Leviathan (Lost Civilizations: 2) (7 page)

The giant pterodactyl soared with ease, then circled, and swooped again to scoop more bait. It flew toward him, a monstrosity. It was at least sixty feet of leather and bone, and with sinister, intelligent eyes, and a long flickering red tongue.

With shaking hands, Joash lifted the crossbow. Part of the camouflage cloth must have dropped away. The pterodactyl made its hissing, steam-kettle cry. For just an instant, it flapped those huge wings, slowing its swoop toward the water.

Joash sighted at a sail-sized wing, and jerked the trigger. His crossbow shivered, as the heavy bolt hissed at the beast. The bolt ripped into the wing near the muscled joint, a better shot than Joash had dared believe he could make. The giant pterodactyl screamed in rage. Its narrow rapier-beak opened as wide as possible. In a half-controlled descent, it splashed into the water.

Joash shouted in victory. Then, his eyes widened in amazement. As it floundered, the giant pterodactyl turned its blazing eyes on him. With a quick motion, it used its huge wings to propel itself toward him.

Joash struggled to free himself from the goatskin floats. The pterodactyl hissed, and its stench was overpowering. Desperate, Joash tore his dagger free and slashed himself from the floats. Then, the pterodactyl towered over him as it tried to ram its beak through his chest. Joash twisted aside. The leathery edge of a wing struck his chin. The pterodactyl tried to curl him in, as it twisted its beak to stab again.

Joash slashed. The pterodactyl screeched and struck harder with its wing, driving Joash underwater. As he opened his eyes, and thought to see talons, Joash flipped and kicked, diving deeper. His eyes stung, and the water became darker. He continued to kick down. Something brushed his leg. In terror, Joash turned and shot for the surface. He gasped for air. The screeching pterodactyl turned toward him. Joash saw the longboat now, but it was still too far off to help.

The beast fixated on him. In wounded hatred, it attacked.

Joash couldn’t dodge the beak this time. Instead, he pushed himself away from it with his open hand. As the edge of the leathery wing struck him, he clawed hold of it and pulled himself onto the wing. The pterodactyl screamed. Joash stabbed. Using his lodged knife as an anchor, he hurled himself at the red crest. It was tough-feeling, with hundreds of tiny red scales. He grabbed the crest, yanked his blade free and stabbed at the bony head. The giant reptile screeched wildly, shook him off and floundered away.

Joash panted, treading water. The giant beast thrashed in the sea, making it foam. Joash couldn’t tear his gaze from it, horrified it might attack him again. Therefore, he was surprised later as a bow twanged. Gens stood in the longboat, with a bow in hand. The arrow hissed into the slith, followed by another in its eye. The reptilian creature finally relaxed in death as it sank out of sight.

Soon, the longboat slid beside Joash, and Herrek dragged him into the vessel.

“You did it!” Herrek shouted. “You’re the Slith-Killer.”

Joash felt bad and proud. The beast had been majestic, such a wonderful flyer. Its strength had astonished him. Killing it, therefore, made him feel guilty. But he was overjoyed at being alive, and in one piece.

Chapter Seven

Gandvik Rock

“Come with me to another place where you can see them; you will see only a part but not all of them. And from there, curse them for me.”

-- Numbers 23:13

Several hours later, Joash noticed a difference in the water. It was no longer green, but almost black. Captain Maharbal had a sailor haul up a bucket. The Captain nodded grimly after touching the water.

“What does he feel?” Joash asked Adah.

“I imagine colder water than before,” she said. “We’re entering the Vergelmir Deep.”

Joash hunkered under his cloak. Zillith had enlightened him about this legendary body of water. Once, the
bene elohim
had raised monsters from its depths. Few ships nowadays sailed its waters. Even pirates shunned the Vergelmir Deep.

“The root of the legends is an ancient creature called Nidhogg,” Adah said. “These waters are his home.”

“Is Nidhogg a First Born?”

“Lod doesn’t think so, and his knowledge of the old lore is vast,” Adah said. “Many of the legends that I’ve shared with you I’ve learned from Lod. Unfortunately, no one on our side now knows Nidhogg’s full story. Lod thinks Magog practiced foul rites with leviathan spratlings. Whether Magog impregnated the spratlings, or twisted them with necromancy, Lod doesn’t know. During the Accursed War, Nidhogg grew slowly, but never stopped growing. The
bene elohim
used him in several sea-battles, but the leviathans always drove Nidhogg away. The leviathans, for whatever reason, never destroyed him. After the war, men didn’t see Nidhogg, but this body of water gained an even worse reputation than it already had. Lod thinks Nidhogg waxes strong from the magic still lingering here from the past. Only the boldest, or most reckless sailors, dare to enter the Vergelmir Deep.”

“Then why are we here?” Joash asked.

“Because Gandvik Rock lies in the center of the Vergelmir Deep,” Adah said. “That’s why Captain Maharbal and Lod use Gandvik Rock. Not even the pirates sail these waters. Thus, the Seraphs have a safe harbor which is close to Shamgar.”

The afternoon waned. Joash and Adah, as they sat in the forecastle, were the first to notice heavy, floating seaweed in the distance. The smell was awful, and biting flies arose from the black mass. It wasn’t until dusk approached that they plowed through the last of the black growth and into open water again.

The sea was inky, cold and foreboding. Eerie winds moaned across the Vergelmir Deep, and it seemed they floated over a bottomless abyss. People talked less, and the grooms and runners quit their games of stones. The ship's timbers groaned, and danger seemed to lurk over every swell and past each whitecap.

“I don’t like it here,” Joash said.

“No one does,” Adah said.

The sun settled into the horizon, and to Joash, it seemed like the sun had deserted them. He joined Gens and Herrek by the railing. They watched the stars rise and throw their faint light on the waters.

“We should have joined our horses on the steppes,” Herrek said, moodily.

Gens grunted agreement.

“These waters were not meant to be sailed on,” Herrek said. “Even I, a landlubber, can feel the evil in this sea.”

The night was a long one, and in the morning, a dense fog enshrouded them. The entire world had vanished. Just they survived in what seemed like cold sheep’s wool. By the middle of the morning, the fog burned away, and the lookout cried out. In the east, appeared a dot. The dot grew into a mountain.

“Gandvik Rock,” Captain Maharbal shouted, although his voice lacked its former power.

They neared the mountain. It was a huge dark spire of jagged rocks. Joash saw a ship, the twin of the
Tiras
, anchored at the mountain’s base. Granite arms reached around the ship, and sheltered it from the choppy sea. Compared to Gandvik Rock, the ship looked like a toy. Soon, they sailed close enough to see people running along the ship’s sides. Flags were raised, and Captain Maharbal ordered certain flags raised on the
Tiras
.

The sails were reefed, and the long oars slid out. The
Tiras
worked its way within the granite arms, and neared its sister ship. Ragged Tarshmen from the other ship gave greetings. Their clothes were shabby, their faces gaunt and their manner subdued. Maharbal took a boat over, and conferred with the captain.

Joash studied the mountain. It looked as bleak now as when they’d been out at sea. He saw no grass or any sort of growth, not even moss. He saw no birds, nor anything else that moved. Gandvik Rock was barren and imposing, like a monument to death and despair. He understood why the sailors on the
Tiras’s
twin looked as they did. Staying too long in the Vergelmir Deep must be harrowing.

A gravel shore spread below the jagged peak. No tents were pitched there, nor did sailors walk on shore or stretch their legs there.

Captain Maharbal returned. He ordered that fresh food and water be sent over to the
Gisgo
, the sister ship. Zillith, Lord Uriah and Captain Maharbal spoke on the Captain’s Deck. From the severity on Lord Uriah’s face, it seemed he didn’t like what he heard.

“We’ve hurried to reach
this
,” Herrek snorted. “Incredible. We would have been better served sailing to Further Tarsh, and sending for reinforcements from home.”

Gens nodded, his hands cupped around hot tea.

“How will we stop Tarag from here?” Herrek asked. Disgust filled his face. “This is an evil place, one that saps the spirit of a man. Look at the sailors yonder. I pity them. We must either send help to Lod, or sail home for reinforcements. To wait here is folly piled upon folly.”

“It does seem awfully lonely here,” Joash said.

“This place is cursed.” Herrek pointed at Gandvik Rock. “Can’t you
feel
the doom? The sooner we sail from here, the better.”

Shore parties were formed. The Elonites stretched their legs on solid ground. Soon, many of them explored the mountain. Their laughter and good cheer was muted, however, being sea-weary and wary of this oppressive place.

Lord Uriah used the relative emptiness of the
Tiras
to hold another meeting. Maharbal, Herrek, Joash, Zillith, Adah and Lord Uriah met in the Captain’s quarters, around his oaken sea chest. The hardened bread laid out was untouched, although several of them drank the Captain’s ale.

“Lod hasn’t returned,” Lord Uriah said, beginning the meeting. “The question is: What should we do now?”

“Wait for Lod,” Adah said, her face tight. “You know he’ll arrive sooner or later.”

“Given he’s still alive,” Lord Uriah said.

“He’s alive!” Adah shouted, rising from her stool. “Lod lives! You know he lives.”

Zillith took Adah’s hand, stroking it and nodding to her that everything was going to be all right.

Joash was beginning to feel jealous of this Lod.

For a moment, Adah relented. Then she jerked her hand away and glared at Lord Uriah. “Lod lives,” she said, with conviction. “We’ll wait until he arrives with Irad.” She sat down.

For a while, no one spoke.

“Let us agree for the moment that Lod still lives,” Lord Uriah said. “Should we wait as Adah suggests, or should we try to send one or two of our number into Shamgar?”

Captain Maharbal shook his head. “Too risky,” he said. “Lod must have been in Shamgar for over a month now, or at least three weeks. If he’s been caught, Gog will be ready for others. If Lod is holed in one of his allies’ fortresses, then any one or two of us would be useless.”

“It wouldn’t be useless to know the situation,” Adah said.

“No...” Captain Maharbal said slowly.

“That isn’t our goal,” Herrek said. “Stopping Tarag is.”

“Stopping the evil ones from achieving their quest is our goal,” amended Lord Uriah. “Tarag is simply one of several First Born.”

“He’s the active one,” Herrek said firmly. “He’s the one who entered Draugr’s Crypt and stole the adamant armor and weapons. They obviously need the adamant, thus, if we stop Tarag, we’re that much further in stopping the evil scheme.”

“At least, you hope so,” Zillith said.

Herrek slapped the sea chest. “I know so!”

“No,” Zillith said, “theatrics do no good. Facts are what we need. You believe what you say, my dear Herrek, but you don’t know for certain. What we need is certainty.”

“What facts we do have point to Tarag being the most dangerous First Born,” Herrek said.

“Herrek’s right,” Captain Maharbal said. “Consider: Yorgash sent slith to the steppes. Jotnar sent his sons to Tarag. Tarag took Draugr’s adamant armor and weapons. Everything we’ve seen points to Tarag of the Sabertooths.”

“We must defeat Tarag,” Herrek said forcefully. “Therefore, we must sail to Further Tarsh, send to Havilah Holding for fresh horses and warriors and then find and slay this unholy First Born.”

Lord Uriah drummed his fingers on the oaken chest, with his weather-beaten features creased in thought.

“To wait beside this forsaken rock will only sap our spirits,” Herrek said. “You’ve seen the
Gisgo’s
sailors. Let’s leave now, while we’re still hale and healthy.”

“No!” Adah said, standing, her dark eyes flashing. “We must wait for Lod! Naram the Prophet said that when all else baffles us, we must find Irad. Which of you can tell me what the First Born quest after? None of us knows. How then can we act intelligently? I say we wait for Lod.”

“Or, find Irad,” Zillith said. She lay her hand on Adah’s arm, and whispered, “I’m sorry, my dear.” She faced the others. “Lod isn’t as critical as finding Irad, and learning what he knows.”

“How do we do that?” Captain Maharbal asked.

“By waiting here,” Lord Uriah said, quietly. He gulped his ale, and then poured himself more.

Herrek clenched his hands into fists, but controlled his tongue.

“And we do nothing more?” Captain Maharbal asked.

“What more can we do?” Lord Uriah asked. “You yourself said it would be useless to enter Shamgar.”

“But, to just wait, and do nothing,” Captain Maharbal said, shaking his head. “It makes me feel helpless.”

“We
are
helpless,” Lord Uriah said. “We’re helpless until we know what the enemy plans. We attempt to gain an understanding of the First Born, and their quest. They do not yet march to war. If they did, then we would marshal our warriors and those of our allies, and fight the First Born outright. True, the Jogli Nomads stir. Let Caphtor and Ir deal with them. The giants gather, but not in army strength.”

“How long will we wait?” Captain Maharbal asked.

“Another week, if need be,” Lord Uriah said.

“Very well,” Herrek said loudly. “You will wait. Why not send me back to Further Tarsh on the
Gisgo.
I can gather horses and warriors, and return here. We must be ready to strike once we gain the needed knowledge.”

Lord Uriah said, “Once we learn the secret of the First Born, we may need two ships.”

Herrek’s handsome features hardened.

“Does anyone else have anything to say?” Lord Uriah asked.

No one did. The meeting was adjourned.

***

A heavy fog drifted in before dusk, and the next day around mid afternoon, it lifted just above the ship. The weak sun was unable to pierce it. The light was muted, the world almost shadowless like a waking dream. Boredom intensified the deepening sense of unease and resentment. Then the fog that had barely risen fell again several hours before dusk. It was like a twilight world underneath Gandvik Rock. Sounds were muted and spirits capped. Fewer and fewer people went to the gravel shore. Herrek, however, forced himself to camp on it for a night. Since he couldn’t follow Tarag, he fought against the mountain and against the Vergelmir Deep itself.

Joash’s lessons became grimmer. Bruises arose, but he refused to complain. New muscles had hardened in his shoulders and arms. When he wasn’t swinging the wooden sword, he threw practice spears.

“We will not waste our days,” Herrek had told him.

When he wasn’t training, Joash was glum. Adah was moody, and there were no animals to watch. Gandvik Rock seemed sterile, and the waters between the granite arms were devoid of life. Not even starfish or coral lived here.

Adah took to climbing into the
Tiras’s
crows-nest, and searching for signs of Lod. Days passed slowly. The fog kept them imprisoned in a bleary world. And always came the feeling that a dread monster lived just under the inky sea.

On the fourth day, Joash’s arm was sore from the hammering Herrek gave him. He rested.

As the fog thinned, Adah once again climbed the crows-nest. She shrieked. All heads whipped up to stare at her. The small singer pointed out to sea. “A boat!” she cried. “I see a boat!”

Everyone ran to the railing. A small boat sailed toward them. In it were two people. One lay with a blanket over him. The other sat grimly at the tiller.  As the boat entered the harbor, the man at the tiller collapsed.