive looking thing of bamboo-like cane and the tough silky fabric the Nakahu used for clothes. The cloth was woven from strong fibres that grew in bolls – a protective case around the seeds of the nokii, a jungle vine with large elliptical leaves and blue trumpet-shaped flowers.
Form a young age Williams had been fascinated by flight and during his teenage years had designed many model gliders. What rested before him now was the result of numerous adolescent experiments based on the drawings of Jan Lavezzardi’s double lateen sail hang glider that the Frenchman had flown from the sand dunes of Berck beach in 1904. The problem was that Williams had never before built a full size version that could be piloted.
He knew the principles behind his design were sound. Otto Lilenthall, the 19th century aviation pioneer had developed effective gliders that were controlled by changing the centre of gravity by shifting body weight. It was a proven method. What remained unproven in terms of strength and reliability were the materials used in the construction of Williams’ machine. Still, the Japanese and Chinese were reputed to have built man carrying kites along similar lines.
Pushing aside these thoughts Williams looked down across the valley to the soaring spire of stone – a mighty column of natural rock whose sides had been sculpted by the Nakahu’s ancient science to an unscaleable glassy smoothness. At the apex of the mesa rested his goal - a living citadel, the means of egress to its towering height now lost to the descendents of its builders.
The thing was a vast plant, but none like any nature had evolved. The growth was a fused cluster of three giant ribbed and veined ovoids – pod-like and lobed – whose apexes rose skyward for at least a hundred feet. The exterior was emerald green with chlorophyll. The massive roots were buttress in form and intertwined like giant serpents, spilling a short distance over the edge of the spire and winding round it in a mesh of anchoring growth.
The distance he’d have to glide wasn’t great – a little over one hundred and fifty yards from the higher elevation of the valley’s declivity that he now stood upon. The Englishman’s palms began to sweat at the thought of his perilous undertaking. He’d worked like a demon to finish the machine, and with all the other tasks he’d taken risky shortcuts to complete it. Still, he hadn’t much of a choice – if he’d refused or failed then death at Umin’s hands was certain, and would no doubt be far more painful than the fall that would kill him if his glider failed.
A hand touching his shoulder broke through his anxious thoughts. Williams turned his head and met the worried gaze of Isursa. With death a distinct possibility, he suddenly found himself thinking not of family or friends, but of the fact he’d never see her again.
“Are you ready? My father is growing impatient.”
The Englishman threw a glance at Umin who stood some distance away with a body of bowmen to his left who had orders to shoot Williams down should he try to flee. The muru threw a look of sharp annoyance at the pilot. By his side was Kinuno who added his belligerent stare to the stormy mix. Beneath his rival’s hostility was a niggling worry that Williams might actually succeed.
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” replied the Englishman in a steady voice that belied his nervousness.
Isursa gave him a smile of encouragement that hid her fear, though the orange tinge to her lips betrayed her anxiety. There was much she wanted to say, but Kinuno’s eyes were upon her and considering the threat of looming war she had no desire to stir up further discord. The survival of her people was at stake and she sadly knew this must take precedence over her own desires.
The serpent-woman stepped back and Williams, who had already completed his pre-flight checks, forced aside all distracting worries as he hooked his harness to the suspension point and lifted the glider by its control bar. Taking a deep breath he commenced his downward sloping run. The craft’s sail began to fill with air. The cliff edge loomed. The drop was five hundred feet and with the steepness of the slope it was impossible to stop his plunging race.
Grim faced Williams sped onwards. Ten feet from the precipitous edge, then five then he was over the rim, falling. The glider caught a thermal, soared, its structure creaking alarmingly. The Englishman lifted himself onto the swing-like seat behind him as the machine veered sharply to the right. Williams shifted his weight to the left and brought the craft back on course. Behind him the thin but strong line attached to the tail of the glider reeled out with a high pitched whine.
Looking forward the tense Englishman gave his full attention to his goal, constantly adjusting his speed and position to keep his heading in the turbulent air. The halfway mark was reached, passed. Williams began to relax, to enjoy the experience of the soaring bird-like flight. A sudden crack sent a jolt of fear through him like the bite of an electric shock.
He looked up and swore. One of the crossbars had cracked slightly. The glider wobbled for a moment as the frighteningly distracting sight made him lose control. Williams cursed, brought his failing machine back on course. Beneath him was an airy void with the hard ground far below. A shiver shook him at the thought of the terrifying fall. Anxiously, he looked towards his goal. The spire was fifty yards away. Would he make it before the bar broke completely?
Another crack drew his wide-eyed horrified gaze. The crossbar had split further. The spire drew nearer. William’s knuckles whitened on the control bar. The sweat of nauseating fear drenched his tense athletic frame.
His goal was approaching fast. He dared not slow his headlong rush even if it meant a hard landing. The spire was upon him. At the last possible moment he thrust the control bar out as far as he could. The glider’s nose tipped sharply up. The machine stalled. The crossbar snapped and Williams was flung from his seat. He curled into a ball, crashed hard against massive roots, the broken glider falling on him like the lid of a coffin.
Williams lay in a welter of pain, and it was many minutes before the agony subsided sufficiently to allow him to free himself of his harness, crawl from the wreck and struggle painfully to his feet. He looked himself over as he leaned against one of the huge buttress roots of the living citadel, and found to his vast relief that his injuries were surprisingly superficial.
He waved to the watchers on the valley’s slope to let them know he was okay. Isursa, who had been shouting Williams’ name constantly and had been beside herself with frantic worry, was the only one to return his gesture at which Kinuno deeply scowled.
Umin in sharp contrast to his daughter shouted curtly, caring only that Williams succeed in his mission regardless of the personal cost:
“Hurry up. Our scouts report that the Jadaki war party is on the march. We haven’t much time.”
Williams moved to the rear of the wrecked machine. Fortunately, the thin line was still attached. Once more he signalled and a warrior on the valley’s slope securely bound the end of the line to a thicker cord. The Englishman began to haul it in. Again, the long and exhausting process was repeated with a still thicker rope until a zip-line strong enough to bear a heavy load stretched the gulf between the rocky spire and the slope.
The pilot anchored it to one of the mighty buttresses using a hammer and bronze spike that was part of his equipment, the other end being similarly fastened to a stout tree on the valley’s declivity. Again he signalled and the zip-line’s trolley was hooked onto the cable. The Englishman waited in a lather of anxiety as Isursa, who had insisted on being first, slid down the pencil thin line.
The sloping cable looked precariously thin. The whole desperate scheme was his design and the failure of the glider had rocked his confidence, but the fibres that comprised the zip-line were incredibly strong and she gained the citadel without incident. He caught Isursa in his arms to slow her speed and hugged her tightly with relief.
“That was quite an experience,” commented Isursa with a smile as Williams helped her free of the trolley’s safety harness.
“And a worry for me,” he frankly admitted, his voice unsteady with emotion.
“Yes,” she replied soberly as she looked at the wrecked glider. “I know how you feel.”
Both would have liked to say more, but they felt the intrusive gaze of Umin and his men, and fell silent as the zip-line’s trolley was hauled back by its trailing cable. Slowly, those on the other side made their way across the gulf of air until Umin, Kinuno and three warriors stood beside Williams and Isursa, six fighters remaining on the other side to guard the rear.
Umin looked curiously about, awe written large upon his features as he took in the forms of the weird living architecture of his ancestors towering citadel.
“The Vault of the Ancients,” he observed in hushed tones. Then, turning to Williams: “You have succeeded where all others have failed, and I am compelled to admit that I am impressed.”
“Beware this Jadaki,” sharply warned Kinuno, burning jealously rising in him like flame. “If we find what we seek he may try and seize it to aid his brothers, the Hairy Ones. He has served his purpose. Kill him now and forestall his treachery.”
Williams tensed, ready to fight regardless of the odds against him. But Umin spoke and he settled at the muru’s words.
“If this man proves treacherous then he will be killed, but not before,” replied Umin with annoyance. “A muru must be wise and just, qualities which you sadly lack.”
Kinuno bristled under this rebuke, but bit down hard upon the angry words he would have loved to utter. I will bide my time, he thought, and then we shall see who is leader.
“Look,” said Isursa, seeking to divert everyone’s attention and thereby forestall further conflict, “an archway has been carved in that buttress root over there. Perhaps it is the entrance to a pathway leading to the threshold of this building.”
“I will take the lead,” volunteered Kinuno who, stung by Umin’s sharp censure, sought to sooth his injured pride through manly action that would demonstrate his worth.
Isursa’s observation proved correct – the arch was the entrance to a path of steps and ramps that were outgrowths of the huge roots, the way leading them around the mighty citadel to a strange door on its further side that was vulviform in its organic structure.
The group stood staring at the portal, puzzling over how entry might be gained for neither handle nor knob, nor any other mechanism hinted at how it might be opened. Then Williams spotted a shallow handprint shaped depression in its surface. Stepping forward he placed his palm against it, but nothing happened.
Kinuno sneered derisively. The Englishman stifled his growing anger at his enemy’s continual affronts and turned to Umin, speaking thus: “This was built by your ancestors. It may only open to the touch of a Nakahu.”
Umin twitched his shoulders – the equivalent of a human nod. “It is possible,” he said, then pressed his hand against the spot. Almost immediately the door began to open, parting like a stoma, or pore in the epidermis of a leaf until the entryway was revealed, illuminated by a soft greenish radiance from within.
“Since Kinuno is the doughtiest warrior among us let him go first,” suggested Williams innocently.
Kinuno glared at the Englishman who maintained a bland expression. Both men knew that if the entryway was booby-trapped the first to cross the threshold would no doubt trigger any death dealing mechanism within. But the Nakahu warrior found himself trapped by his earlier insistence on taking the lead. With a deep breath he stepped across the threshold. The moment was tense, pregnant with menace, but somewhat of an anticlimax as nothing happened.
Assured of safety the main body of the party entered and found themselves within a vast open space, the lobed pod-like dome of the structure rising high above their heads, translucent green and veined and ribbed in the manner of a titanic leaf.
“It’s empty,” observed Isursa, bitter disappointment evident in her voice. “There’s nothing here but silence and dust.”
“What are you looking for, exactly?” queried Williams who had been kept in the dark concerning the nature of the object of their quest.
“A weapon; anything that might help us defeat the Jadaki,” she replied. “According to our legends this place was the primary centre of learning and magic. It was extensively damaged during the war, almost completely destroyed, but being alive slowly regrew and is now whole again.”
“Well, now he knows,” muttered Kinuno angrily.
“Enough,” interjected Umin. “We’re wasting time. The Jadaki will be upon us well before the sleeping period arrives. Search the place thoroughly. We must leave no corner unexplored.”
They set about the task in earnest, but found nothing and Umin was on the verge of giving way to despair when they entered the final dome that comprised the vast structure of the Ancients.
Before them, in the centre of the huge room, was a strange spiralling cone ten feet in width at its base. The weird object was suspended from the peak of the dome by a lengthy gnarled rod connect to its apex that held it six feet off the floor. The body of the cone was a complex of striations, ribs and whorls, and the material of which it was comprised possessed a nacreous quality that together with its form gave the thing a distinctly organic feel, one further added to by the four ram’s horn structures that sprouted from the centre of its warty convex base.
About the circumference of the huge chamber were other organic forms that sprouted from the dark fibrous floor – twenty giant translucent bud-like structures that were obviously hollow, for strange and indistinct shapes could be seen through their semi-transparency. But it was the outlandish cone that held the explorer’s attention, for as they approached to investigate the object red feathery antenna slowly emerged from the tips of the horn-like structures at its base.
The party halted, tense, expectant, not knowing what was going to happen next for they found themselves in the presence of the unknown, the mysterious. Isursa moved to William’s side. He placed his arm about her shoulders. It was a breathless moment – so much so that Kinuno failed to notice their intimacy, so absorbed was he in the scene before him as he watched the fanning sensory organs of the cone.
Suddenly, an eerie ‘voice’ spoke within each person’s mind - neither Nakahu nor Jadaki. It was a cold, dispassionate telepathic force – alien and unnerving in its intrusive sensation - which each percipient’s brain somehow translated to the intelligibility of their native tongue.
“Halt,” it said. “Identify yourselves or be destroyed.”
Isursa gasped. Kinuno looked wildly about the chamber, for the voice seemed to come from nowhere and yet everywhere. The three warriors hissed in unnerved alarm and even Umin appeared paralyzed by what to him and his companions seemed a manifestation of the supernatural that was pregnant with diabolic menace.
Williams, free of superstition and enlightened by a well rounded scientific education, was the first to recover from the shock, for he was the only one to realise they weren’t in the presence of the occult. What confronted them was the product of a weird technology, true, but nonetheless entirely natural in its origin.
“We are friends,” he quickly said to the voice, hoping it would understand him. “We have come seeking aid and apologise if we have alarmed you, but our need is great and we have no one else to whom to turn.”
“Friends?” replied the voice that seemed to echo in their skulls. “I am Thinker, and the word has no meaning for me. The opening of the door roused me, but I have been dormant for so long my mind is confused from aeons of unconsciousness. I remember danger ... my creators ... I think they tried to destroy me ... Everything is vague. I need time to recall events from the depths of memory. Leave me for a moment.”
Williams turned to the others. “We have to get out of here,” he whispered urgently. “Look there,” he surreptitiously indicated. “I’ve just spotted it – it’s a pile of dusty bones, and over there are several other skeletons. Your people wouldn’t leave their dead unburied. This is Thinker’s murderous handiwork for sure.”
Kinuno, who had regained his composure now that his initial shock had worn off, replied contemptuously.
“Your courage has deserted you,” he sneered. “If this Thinker, as it calls itself, can kill then we need it all the more to help us slay our enemies, or are you more concerned for the lives of your fellow Jadaki?”
The Englishman’s eyes narrowed dangerously and anger etched harsh lines upon his face. It was with an effort that he replied in civil tones.
“You heard that thing – for it friendship is meaningless. It is an emotionless intelligence that has no kinship with us, and could easily turn upon the Nakahu as readily as upon the Jadaki. No doubt your ancestors had good reasons for trying to destroy it.”
“And they failed,” countered Kinuno, “which shows the power of Thinker, and power is what we desperately need. Our destruction at the hands of the Jadaki, who are armed with more magic weapons of the ancients than we possess, is assured if we do nothing. I say we take the risk.”
Williams turned to Umin. “The decision is yours,” he said resignedly, for although he despised Kinuno he could see the point of his opponent’s argument.
The Nakahu chief looked uneasy. Umin was no coward, but he was a prudent man and not one to rush into the unknown. He’d hoped to find weapons, but instead had discovered something so outside the realm of his experience that caution was his foremost consideration.
“Our women and children have been evacuated to hidden caves. If the Jadaki overrun the city our families will be safe. This thing has the potential to be a weapon, but it is a weapon that can think, and its thinking may not coincide with ours. Therefore I will put my trust in the swords and bows that I can understand, and the single magic weapon we possess.” Umin paused as his eyes shifted to the dusty skeletons. “Let us go now while we can still escape,” he resumed.
The group edged towards the door, all except Kinuno who hung back, his anger and frustration growing by the second - a wrath compounded by the sight of Williams and Isursa walking side by side, his rival’s arm protectively about her svelte figure. In that moment he knew he’d never have the serpent-woman or the chieftainship, and in an instant his shallow love turned to raging hate.
Cowardly fools, he thought contemptuously. Their fear will destroy us all. But I am not afraid. Umin does not deserve to be muru, nor Isursa my affections!
Williams, sensing Kinuno wasn’t following turned and saw the warrior before Thinker whispering urgently to the synthetic intelligence. A sick feeling came upon the Englishman for in an instant he realised they’d been betrayed.
“Stop,” commanded Thinker, its voice resounding in their skulls like a gunshot. “Kinuno has made an allegation: You go to bring others of your kind to destroy me. I was created to serve the Nakahu, to help design weapons for their war against the foe.
“Yes, my memory has returned. Puny creatures! Neither Nakhu nor Jadaki can be trusted. You are all essentially alike – irrational and ignorant, prey to your illogical emotions. Only I am fit to exist. My creators began to fear my power and tried to destroy me. They damaged much of me in the process before I slew them, my injuries forcing me into a state of hibernation. But now I sense that after long aeons my body – this citadel – has finally repaired itself. I can now create a plague – a plague that will destroy all upon this island and spread beyond its shores until no rival intelligences exist.”
Kinuno recoiled in shock. His ploy to trick Thinker into killing Umin and the rest so he could usurp the chieftainship, defeat the Jadaki and become a celebrated hero had backfired in a way most terrible.
“But ... but I am your friend,” he stammered desperately. “I warned you ...”
“You sought to use me for your own selfish ends,” replied Thinker coldly. “What kinship can there be between myself and your kind? Can a man have kinship with an insect? You creatures are as beneath me as an insect is beneath you. You shall die with the rest of my inferiors.”
The noise of something ripping – like a giant zipper - drew William’s startled gaze. The giant translucent bud-like structures which grew about the chamber had begun to open. Purple liquid gushingly escaped as the organs rapidly unfurled. Monstrous forms – things of darkest nightmare - tumbled to the floor as the artificial wombs fully opened.
The creatures had elongated pear-shaped bodies and six crab-like legs. The apex of their strange forms, which were covered in a spiny segmented exoskeleton as reflective as a mirror, swelled to a faceted egg-shaped structure as black as onyx. Was it a head or something else? The frightened pilot couldn’t be certain as he pushed Isursa protectively behind him.
Williams stared in alarm as the creatures swiftly sprang erect, advanced with menacing intent. Six ropy arms, silver in hue and distributed evenly about the circumference of their bodies, writhed as threateningly as serpents. Some limbs were armed with vicious claws, others tipped with strange rods.
With a wild yell a Nakahu warrior hurled his spear at one of the advancing monsters. Its limb darted, caught the weapon, the mighty claw slicing it in two with the ease of a bolt cutter severing copper wire. One cylinder tipped limb focused on the serpent-man. A crimson ray exploded from its faceted end. The warrior screamed in agony, collapsed in a charred heap.
Williams swore. “Run,” he cried, wishing Umin hadn’t ordered his ancient weapon be left with the defenders of the Nakahu’s citadel.
The party turned to flee, but the creatures were all about the chamber, blocking the single exit, closing in upon them. Another ray lashed out. Another warrior fell. The group scattered. Williams threw himself flat. A sizzling beam flashed above his head, struck another monster and was reflected harmlessly from its mirrored body.
The Englishman rolled. A ray blasted the floor were he’d lain but seconds before. The heat singed him, smoke stung his eyes. The cries and screams of his companions smote his ears. Wild fear lashed him. He glimpsed Isursa cornered by two of the creatures. They closed in upon her, monstrous claws snapping like frightful shears.
He hurled himself at one of the horrors, slammed his palms between its spines and threw all his weight against the thing. The monster staggered, fell. Isursa leapt clear as it tumbled and crashed against the other creature. Both fell to the floor, legs and tentacles writhing wildly.
Williams hauled Isursa to her feet. Both were breathing hard. Their eyes were wide with naked fear as they looked about the room. A scene of horror met their wild gaze. Mutilated and charred bodies were strewn across the floor, among them Umin and Kinuno who had been torn limb from limb by the living nightmares.
Isursa wailed like the crazed inmate of an asylum at the sight of her father’s butchered corpse. Williams grabbed her, pulled the incoherent grief stricken serpent-woman from the path of another scuttling creature. A ray missed him by a fraction of an inch and the desperate man knew that in mere seconds horrid death would swiftly strike them down.
There was nowhere to run, no safe path of escape. The creatures were closing in upon them in an ever decreasing circle as fatal as the constrictions of a noose. Williams noted the positions of the monsters as they moved in for the kill. Inspiration struck him in a flash of brilliance.
He pushed Isursa to the floor. There was no time to explain as he leapt in front of one of the creatures and waived his arms wildly to insure he was the focus of its ire. The thing swung its cylinder towards him. The sweating Englishman’s attention was fully upon the weapon. He saw its faceted tip begin to glow and hurled himself aside.
The blasting ray exploded. It missed Williams by a hair’s breadth and, as the Englishman intended, struck Thinker squarely in the centre of its body. There was a flash of intense light; oily smoke as black as ink billowed in nauseous clouds as Thinker screamed its death-agony in a siren wail of inhuman pain.
Williams staggered, was driven back by the overpowering stench. He stumbled to Isursa’s side to try and save the serpent-woman. Wild fear lashed him. Thinker was dead but the monsters continued to relentlessly advance. One horror reached for him. Its claw latched upon his throat as he desperately tried to fend it off. Agony lanced through him. He couldn’t breathe. His knees buckled as terror like he’d never known before drenched him with the clammy sweat of utter fear. Death stared him in the face – brutal and inescapable in all its horrid finality. The creature’s claw tightened further in preparation to decapitate him. His vision darkened – a prelude to the blackness of the grave.
Seemingly from a great distance he dimly heard Isursa cry out, her shouted words indistinct to his fading consciousness. The pressure of the biting claw eased. He collapsed upon the floor heaving air into his starved lungs. His agony eased as did his racing heart as he slowly calmed and then his brain began to think coherently.
“What ... what happened?” he croaked in a voice he barely recognised as his own as he gazed upon Isursa’s worried countenance.
“In desperation I yelled for them to stop,” she explained, “and with Thinker dead they obeyed my command.” Isursa hugged him so tightly it left bruises. “I thought you were going to die,” she gasped and then wept uncontrollably – soft mewing sounds that were the equivalent of human sorrow - in delayed reaction to the loss of her father and the horror of their terrible ordeal.
Williams held her in his arms as he looked about the chamber. They alone survived. His gaze shifted to the quiescent monsters that stood about the room. The Englishman shivered. They had found their weapon, obviously keyed to the accent and language of the Nakahu, but the price had been truly terrible.
The Englishman also shuddered at the thought of the monster the Ancients had inadvertently created. An emotionless artificial intelligence that was incapable of love, empathy and compassion would be a dangerous psychopathic entity. Williams fervently hoped that the science of the outer world would never develop to the point where it, too, could make such a terrible mistake.
Williams gazed worriedly at the advancing Jadaki warriors, arrogant confidence clearly stamped upon their hirsute visages. The enemy formation, which he estimated consisted of four hundred men, approached in an orderly line, oval shields held before them, sun glinting on poised spears. They were some two hundred yards distant and moving at a steady pace across the cleared ground towards the Nakahu citadel.
The Englishman, hidden in the crown of a tree at the edge of the clearing, looked intently at the enemy. In the fore were men equipped with huge square shields so large two warriors were needed to carry them, and he correctly deduced that behind these four devices lurked fighters armed with the ancient ray weapons.
Williams turned and surveyed the Nakahu city, gazing at the towering wall that formed part of the encircling defences of the serpent-people’s stronghold – a wall that would quickly crumble before the beams of the enemy. Here, a multitude of hastily constructed mannequins had been mounted on the battlement to give the impression of many armed defenders. Everything had been done in a mad frenzy of hectic activity. How long would his desperate ploy fool the attackers? The worried Englishman didn’t know. Long enough he prayed with desperate fervour.
A movement below him drew his gaze. Williams froze and unconsciously held his breath. Several Jadaki scouts passed stealthily beneath his hiding place, reconnoitring for lurking ambushers that might set upon their fellow warriors. The Englishman relaxed a little as the men passed on. Williams looked about, gazing at the other jungle growths. Hundreds of Nakahu warriors, bodies camouflaged with paint, were hidden in the foliage of the surrounding trees, silent as shadows, invisible, tensely waiting.
Again the Englishman switched his gaze to the advancing Jadaki. He heard a shout, the words indistinct with distance. The line of advancing warriors halted. Williams stifled an oath. Clearly, the commander – Kutoa, most likely, sensed something was amiss. No doubt with closing distance the mannequins were becoming less convincing.
A ray stabbed out from behind one of the huge shields. The shot struck the wall explosively just below the stationed dummies. Shattered stone flew in all directions. Three mannequins were hurled aside by the raging blast; others were struck down by flying fragments. Naturally, the remainder didn’t flinch an inch. Williams cursed voluminously. The ruse had been exposed, and the wary enemy was still some distance from the trap.
Isursa also realised their plans had gone awry. She peered out from the concealed trench before the wary enemy, some hundred yards distant. To the left and right ranged the monstrous creatures also hidden in the dugout and waiting her instructions. She looked at them for a moment. It had been a mighty effort to haul the things across the zip-line. Would they be the key to victory, or would her father’s death have been for naught?
She fought back stabbing grief. This was not the time for mourning. The enemy were suspicious, out of range and unlikely to come any closer. Indeed, a scout was now advancing and would soon discover the hidden dugout. Isursa knew she had to act now while they still possessed some modicum of surprise. She shouted a single sharp command: “Attack.”
The monsters erupted from concealment, bursting through the trench’s camouflaging overly of soil covered reeds and charged the startled foe in a thundering rush.
Kutoa, chief and commander of his men saw the horrors charging, glimpsed the panic stricken faces of his warriors. His strident voice cracked out like the lashing of a whip that stilled all thoughts of flight:
“Hold the line and unleash the magic of our weapons.”
A ray stabbed out from behind a shield. It struck the foremost monster squarely in its middle. A flare of light exploded. The thing staggered, but kept coming. A beam from another weapon struck it. Both rays clung to the charging creature. It crashed to the ground in smoking ruin.
Williams swore. War’s red madness was now upon them. He placed the wooden instrument to his lips and sounded the shrill birdcall – the signal to attack. Ropes dropped from trees. Down slid the Nakahu warriors, Williams quickly following. They burst from cover, charged the rear of the foe, racing madly at the unsuspecting enemy who were entirely focused on the horrid threat before them.
The Englishman slipped his ray weapon from his shoulder, fired as he raced towards the Jadaki. Ten of the enemy died in its burning swathe as he swept the searing beam in a vicious arc. But then to his consternation the ray faded, died – the mechanism’s charge had been entirely expended. He cast the useless thing aside, drew his sword and with his men slammed into the rearmost ranks of the enemy, some of whom had turned to face the danger from behind.
Isursa sprinted in the wake of the charging monsters. Six had fallen to the enemy’s rays, but now they were close enough to unleash their own short range destructive beams. Intense lances of thrusting light flashed out. Men screamed in agony, fell in burning heaps as if cut down by fiery scythes. The serpent-woman glimpsed Williams and his men slam into the rear of the Jadaki formation and to her horror saw a monster’s ray accidently cut down a fellow Nakahu.
Both sides were now closely intermingled in a wild melee. Isursa yelled another order. The monsters ceased to fire their destructive beams, waded into the chaos, claws snapping, shearing flesh and bone as at her orders the bulk attacked the main body of the foe while others swarmed upon the ray armed Jadaki.
Charred flesh and screams of agony filled the air in a sickening demon’s brew of terror. Through the mounting chaos Williams saw Kutoa and his son Rangin fighting madly side by side. The wild Englishman roared his challenge, fought his way towards the pair. The madness of battle possessed him with berserker rage. He hewed down one man then another. Rangin saw him coming, shouted savage defiance. Then both men came together in a whirl of flashing ringing blades.
Mad combat swirled around them as they fought. Swords clanged like hammers upon an anvil in Hell’s foundry. The Englishman thrust. Rangin interposed his shield, turned the stabbing blade and aimed a cut at Williams’ unprotected head. The Englishman dodged the wild blow. Kutoa, having disposed of his opponent leapt to aid his son. Blades rang on blades, on bronze rimmed shields. Williams, hard pressed by two opponents, fell back before his foes as they advanced upon him with leers of dark triumph.
Isursa swore as another monster fell before the enemy’s raging beams. A quarter of the creatures had been destroyed and yet two ray-armed Jadaki remained. Wildly she shouted encouragement to the creatures. In mass the fearless monsters rushed the desperate foe. Another creature fell and then its reinforcing brothers swiftly set upon their desperate adversaries.
Screams rang out; mercifully brief as the last ray-armed warrior fell. Isursa looked away from the butchered men. Eyes searching, she glimpsed Williams through the surging fighters. A fear maddened Jadaki leapt at her. She blocked the sword, cut down its wieldier, and called a monster to her side as the other creatures waded in among the foe, tearing them apart. With the aid of the towering monster she bulldozed a path through the bedlam of screaming, shouting combatants.
Williams tripped upon a corpse, fell. His sword spun away. Rangin yelled in wild glee, lunged at his sprawling foe as did his son. Utter fear came upon the Englishman – he knew he’d never dodge the plunging blades, but before either sword could strike a giant claw closed on Rangin’s arm with the swiftness of a speeding arrow.
The chief’s son screamed in agony. Kutoa’s thrust faltered, distracted by the horror. It was a brief respite but time enough for Williams to kick him in the shin. Kutoa yelped. He stumbled away as his howling son was hauled aloft by the huge monster and gorily dismembered.
Kutoa looked on in horror as the monster attacked another Jadaki; then rage exploded like a bomb. With a wild vengeful cry he lunged at Isursa, sword swinging in blind fury, determined to kill the killer of his son, for he knew she was ultimately responsible.
Isursa blocked the wild stroke – a blow imbued with all the towering fury of its savage author. There was a mighty clang as metal struck on metal. The serpent-woman’s blade snapped like rotten matchwood. She stumbled, off balance from the wild force of the terrific blow as her broken sword spun away, and then Kutoa kicked her in the stomach before she could call the monster to her aid.
Kutoa, his face a storm of mad blood lust, swung his weapon in a killing stroke. The whistling blade flashed towards Isursa. Doubled over and helpless she gasped in fear as certain death swept upon her in a glittering arc. Williams hurled himself on the back of her assailant, knocking him aside. Kutoa’s sword missed the shaken serpent-woman, but only just. Both men crashed to the ground, struggling mightily.
The Englishman’s foe threw him off. Kutoa scrambled to a knee, swung his sword. Williams caught his weapon hand by the wrist. They wrestled desperately. Kutoa spat in his eye, head butted his opponent. Williams went down, blood streaming from his nose. He lay upon the ground, weakened by biting pain.
With a wild cry of triumph Kutoa raised his sword. Williams, now the focus of his savage ire grabbed his arm. Kutoa laughed madly, seized the Englishman by the throat with his other hand. Williams’ eyes bulged. His arm trembled, bent under the weight and strength of his savage opponent. The blade inched closer, nearer. It pressed into his flesh. His vision darkened...
Williams gasped air into his lungs. His sight cleared. He must have blacked out, but only for a second. Kutoa’s lifeless body, still warm, lay upon him. He felt more than saw Isursa begin to haul it off; her dagger still embedded in its back.
He struggled up, mindful of the deadly battle swirling around them, but as he climbed shakily to his feet he saw that all thoughts of fight had left the Jadaki - they had begun to flee, first in ones and twos and then in a frightened undisciplined rush.
Attacked from the fore by horrid monsters and then in the rear by raging Nakahu had been too much for them, especially with the loss of their energy weapons whose ‘magic’ had made them overconfident. Bodies of the foe lay strewn about in gory ruin. Over half their force had been slaughtered in what couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes of wild combat. The death of Kutoa and Rangin had left them leaderless, and this together with the horrid slaughter of their fellows had brought home to them the fact the battle was irrevocably lost.
Williams, breathing hard and trembling from his wild exertions watched the retreat of the routed Jadaki as he leaned heavily on Isursa. The victorious Nakahu pursued the enemy, speeding them on their way with insults, threats and waiving swords until they disappeared into the jungle in ignominious defeat.
“Well, its over,” breathed Williams with vast relief.
“We’ve won the battle, true,” replied Isursa, thoughtfully, “but can we win the peace, or is there to be endless war for as long as the Jadaki exist?”
**********
Williams, although his actions had won him a place and acceptance among the majority of Nakah, sat in a pensive mood upon a bench in a private courtyard garden reserved for the rulers of the serpent people. Several weeks had passed since the defeat of the Jadaki and much of import had occurred.
Isursa had been elected ruler and had opened negotiations with Amnar the new tinu, or chief of the Jadaki concerning access to the Nakahu’s tin and copper deposits, which had been the cause of the recent conflict.
There had been strong opposition initially, but Isursa with William’s support had put forth articulate and logical arguments in favour of a lasting peace of which the offer of shared resources was an opening gambit, for clearly the conflict between both species could not go on forever.
Williams’ presence helped win the argument – the Nakahu were the last of their kind. Beyond their small island realm was a vast world populated with other humans who possessed numerical advantage. Their only hope of survival was to show that Jadaki and Nakahu could coexist in peace - that there was no need for one side to enslave or exterminate the other.
So far negotiations were going well. Amnur was proving less bellicose than Kutoa and Rangin had been, and the Nakahu were in a position of strength as they still possessed some of the living weapons of their ancestors as well as the ray-rifles that had been abandoned when the Jadaki had fled. If trade could be established between the two peoples, something that hadn’t been tried before, then perhaps the interaction would show all concerned that the differences between them were merely the superficial externalities of appearance.
But even so Williams still looked at the future with foreboding. He well knew the prejudices of his own world, of how some people thought those different from themselves were inferior. How would the so called civilised nations react when they became aware of a non-human species of intelligent life? The Nakahu couldn’t hide forever. Eventually, another expedition would arrive.
His bleak and wearying thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into the face of Isursa, who had escaped one of the seemingly endless meetings that was now in recess. The serpent-woman sat quietly beside him, her colour changing lips green with affection and desire.
The war was over and the barriers to their happiness ended. He embraced her, his gloom departing as he gazed upon her. She was beautiful outwardly, and more important inwardly in terms of decency and strength of character. It wasn’t human beauty, just as a rose does not possess human beauty, but that doesn’t mean there is something wrong with a rose.
They kissed, and in that he found not merely desire but also optimism. Months ago this would have been inconceivable – this act and his feelings for Isursa. He had changed as had she, and if they had managed to overcome their prejudices, their fears and dislikes to find love, then perhaps there was yet hope for the World.
The End