Zenak (16 page)

The clanging of steel was deafening and it seemed like an eternity that the battle was being fought, but no one yet had been touched by the razor-sharp steel that was being thrown about. Then one of the newly formed warriors nicked Zenak's left arm, his fighting arm. It was a small cut, but the sight of the dull red spurred Zenak on to heights of swordsmanship he had never before known. He had been wounded before in other battles but this cut went deeper than his skin. It went to his soul. It proved to Zenak that he was not invulnerable to these fledgling warriors and if he were to lose to them that Mara and his son would also lose. So with flashing steel Zenak flew in­to his assailants and in moments they were on the ground. One of them was attempting to stuff his bowels back into his open abdomen, but he only succeeded in ripping them open causing the excrement to be released. He died in his own stench and blood. The other man clutched the stump that had been the site of his arm and shoulder. The escaping air from a punctured lung which was partially ex­posed whistled slightly when the man died in a pool of blood mixed with sand. Zenak, covered with blood, sweat, and sand stared at the dead men and asked, “Who's next?”

He found out quickly who was next, when like an avalanche the rest of the warriors charged him. Not feeling the least bit a coward Zenak turned and ran, looking for a place to fight the town. He knew he had to fight them and kill them all or he would never have any peace. They would dog him all the way to Mea. The men were at Zenak's back as he ran and he had to think fast because of that fact. He spotted the stepped pyramid. The top of the pyramid would be an ideal spot to fight a large group. On the top was room for one man only and no more than three men could attack a man at the top from the immediate lower step. Zenak felt that three-to-one odds weren't bad and he knew he had the stamina to fight off all of the fifty-eight remaining men. He also would have the advantage of being the one on the highest point, assuming he reached it, and he could fight downward easier than any warrior could fight upward. He reached the pyramid and without hesitation bounded up the steps toward the top. As he ran he smiled for this was to be the most rewarding encounter in his warrior life. He was going to battle almost five dozen men who were his equal in every way. When Zenak reached the pinnacle of the pyramid there was no time for rest, for no sooner had he reached it than three swords wielded by these extraordinary men clashed all about Zenak. But Zenak was prepared and using his height advantage to its maximum he sliced at his antagonists and the first three were cut down swiftly. Two of them lost their heads as Zenak's sword cut through their necks causing the heads to jump into the crowd of men below. The third died when he slipped on the blood of his dead ally. He fell onto the steps and crushed his head; his brains oozed out and made the steps even more slippery for his comrades. Immediately, three more men took their friends' places, and in stirring competition made Zenak fight for every slice and cut he gave them. Sweat flowed from every pore on Zenak's magnificent physique. His tanned body glistened in the bright sunlight that glared upon the gory scene. The three men were tiring quicker than Zenak was and let their de­fenses down for an instant. This was long enough for Zenak and in three dazzling strokes he disemboweled all three men. The blood spurted from their new-found statuesque bodies, and the guts spurted out onto the steps making them even more precarious. The three men who took their place died even quicker because of the slippery steps. Their headless bodies crashed backwards into the rest of the men. Then Zenak jumped from the summit and in a fury of sword flashes downed a dozen men. Like an uncaged wild animal Zenak fought among the warriors. He felt his fighting spirit flowing stronger through his body than it ever had. He could tell that his senses were attuned one hundred percent. He felt he could almost see behind himself. Every thrust of his sword had all the powers of his body and mind behind it. Even though he was winning the fight, it was not an easy task. These were men of iron that he was fighting and every death awarded to Zenak was hard fought. Many times it looked as if Zenak was done for, when in a flurry of flashing steel he would strike back and subdue the enemy. He knew that his great agility and to a greater extent his superior mental atti­tude kept him from a logical demise under the great weight of the swords that these tenacious men carried. His attitude was one of winning for Destiny. He felt that his fighting ability was greater than anyone had ever experienced. He knew he was the greatest warrior. He could tell that Destiny was giving him this thrust of power coupled with this intensity of inner strength so he could complete his task. He knew he would not die in a little village on the outskirts of Mea but that his life had been planned for greater encounters. He also thought of the young nymph he had met and later killed and he wondered why Destiny had been unkind to her. It was unfair, and Zenak could not unravel the reason behind her death. But he was fighting now and unfairness would have to wait. His life, his wife's, and son's were now at stake and so he fought on into the day.

Hours later Zenak stood alone midway up the steps of the pyramid. All around him lay the bloody, cutup bodies of fifty-eight dead men. The blood was already drying on the steps and many of the earlier killed men were stiffening in their grotesque positions. Zenak moved down the pyramid quickly to escape the stink of rotting bodies and open bowels. He was covered with sweat and blood. Refreshment in the form of a washing, food, and wine was the only thing on his mind as he rushed toward the tavern.

Outside the tavern was a well and Zenak stopped there to cleanse himself of the dead warriors' blood. His own body was also the cause of much of the dried blood from nicks and scrat­ches received in the battle. He thought how nice it would be to have the cool healing moss that he found earlier in the evil forest of Soci. After he cleansed himself he went into the tavern for some well-deserved repast. The tavern was devoid of human life as was the rest of the town. Soci had a tradition that when a Socian man died in battle his family killed themselves so they could join him and keep him company in the afterlife. Zenak always thought that it was a ridiculous tradition but now he was thankful for it, for he was weary of battle and even a few women and children attacking him would have taxed his strength and patience.

The tavern was a small establishment. Its walls were dark and the tables and counter were made of the same heavy, dark wood that was indigenous to the area. On the floor of the tavern a woman lay dead. A jeweled knife protruded from her chest. Zenak had to step over her to get behind the counter but he only gave her a passing glance on his way to find food. He, however, did kick a small dog that was nibbling at the dead woman, but that was only because of Zenak's general attitude of the day rather than any feeling for the stiffening woman. Behind the counter Zenak found what he wanted: salted hir meat and rich red wine. He ate heartily and drank sloppily. The wine poured out of his mouth as he tried to get as much in as fast as possible. Zenak was hungry. When he was sufficiently sated he grabbed a skin of wine and a packet of hir meat and quickly strode out of the tavern. He stopped outside and stared at the setting sun. He pondered for a moment whether to stay in the town overnight or to continue into the night toward Mea. He mistakenly decided to go on. As he walked out of town he saw vultures feasting on the remains of the warriors who lay strewn about on the religious pyramid. Zenak pondered how glorious was battle and how glorious was death, if in the end you were fodder for vultures. But he concluded that it was better to be eaten by vultures after a brilliant battle than to be buried after dying from laziness and obesity. It seemed that more and more people on the Island were dying from slovenliness than in previous years. This was totally incomprehensible to Zenak. But Zenak forgot about the lazy and obese and the Island and the warriors when he entered the now darkening forest. He would have to concentrate his ener­gies on staying alive.

Chapter 15

The trek through the dark forest was uneventful and Zenak made good time. And after a while, Zenak let down his guard and increased his pace. He wanted to reach Mea by the morning and the thought of doing so made him reckless. His recklessness, as it usually will, halted his progress. As he was running he failed to notice a vine-covered, but almost all too obvious, pit that was dug out to catch the wild mana that ran through most of the Island's jungles and forest. The mana was a large, hairy, meaty animal whose oil was of great value for lamps and whose small harm­less tusks were used as an aphrodisiac by many societies on the Island. Almost at the instant Zenak stepped on the covered pit, he realized his grave mistake. Instinctively, he tried to grab the sides but this was to no avail because the sides had been greased with mana oil. This served two purposes: the smell of the oil attracted the mana and once inside the pit the mana could not escape by climbing out.

The twenty-foot fall did not hurt Zenak badly, but he cursed himself as he rose from the hard bottom at how stupid he was. Then he groped around the walls to see if there was a way out. There wasn't. He knew there would not be for had he not built dozens of these pits as a boy? He knew the futility of trying to climb out of these greased walls,

“Damn you,” Zenak spoke out loud to himself, “the only way I'll get out of here is to be taken out,”

Zenak had never been more frustrated. Whoever had dug this pit might not be back for days, Zenak's time was being wasted, and he could only conjecture what Mara and his son were going through. His blood boiling, he sat down on the ground and pulled out the skin of wine. He took a healthy swig from the skin and set it on the ground. The warm wine calmed him, and again Zenak lay down to try and get some sleep. He decided that there was no sense in upsetting himself—what was done was done. Sleep over­took him quickly and the night was spent in peace

Two days later he heard the sounds of approaching people, He quickly downed the last piece of hir meat and the last swig of the heavy, sweet wine. He wanted as much energy as possible in case these people proved to be unfriendly. He looked up and saw ten faces staring at him.

“Get me out of here,” Zenak called to them.

“Should we kill him now?” one of the beings asked another.

“No, Vokar ordered me this morning, when he found out Zenak was trapped here, to take him into Mea tied to a wagon wheel,” another being answered.

Zenak could not figure out how Vokar knew he was there. Then he remembered being awakened the previous night by a light passing over his face. Apparently, his identity had been perceived earlier than he thought.

Zenak replied, “Go ahead and try and tie me to a wagon wheel,” then he laughed. His laugh reverberated out of the pit.

The faces left the outer edge of the pit and left Zenak alone again. He wondered what sort of witchcraft would be used against him and he waited for anything to pop up in the pit with him. Instead, three lassos were thrown into the pit catching up Zenak's arms and neck. Before Zenak could react he found himself dangling ten feet off the ground. His arms felt as if they were being pulled from his body and the rope around his neck was getting very uncomfortable. Then two more lassos caught Zenak's feet and he was pulled to the top of the pit. He was then leveled off and he lay flat in midair above the pit even with the surface of the ground. The ropes were pulled so tight that his body could not sag. It was as if he were made into a living trampoline. The pain from the pulling of the ropes was excruciating, but Zenak could not even scream because of the ever-tightening rope around his neck.

“We have him. Now we will get the wagon and tie him up on a wheel,” said one of the antagonists.

This was the first time Zenak could get a good look at his trappers. His heart sank when he saw who they were. They were Mukes. Short humanoids, each of which was stronger than four men. Their bodies were completely covered with hair. The only area of the body that was hairless was the face. A relatively docile race, they had been living in this area even before the Socians ever existed. They had lived in the area when it was a barren, snow-bound valley, before it was turned into a lush area by the wizards of Soci. It was said that the Mukes had been in the mountains before time began, and had arisen from the rocks when the mountains had been spewed from the bowels of the earth. The Socians considered the Mukes an immortal race because they knew that some of the Mukes who had lived before the Gates of Destiny had appeared were still vigorously alive in the forests of Soci.

[At this point in the scrolls Solok, our translator, fell into a trance. At first we thought it was a stroke or a heart attack, but medical test results on Solok's unmoving body revealed that he was alive and in very good shape. For three weeks Solok was in an unmoving trance and then just was quickly as he fell into it he came to. He explained to us that the trance was induced by a severe shock to his memory. The shock was caused by an awakening of his vast past. He had always felt that his memory had been erased by some inexplicable disaster, but he couldn't pinpoint when or where the disaster occurred. The scrolls gave him the answer and awakened his memory. Solok, to the shock of all of us, was alive in Zenak's time. He was alive in pre-prehistoric times. He was at least 1.5 billion years old! He knew that he had lived a long time, but he was never sure exactly how long. He also realized from the scrolls that he was the only Muke from Zenak's time. This explained why he could translate the scrolls and no one else in the Muke tribe could. The other Mukes were beings of modern times. They appeared after dinosaurs. This immortality mystified me and the other scientists, but we accepted it as truth until any other evidence came up. Solok's soul's awaken­ing puzzled me, however, on another count. Why was there a statue of Zenak in the village if all of the Mukes were modern Mukes? When I posed this question to him he told me that a few hundred years ago the vision appeared to him and the vision was Zenak. And above Zenak's head floated the words, “Zenak, King of Kings.” He felt that it was an important vision and he fashioned the statue himself and told his tribe it was their god since for eons the tribe lacked a god.]

Zenak knew what sort of mild-mannered animals the Mukes were and he began cursing at the ten hairy humanoids. “You half-men sons of the devil! Don't you know who you have captured? When I get free I shall tear you into small furry pieces.”

Zenak also knew that if any one of these Mukes decided to put up a wholehearted fight that Zenak would probably be given the fight of his life. And if all ten Mukes decided to attack, Zenak would be torn into small furry pieces.

“Vokar has told us to capture you. We will do what Vokar tells us,” one of the Mukes said.

“Not only are they half-men, they are also half-wits,” Zenak muttered to himself. The strain on Zenak's muscles was getting the best of Zenak and the ropes were beginning to cut into his skin. He was also being slowly asphyxiated because his body was stretched so tight he could not breathe properly. Every fiber in his body was being taxed to its limit and his joints were slowly being pulled out of their sockets. The pain was dull and continu­ous. It was the kind of pain that makes death a welcome friend. But Zenak held on. He knew he had to so he could save his family and avenge Tak and the young woman he had killed earlier. Zenak had thought a lot about her when he was trapped in the mana pit. He felt that her death was a stain on his soul and the only thing that would cleanse it would be to kill Vokar.

“The wagon comes,” the Mukes announced.

Zenak looked, as well as he could, at the wagon as it rat­tled up. It was a large two-wheeled, wooden wagon. The wheels were at least fifteen feet in diameter and were heavily spoked. It took two large, lumbering work marks to pull one of these wagons and when a convoy of the wagons moved, it sounded as if the thunder of the skies had come to rest on the land.

Five of the Mukes each took hold of one of the ropes holding Zenak and untied them from stakes that were driven into the ground. They let go of the ropes and let Zenak fall back into the pit. Just before he hit bottom the Mukes holding the ropes connected to Zenak's arms and legs pulled up. The shock to Zenak's body was horrid. Any other man would have died from such a shock, but Zenak was, because of superior physical stamina, only shaken up badly. When the Mukes pulled him back up it was a considerably weakened Zenak who lay on the ground. He was in agony. Every joint and muscle in his body was stretched to its limit and then some. He could barely move, so he just lay there trying to recover his strength before the Mukes did anything else. The Mukes were certain that Zenak was weakened for a long time and they took no more precautions while he lay on the ground and they moved the wagon closer to him. They were wrong. After lying quietly on the ground for a few minutes, Zenak felt his strength pouring back into his body and just when the Mukes were preparing to hoist his limp body on the wheel he jumped them. His hairy adversaries were taken completely by sur­prise and coupled with the fact that they are mild-mannered, Zenak's ferocity left them aghast. Zenak was like a war mark among riding marks. The Muke closest to Zenak's left hand was picked up and thrown head first into the mana pit. Be­fore the Muke ever touched the bottom of the pit, Zenak grabbed two other Mukes and crushed their heads together. Zenak could hear the faint cracking of a neck at the bottom of the mana pit as he strained to see through the spurting brains and blood of the crushed skulls of the two Mukes. By this time the other Mukes realized what was happening and they attacked Zenak en mass. Two more Mukes, however, were to realize their end on this attack. One of them was kicked into the mana pit by Zenak. He was already dead before he hit the bottom, though. Zenak had lodged his foot into the Muke's spinal cord and split it in half. The other Muke died when Zenak drove his mighty fist through its chest and pulled its heart out. Blood sprayed everywhere and pieces of bone jumped all around. This display of strength and the crushing of the Muke's chest slowed Zenak up for a split second because his hand got caught in the ribs of the Muke and he had to shake it free. This was time enough to turn the tide against Zenak and swiftly the remaining Mukes took Zenak to the ground. Zenak fought like a madman, but his great strength was not great enough to subdue three full-sized Mukes from his strategi­cally weakened position. Zenak would not give up and he wrestled the Mukes until one of them took a rock and crashed it into Zenak's skull. Darkness engulfed Zenak as he fell into un­consciousness.

When Zenak groggily came to, he found himself chained to the spokes of the mana wagon in a spread-eagle fashion. The Mukes were squatting under the wheel in a circle and were eating.

Five more Mukes had joined the three that were left after Zenak's vengeful attack. The Mukes were eating the Muke whose heart Zenak had pulled out.

“Goddam cannibals,” Zenak muttered to himself. But then he remembered when he was fighting the black Honats of the middle desert. He remembered he was the only man left alive and that he ached for food. The dead men on the desert sand were the only meat around. Zenak changed his thoughts; such remembrances were better left in the subconscious.

“Well, what do you plan to do with me?” Zenak asked the Mukes.

One of the Mukes looked up and with his mouth full of fresh bloody flesh mumbled to Zenak that they were going to take him into Mea.

Zenak smiled for he knew that they were doing him a favor.

“So, when are we going?” Zenak asked. “I'm tired of hang­ing on this wheel. Put me in the wagon and let's go.

“Put you in the wagon?” a Muke asked. He rose and stood next to Zenak. “You're going to stay exactly where you are. We're going to roll you into town.” Then the Muke urinated on Zenak's foot.

This enraged Zenak and he began pulling at the chains. It was no use, though. The chains were made to hold the wild mana down in the wagon. No man, not even Zenak, could break those chains.

“Well let's go. Vokar will reward us well,” the apparent leader of the Mukes said. Then he belched and spit some of the upchuck into Zenak's face. Zenak shook the chains and cursed at the Muke. The Muke just stared at Zenak and laughed uproari­ously—a rare sight for a Muke.

“For being such meek animals…” Zenak thought to him­self but his thoughts changed quickly as the wagon abruptly started moving and Zenak's torturous ride began.

For three hours Zenak endured the terror of his cruci­fixion. For three hours his body slowly went in circles as the mana wagon moved down the winding rocky road.

When he was head down his body would pull on his ankles that were shackled to the rusty chains. The chains would cut viciously into his ankles. Then when he was right side up he was using all his strength to keep his wrists away from the same painful, bloody fate his ankles were receiving. Also, as the wagon moved down the rocky road, stones would be thrown up from the wheel. Many of these sharp stones would fly sharply into Zenak's body cutting it whenever they struck. Once a large rock jumped up when Zenak was head down to the ground and lacerated Zenak's right forehead. His blood began flowing profusely and within seconds Zenak's right eye was blinded by the blood.

But even these tortures were not worse than the dizziness that Zenak was experiencing. His stomach felt as if it was rest­ing in his throat ready to explode from his mouth at any time.

In fact, throughout the trip to Mea, Zenak belched so many times that near the end of the trip he had emptied his stomach to the point where only black bile emptied out. His body was covered with vomit and blood and his eyes could no longer focus on anything. He was in a bad way.

It was a great relief to Zenak when the wagon stopped at the gates of Mea, and even though he was upside-down he felt better than being turned around. The leader of the Mukes bring­ing Zenak to Mea rang the bell at the gates. Then they waited for the gates to open. Zenak wished that the gates would open quickly. He was impatient. He also wished the gates would open quickly be­cause the rush of blood to his head along with the continued pain in his ankles was beginning to take the novelty away of not turning around. Finally, after a long wait, the gates swung open revealing the long tunnel through the walls of Mea. Then the tunnel itself be­gan widening and becoming taller so the mana wagon and the work marks could fit. There was no magic behind this; the tunnel had been made this way so larger things could come into Mea other than people or anything smaller. The Muke who pulled the bell slapped the work marks that were pulling the wagon and the wagon once again laboriously lumbered through the gates and into the tunnel. Once inside the tunnel, the gates slowly closed and all that could be seen was the light at the end of the tunnel.