 
GREAT REPUBLIC ON RYE

Freedom for an unready world

by Brian Bakos

graphic art: Rob Jones, Othoniel Ortiz photos: Brian Bakos

Copyright 2018, Brian Bakos

Smashwords edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to anyone else. If you want to share this book, please buy an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and obtain your own copy. Thanks for respecting the author's hard work.

**Dedication:** To James Tipton, my college English instructor. A good guy and a fine teacher.

Table of Contents

One: A Liberator is Fashioned

Two: Plunge to Uncertainty

Three: On to New Lands

Four: From the High Place

Five: Down the Slope

Six: The Republic Emerges

Seven: Fissures in the Facade

Eight: Reckoning

Nine: The Trail

Ten: Alma Refuge

Eleven: Home

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# One: A Liberator is Fashioned

Good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence if they lack understanding. – Albert Camus, The Plague

## 1.Vengeance

A dying sun thrust its beams across another day of captivity, and the approaching night held no promise for the future.

Jake stood in reverent prayer – head bowed, hands extended over the grave. He sprinkled homeland soil upon it in a last gesture of respect.

May you find peace in your after-world, Nata-Mara. There is none here.

Jake lifted the spade onto his shoulder and hobbled off in his leg irons. Misty darkness was closing in, creating a haunted atmosphere where one could envision ho-toi stalking about, their lifeless eyes seeking victims.

But such imaginings were childish. Why fear supernatural creatures when the hearts of ordinary men contained so much evil? Poor Nata-Mara had gone to her death still convinced a "Liberator" would come to end their bondage. Jake shook his head at such foolishness. Only personal revenge mattered to him, not mystical promises of deliverance.

If the gods truly cared for their plight, why allow them to become slaves in the first place, only to provide a liberator? The whole idea was absurd. He had not said as much to the Nata-Mara, however, and now she was at rest with her delusions.

Jake's empty belly rumbled beneath its iron band, every one of his whipping scars ached. Ahead, he saw Old Master Walton riding toward him upon a horse.

By all the gods, what is he doing here?

He recognized the horse as that of Ellery Walton, deceased son of Old Master. Many times he'd seen Ellery sneering from the lofty heights of that animal. The young man was even crueler and more arrogant than his father.

Jake's teeth clenched so hard that he feared they might crack, but he managed a polite bow.

"Good evening, Master," he said in the alien power language.

Perched upon the massive horse amid the gathering gloom, Edward Walton scowled down at his 'property.'

"What are you doing out, Jake?" he demanded.

Jake fixed his eyes on the ground. "Bury Nata-Mara, sir ... at sunset, as is custom. Mr. William, he give permission."

Forming so many words in the power language made his jaw ache.

"Yes, yes," Walton said absently, "carry on."

Old Master had aged much since the death of his son two months ago. His iron gray mane had turned sickly white, the once fierce eyes joyless and bewildered. Deep within himself, where manly pride still existed, Jake grinned at the old man's distress.

"Is it not peaceful here, Master?" he asked.

This supposedly innocent question disguised a spiteful intent. Death hung in the air this close to the burial ground, and its presence could not help but pain the old man further.

"Mmm."

Walton did not grasp the cruel irony. He was staring off toward the blood-red horizon and confronting his terrible loneliness. His mind drifted back over a host of sorrows . . .

His son and heir killed in a saloon brawl, his wife and daughters slain years ago by an epidemic. They would all still live had he remained in the West rather than coming out to pioneer this harsh land.

If only he'd protected the women better! If only he'd supervised his high-spirited son more closely!

But now that this area was finally tamed, now that he should be enjoying his ease amid loving grandchildren, he was alone. Why did he have to soldier on like this, filling his nights with aimless wanderings – why didn't the Lord take him from this vale of tears? And he'd entered the most forlorn area of his plantation to converse with this savage creature. How much lower could he go?

He had many regrets, but these did not extend to the slaves he kept underfoot – like this one here, with its barbarous accent and heathen burial customs. At least he could rule over them in the name of civilization and true religion. Life still had a few satisfactions . . .

Jake followed the old man's gaze to the horizon. The trees there offered sweet refuge, but he could not reach them, even without the chains fastened to his iron belly band. The beating he'd taken after his last escape attempt still echoed through his body.

They were alone in the barren spaces – master and slave, lord of creation and its lowliest inhabitant. All the world's injustice seemed distilled into these two figures – one well-fed and sitting upon a fine horse, the other one hungry and bowed in the dirt.

Walton took his feet from the stirrups and stretched his legs. The reins went slack in his hands. A fearsome idea burst into Jake's mind; his crushed manhood flickered back to life. The malicious grin in his heart spread over his face.

"Nata-Mara rest easy," he said. "As much as possible in cursed land."

The old man jerked his head around. "What did you say, boy?"

"You hear me, dog," Jake said.

Walton reached for the gun at his belt, but Jake was faster. He smacked the horse's rump hard with the shovel. The animal bolted, throwing off its rider a short distance away.

Edward Walton lay stunned upon the rocky ground. Jake came after him, loping grotesquely in his chains like the very spirit of slavery itself. He paused beside the fallen enemy.

Old Master struggled to rise. "W-what happened?"

"Vengeance!"

Wump!

Jake crashed the shovel against Walton's head. The skull broke like one of those chicken eggs the slaves were seldom allowed to eat.

Edward Walton lay still in the gathering dark, his lifeless eyes stared into eternity. Jake hobbled toward the slave huts as quickly as he could. The Warrior's song rang in his heart.

## 2.Morning Duel

Eugene Walton

The dark cavern of the pistol muzzle aimed at me offers a peculiar sort of refuge. I half desire to escape within it.

My own pistol weighs down my hand, and the morning is impossibly bright – like the anteroom to heaven. I experience no fear, only a numb detachment. Riotous bird song fills the air.

A puff of smoke, followed by an explosion and a simultaneous impact against my face – as if somebody has pulled back a tree branch and smacked me hard with it.

My gun jumps in my hand.

Blam!

My opponent goes down.

"Bravo, Eugene!" Lawton cries.

He runs toward my fallen enemy along with the doctor and the other second. My gun lowers. I feel relief that it's Wright and not me sprawled upon the ground. But in a perverse sense, I almost envy my foe. The bird chorus has ceased. Dead silence rules the forest glade.

Lawton trots up. He looks fresh and young, like a boy on a picnic romp.

"The wound's not too bad," he reports. "The doctor says he'll probably recover."

"Good."

Lawton gives me a snow-white handkerchief, it almost seems too pure for this world. I press it against my wound.

"That's a nasty gash on your face. Let's get it tended to."

He takes my arm, and we leave the 'field of honor' together.

"Why the hell did you wait so long to shoot? You could have had that sucker cold."

I shrug. "It didn't seem sporting, somehow."

"Didn't seem sporting! I'll never figure you out, Eugene."

* * *

Then it's back to the world of tedium where only the gambling tables offer temporary respite.

For a while, I seem to possess heightened sensibilities. Food has more flavor – even the bland saloon fare. The colors of the player girls' outfits shine with more vivacity. A new awareness of life's possibilities dawns upon me, and contemplation of my frivolous existence saddens my heart.

I attribute these insights to my recent brush with death. They will soon fade, however, like the wound on my cheek. I pour a drink from the whiskey bottle.

The nimble fingers of the player girl seated beside me at the Musiquette table gauge my success. When the stakes begin rolling my way, her hand slips discretely to my knee. As my chips amass, her fingers journey up my inner thigh, stoking hot arousal. Her tactile artistry, along with a couple of drinks, diverts my attention from the sting of my bandaged face.

Lawton leans toward me and whispers, "Good show, Eugene! You'll soon be driving the old railway spike."

The duel I'd fought this morning was over such a one as her, or perhaps it concerned the disputed result of some card game. I'd been too drunk to remember whatever offense I'd supposedly committed, and Wright was too hot-headed to withdraw his challenge, even after my apologies.

Wright is a violent bully, not unlike my cousin Ellery who met a distasteful end a couple months ago. Somebody left a knife in him as a calling card.

"So how's our friend Wright doing?" I ask.

"As genial as ever," Lawton says. "He'll be up and about soon enough. There'll be more trouble from him or his cronies. I'm thinking it would be prudent to move on for a while."

"I daresay."

I envision a series of mornings like this one – duel at first light, then some refreshment with the local player girls. Unless somebody takes the dishonorable approach and blasts me from behind. My reputation as a dead-eye pistol shot is well established, which would give somebody an incentive to take the ambush shortcut.

It's all so boring.

A steward approaches with a telegram for me.

"Not now," Lawton says, "can't you see he's on a roll? Give it here."

The steward hands the envelope to Lawton, and I tip the man a middle-sized chip. He positively glows.

"Thank you, sir!"

In the tradition of 'let no good deed go unpunished,' this act of generosity signals an immediate decline in my fortunes. The cards turn against me, the pile of chips decreases, and the player girl's hand returns to her lap. Before long, the chair beside me is vacant.

"Farewell, sweet opportunity," I sigh.

I turn toward my old friend. "Please give me the telegram. Maybe it's good news – an invitation to a duel or a tar and feather party."

Lawton chooses to be obstreperous and ignores my outstretched hand. Instead, he holds the telegram up to the light, as if trying to read through the envelope.

"Come on, now!"

"Don't get upset," Lawton says. "You'll turn your hair redder than it already is."

"Quit going on about my hair. And it's not red but auburn."

"Whatever you say."

Lawton hands over the telegram. I light a cigar, nearly incinerating the paper by mistake.

"Careful, old boy," Lawton says. "Good job you had a steadier hand this morning."

I open the telegram and read. I practically swallow my cigar.

"What's the matter?" Lawton asks.

"My Uncle Edward is dead... some sort of riding accident."

Lawton's face turns serious. "I'm sorry to hear that, Eugene. Please accept my condolences."

I crush out my cigar and take a long slug of whisky.

"No need for that. I hardly knew the man. Just a shock is all."

Lawton grips my shoulder anyhow, in a show of camaraderie. Maybe I am more rattled than I let on. I return to the telegram.

"It says I'm to be executor of the estate. They want me to leave immediately for the East. They've wired travel funds."

"Are you going?"

I finish draining my whiskey. I glance about the room at the tables of card sharps, the fancy ladies, the good-for-nothings hanging around the bar. Well, I'm here, too, what does that make me?

"Why not?" I say. "It could be an interesting trip. You'll come along?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Lawton refills our glasses. We share a toast. "To the future!"

## 3.Journey to the East

The train ride is long and tedious with scarcely a decent card game to pass the time.

Lawton and I are among the few Western passengers aboard. The great majority are Easterners heading for home. Their pleasant, rather melodious accents fill our coach, in contrast to our plain vanilla style of talking. If you can't see the difference between an Eastern and a Western person, you can sure hear it.

I have little to do except brood and drink too much whiskey – and listen to the exhortations of Lawton Elder, my old college chum. We were kicked out of the best schools together in the good old days. Mostly, Lawton speaks of the coming war between the Western free provinces and the slaveholding East. I've heard it all, for years, now.

The politicians, like my Uncle Kyle, avoid the threatened war through various compromises and sellouts. I think the peace will continue to hold, but Lawton is of a different mind.

"If we pool our resources, we can do it," he says, "you, me, Loren, and Miles."

"Do what?"

"Form our own cavalry troop, of course! We'll have the best of everything – top of the line sabers, repeating carbines, pistols, too. None of this muzzle-loading nonsense for us. And we'll ride the finest horses; I know just where we can buy them."

"For a whole troop?" I say. "That's a lot of pooled resources."

Lawton waves a dismissive hand. Little things like money do not enter much into his calculations.

"There are these little pocket grenados now," he says. "The army is too hidebound to purchase them, but we'll have a good supply. You can knock off a half dozen enemy with one toss!"

"Sounds delightful."

Lawton nods eagerly. "We'll make Loren the medical officer. Anyone who gets shot will have the best of care."

"And who will lead this merry band?"

"The commanding officer will be elected," Lawton says. "I herewith announce my candidacy. However, should the mantle of leadership fall upon you, I would not, perhaps, be totally offended."

He flashes that impish grin of his.

"That's very generous," I say. "What about Miles?"

"Too preachy. We can make him the chaplain."

Lawton wants to talk more about this, but I've had enough. I divert my attention outside the window. He takes the hint and saunters off alone toward the smoking car. It won't be until the next meal time that I'll have to hear more of his wisdom.

A question continues to annoy me like a dull toothache. Why the deuce did Uncle Edward pick me for this task?

It's highly unlikely he left me anything, except a modest salary for handling the legal hassles. He was a skin flinty old guy. Yet, I can't imagine him leaving his estate to Uncle Kyle, either. The two of them never did get along.

Maybe Uncle Edward left a mistress behind who will inherit his wealth, or maybe he donated everything to a charitable organization, like the Benevolent Society of Misanthropes.

There were three Walton brothers: Father, who passed on when I was quite young, Uncle Edward, and Uncle Kyle who 'raised' me.

Actually the nannies and the boarding schools did that. Uncle Kyle has been a member of Parliament for many years and spends much of his time at the capital city. He devoted scant effort to my upbringing.

There was little love lost between the brothers. The slavery issue tore across our family the same way it has divided the whole nation. Father had a deep hatred of it. He never forgave Edward for striking out to seek his fortune in the East.

I recall my father once referring to Edward as "that goddam slaver." And that was about the extent of it. Uncle Edward's name was taboo as long as Father lived.

Uncle Kyle is far too much of a fussbudget to tolerate a crude roughneck like Edward. Perhaps there's a bit of envy behind the disapproval? In any case, Uncle Kyle has been sitting on the fence so long about the slavery issue that he's got splinters in his britches.

Mother and I keep in occasional touch, but there is little love lost between us, either. She'd been quite happy to unload me on Uncle Kyle after Father's death so that she could pursue life with a riverboat gambler no-account. Maybe I inherited my fondness for cards from her.

My irritation and sense of being put upon increase as the kilometers clack by under the train wheels. Why did I agree to put myself in this position? What's it to me if Uncle Edward's wealth is properly distributed or goes straight to the devil with him?

I'd thought this jaunt would relieve my boredom, but it's only made things worse. I'm bored with being bored! Well, at least I won't have to contend with Wright and his crowd for a while.

Maybe things will perk up. I've spent my whole life in the free provinces and have never seen the shadowy, alternate world of the slave areas. Through my ennui, I can feel an occasional thrill at the prospect of discoveries ahead, along with a growing apprehension . . .

It seems we've left one batch of trouble behind only to create another. Lawton's had too many whiskeys at dinner and is discussing his war scenarios a bit too loudly. A man at a nearby table takes issue.

"Talk is cheap, my friend," he says. "Should you dare to take up arms against us, you'll find we are far more dangerous than you can imagine."

His manner is controlled, icy. He's waiting for Lawton to insult him so he can issue a challenge for an affair of honor. He's not a particularly formidable looking young man, but that could change on the dueling field. I, myself, am perhaps not the most overawing person, but my pistol speaks for me with a very loud voice.

Lawton opens his mouth. I seize his arm across the table.

"Shut up, for God's sake!" I whisper.

I turn back to the offended party. "Please forgive our conversation, sir. It's really just the whiskey talking."

The man turns his frigid gaze on me but does not reply. I look back to Lawton.

"Say, would you mind speaking to the conductor about my cigarette case?" I ask. "I seem to have lost the bloody thing."

Lawton is furious, but somehow the influence I've exerted over him since our college days still holds. God, let it hold just a bit longer!

"Tell him there's a substantial tip if he can find it," I say. "Sentimental value and all that."

Lawton gets to his feet. He's so angry I fear he might take a swing at me, or throttle the man at the next table. And then what – a general melee with the two of us against the whole train?

Praise the heavens, Lawton departs without further upset. I direct my attention to the man at the next table.

"My friend has been embarrassing me since our days at college," I say. "Thanks for your forbearance, sir."

I strike up an acquaintanceship with the fellow, Nisbet by name. He's not a bad sort. That night, I allow him to win at cards, thus lightening my purse a bit when I could have won. Peace at any price. Another sellout.

## 4.Arrival in the Slave Lands

Next morning, we cross the boundary into the slave provinces. No billboard nor guard post announces our arrival, no brass band plays a welcoming hymn. This is the same country, after all. We've just crossed a provincial border.

Still... there is a vague sense things are not right – that we have entered an alternate reality. The sun seems to have dimmed, although it still blazes along the horizon with increasing warmth. I take a drink from my hip flask, but it does not dispel the impression.

Slavery was outlawed in the West long before I was born. Now I am under its shadow. I've taken step back into a more barbaric time.

The land looks tired, somehow. Lovely as the flowering trees and cultivated fields might be, the ambience seems worn down, as if human presence has brought melancholy to what should be exuberant natural beauty. The regional accents of the other passengers, which had once seemed so pleasant, now grate my ears.

"What do you think of this place, Lawton?"

"I'm wondering how the women are here."

That's my pal for you, as deep as ever.

The first sure indication we have entered a land of alternate reality comes early afternoon. I've just placed a cigar in my mouth and am ready to leave for the smoking carriage, when something catches my eye outside the window.

We are approaching a specific telegraph pole among the endless progression running alongside the tracks. Something is hanging from this one. I wonder what it could be – a sack of mail, a scarecrow? As we draw nearer, a painful knot grips my stomach. I nearly bite through the cigar.

No... it can't be! A man is hanging from the pole. A sign around his neck reads:

RUNAWAY

I am speechless with horror, but Lawton finds his voice.

"Dear God!"

Other expressions of shock issue from the passengers, but the outrage moderates as people comprehend it's only a dead slave festooning the pole.

"That's illegal," a man sitting across from us says.

"Yes, but highly effective," his seat mate replies. "Sends a message to any other slaves with windy feet. 'What's the harm?' I say."

"You've got a point," the first one says.

My ears feel polluted from this hellish conversation.

"Anyway, it's just a matter of a modest fine," the second man says, "assuming any jury would convict a man for disposing of his property as he sees fit."

"But it's so ... untidy!" the first man exclaims with mock disapproval.

The two men chuckle and share a drink from a hip flask.

Lawton moves closer to me on his seat. For the first time since I've known him, he appears frightened. I'm scared myself – much more so than when facing Wright's pistol.

We never leave each other's company for the remainder of the ride. We form a tiny pocket of sanity amid the darkness.

* * *

Early next morning, we reach our destination. I exit the train as if I'm departing a marathon ordeal in the dentist's chair.

"Great to stretch the old legs, eh?" Lawton says.

He's trying to sound jovial. Others might be taken in, but I'm not deceived.

"That it is," I reply.

The depot looks the same as any back home. For a while, I feel almost comfortable with the surroundings – the bustling crowd, the purposeful men in railway uniforms going about their business, the little café with its inviting coffee scent. A telegraph office opens into the lobby.

"Want to send Wright a telegram," Lawton asks, "let him know we got here safe?"

I grunt. This is pretty lame joke, even for Lawton.

Then we make our way outside, and we're back to the alternate reality. Various conveyances await the arriving passengers, most are driven by slaves. These men slump in the drivers' seats, the very picture of dejection. One of them calls to us from an open carriage.

"Good morning, Master Eugene!"

He lifts his cap, revealing a head full of gray hair.

"Good morning," I say, "lovely weather, isn't it?"

The man hesitates, as if he's not used to being addressed so informally. "Yes, sir... that it is, sir."

"Glad he recognized you," Lawton remarks. "Must be the red hair."

A strong, younger fellow hefts our bags onto the conveyance, his muscles rippling with the effort. Then he removes his cap, bows, and motions us aboard.

The whole scene has a dreamlike aspect – nightmarish, really. I can't get the vision of the hanged man out of my mind. To my jumbled recollections, this young fellow looks just like him. It's as if he's come back from the dead to continue his endless bondage.

As I ascend the steps, queer feelings barge into my awareness. I pause and look back toward the depot. I want more than anything to flee inside and catch the next train home.

"Did we forget something?" Lawton asks.

"No ... no."

I enter the carriage and settle into my place.

But maybe I have forgotten something – my integrity, for instance. For the first time in my life, I'm being served by forced men. Always before, those who drove my carriage or handled my bags had received fair payment. Now I am stealing their labor.

The chill finger of conscience jabs at me. The carriage starts moving.

"Whole lives are stolen here," I mutter.

"Eh?" Lawton asks.

"Nothing, old boy. Just admiring the scenery."

Lawton nods. He isn't his usual boisterous self. Ordinarily, he'd be brimming with enthusiasm after completing such a long journey, and he'd be full of excitement at the prospect of new experiences, not to mention new women. Perhaps the hanged man is paying him a visit.

The two enslaved men of our party say nothing as we ride along. They just stare ahead from beneath their furrowed brows. What unhappy visions do they see along this dusty lane? What visions would I see if my spirit was crushed?

Again, I am struck by the land's exhaustion, its basic melancholy. The scenery is much like what we saw from the train, only now we are close enough to smell the blossoms. The sweet aromas bring to mind a funeral parlor.

I pour Lawton and myself drinks from my hip flask. I consider offering a taste to our handlers, but quickly decide against it. I have no idea what the protocols of this strange place are. Giving alcohol to a slave might get me horse whipped ... or worse.

Within an hour, we are at the plantation. A high wooden gateway over the road demarks the property line. Dunn Hollow is written on the crosspiece. A sign hangs below the name:

Edward Walton – Owner

The sign appears innocuous enough, but all I can think of is a dead man hanging beside it. Then – in a flash – I can see him! He's twisting at the end of a rope, his RUNAWAY sign on his chest.

The sky behind him is dark, though the sun has become overlarge and painfully bright. I turn towards Lawton, but he is gazing another direction. I look back toward the gate. The hanged man is much closer now, I could stand in the carriage and grasp his legs.

He seems big as death itself, yet insubstantial. I can discern a jagged cloud floating behind him. A flock of big, evil-sounding birds launches from the trees ... I can see them right through the hanged man!

Then, with an almost audible pop! the vision disappears. The sky brightens and the sun returns to its normal size. Only the birds remain with their death cackles. I tumble back to reality.

## 5.Dunn Hollow Reception

A rather stout, comfortable-looking personage awaits us on the front porch of the estate house. His hand grasps an iced drink.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I'm Dimitri Erikson, attorney at law." He puts down his drink and shakes our hands. his grasp is clammy. "I'll be assisting you with your executor duties, Mr. Walton."

We trade a few banalities. Erikson expresses concern for my facial wound. I assure him it's "just a scratch."

Lawton allows that he's never seen such beautiful flowering trees as those along the route. A "vision of heaven," in his words. Well, Lawton does tend to go overboard in his metaphors. Myself, I'd use a different locale to describe this place.

Slaves hustle past us bearing our luggage into the house. Some cast curious glances our direction, most just keep their eyes fixed to the ground.

"Perhaps you'll join me for a gin twist after you've settled in?" Mr. Erikson says. "Then I'd like to conduct a tour of the estate."

"Thank you," I say. "A tall cool one sounds very good, doesn't it, Lawton?"

Lawton smiles and nods agreement. It's the first time his old self has poked through since we got here.

Inside the house, the entire slave staff poses at rigid attention, including a dignified man who appears to be the butler.

"Welcome to Dunn Hollow, Master," he says. "My name is Montgomery. Do not hesitate to call upon me at any time."

"Thank you," I say.

His demeanor and manner of speech are surprisingly sophisticated, much more so than the men who drove us here. Everyone bows, the women curtsy. The younger maids cast surreptitious glances, mostly at Lawton.

I feel horribly awkward before this line of owned human beings. They call me "Master," a title I've done nothing to earn. Everyone is well dressed and scrubbed, but joyless. Despite his stiff formality, this Montgomery chap has the saddest eyes I've ever seen.

A strong hand seems to be pressing against my chest, making it difficult to breath. Montgomery breaks the silence.

"Allow us to conduct you to your rooms."

"Yes, that would be ... fine," I say.

We follow the slaves upstairs and unpack.

"What's the matter, Eugene?" Lawton asks once we are alone in my suite. "You've looked gut shot ever since we arrived."

"It's wrong here," I say. "Can't you feel it?"

"Yes, well ... things are lot different from home, I'll grant you that."

"Not just different. There's oppression in the air. I can hardly breathe."

Lawton claps my arm. "Let's go see Mr. Erikson. One or two gin twists under your belt will make the world look better."

And so they do. A half hour later, with the blessed numbness taking hold, I feel more like myself.

"Tell me, Mr. Erikson," I say. "Why did my uncle select me as the executor for his estate? I only met him a few times during his visits West. He moved out here before I was born."

Mr. Erikson does not reply right off, preferring to study his iced drink, instead. I press on.

"Last time I saw him was two months ago when he brought back my cousin Ellery for burial in the family plot. We hardly spoke."

Mr. Erikson looks uncomfortable, as if I'm getting ahead of the game, somehow – not playing my role to plan.

"I cannot say for certain why he selected you, Mr. Walton. Your Uncle Edward was not a man to confide with anyone, least of all myself. Perhaps he felt that only a blood relation could handle things properly."

This makes a kind of sense, I suppose, but it's hardly convincing.

"Also, I might add, the payment for your services is not insubstantial," Erikson says.

Yes, those holding my gambling debts will be glad to learn that. I've found it to be generally true that people like it better when they get paid.

## 6.Plantation Tour

The plantation tour commences. Mr. Erikson and I climb into the front seat of the carriage while Lawton occupies the back.

The same coachman who brought us from the depot handles the reins. He tips his cap but gives no further sign of recognition. The informality of our earlier ride has been replaced by stiff protocol, in keeping with Mr. Erikson's station.

Our driver flicks the reins and we venture out into the vast reaches of Dunn Hollow. I'm surprised to see that most of it is forested land and open space unbroken by the plow. It glides past our carriage pleasantly. I settle back and enjoy the view amid a happy gin twist buzz.

Then we come to cultivated fields, and my sense of well-being vanishes. Slave workers bend to their tasks in these fields. Even from afar, I can see the sweat glistening on them. They do not look our way but keep their attention fixed to the ground under the watchful gaze of overseers.

These bosses raise their whips in salute as we pass. Erikson acknowledges them with a slight wave.

He keeps up a running commentary – crop yields, rainfall statistics, soil types – but I have difficulty paying attention. The gin twists have turned sour in my stomach. The heat is getting oppressive, just sitting in the carriage under a sun roof. What must it be like slaving out in those fields?

This is intended to be a jolly outing, complete with picnic basket, but I'm not feeling very festive. It's more than just physical heat bearing down on me. Human suffering smothers this land like a death shroud. It's creeping over my face.

Even so, the ham on rye sandwiches slathered with horseradish are excellent. Eating them can be a chore, however. Lawton pats my back as I wipe tears from my eyes, brought on by the horseradish.

"That should wake you up, eh, Eugene?"

Erikson hands me a glass of cider to wash down the fiery repast.

"So, how big is this place altogether, Mr. Erikson?" Lawton asks.

"4,500 hectares."

A whistle escapes my burned mouth. "I had no idea. I was thinking three or four hundred."

"Land was cheap when your uncle first came here," Erikson says. "And he augmented his initial purchase with ... shrewd actions."

"Gambling, you mean? I've heard he was handy with a deck of cards – and a dueling pistol."

Erikson chuckles but does not pursue the topic. He seems a bit nervous. Was he involved in some of these "shrewd actions" himself?

"I assure you land here is no longer cheap, Mr. Walton. The district is starting to boom with the increase of world agricultural prices."

He gestures to some woods.

"Soon this whole area will be cleared for planting. It's excellent land, worth a tidy sum now. Just the lumber will bring a handsome return."

He's being avoidant. I want to know more about Uncle Edward.

"Can you tell me something about my uncle's riding accident?"

"Ah, yes, very tragic," Mr. Erikson says. "Since the death of his only son, the poor fellow was not himself. He began taking long, nocturnal rides about the plantation."

I feel a stab of sympathy. I never thought well of my cousin, but his loss must have pained Uncle Edward a great deal.

"On that particular night, he was riding Ellery's horse," Erikson says. "It's a high-spirited animal, too much for your uncle, really. But... perhaps it gave him some connection to his son."

"Were there witnesses?"

"No, but it's easy to surmise what happened. The horse had already bucked him off once before. This time it proved fatal. Fractured skull, I'm afraid."

On this somber note, the tour continues. We visit the saw mill, the stable, the smokehouse, the blacksmith forge with its burly operator. And always, the fields with their slaves. I try to avert my eyes from such scenes, but they continue to haunt me like the hanged man.

A growing sense of shame overcomes me. I must wash my hands of this horrible enterprise. I'll be on the morning train for home. Lawton can stay, if he's a mind, to check out the ladies.

Afternoon advances toward dusk, and long shadows take over this strange world. The slaves finish their bleak labors and head to their habitations.

We arrive at a field where slaves yet toil, stooping to tend the low plants. I don't know what the crop is and don't bother asking. I'm a city man without interest in such things. Just looking at the bent-over slaves makes my back ache.

We stop, and a big, rough-looking man clutching a whip approaches our carriage. A large pistol dangles from his belt. He is introduced as William Beale, chief overseer of Dunn Hollow's slaves.

"How are things going, Mr. Beale?" Erikson inquires. "Working a bit late, aren't you?"

"Aye sir." Beale points toward the slaves with his whip. "This batch is a bit skittish today. They're worried about the coming auction – afraid their families will get broke up."

"I daresay," Mr. Erikson replies in his educated accent. It seems terribly out of place here.

"Not to worry, sir, I'm working the sass out of 'em." Beale grins, clearly pleased with his efficiency.

I've taken an instant dislike to the man. He reminds me of Wright back home – the arrogant sneer, the cruel and violent miasma. I wonder how Wright is doing with that bullet I shot into him?

"We won't detain you further, Mr. Beale," Erikson says. "Please carry on."

"Aye, sir."

Erikson signals our driver, but I have another idea. The brutal face of William Beale has inspired me.

"I wish to see the slave accommodations," I say.

Erikson's eyebrows go up.

"Whatever for?"

"Please oblige me. Did you not offer a 'thorough tour' of the property?"

Erikson lets out a sigh of politely suppressed exasperation.

"Very well, Mr. Walton."

"Best I go with you, sir," Beale says. "It'll just rile them up more if you appear unaccompanied."

"By all means," Erikson says.

Beale clambers into the back seat of our conveyance, next to Lawton who offers no word of welcome. Lawton seems as dubious of our new passenger as I am.

* * *

The slave community is depressing with its general air of impoverishment. Several tiny cabins are jammed together on hardscrabble ground. They are scarcely bigger than a tool shed back home. Most of them want for a good coat of paint, as well. Life goes on within the huts, though. Cook fires are burning, and conversations take place. An occasional laugh can be heard.

Two ragged, bare-footed children are cavorting outside. Their smiles disappear when they see us. They reenter the cabins and all conversation halts within.

"Why are these huts so small and close together?" I ask.

"It suits their needs well enough," Beale replies. "Besides, timber and land are expensive."

"Yes, but look." I gesture over the wide field to the woods beyond. "There appear to be plenty of both."

Mr. Erikson lowers his voice and speaks into my ear. "Best not to let the slaves hear such comments, sir. This is their lot in life, after all."

The field hands have exited their miserable cabins now and are standing in respectful – I would say sullen and fearful – silence. I've never seen people like this close up before, people with their dignity crushed. Neither the coachmen nor the domestic servants had appeared so utterly defeated.

Beale climbs down and takes a position between them and our carriage, a hand resting on his pistol butt. One of the male slaves is staring at me with naked astonishment. I return his gaze, and his eyes move to the ground. When he looks up again, his face is impassive.

A wide iron band rests around his middle, and chains run from it to his ankles. Despite this, there is overt pride in him.

"That one over there," I say. "What is his offense that he is thus restrained?"

Beale spits on the ground.

"A runaway risk, sir. Twice he's been hauled back – last time just a month ago."

"So, he's been chained these four weeks?"

"Aye, sir."

How must such an encumbrance feel? I can scarcely imagine bearing it a single day, let alone a month. And all for the 'crime' of wanting to be free.

"What's your name?" I ask the man.

"They call me Jake, Master," he replies.

He has some kind of foreign accent. It would seem he was not born in this country.

"This is not your real name, then, I take it?"

"No, Master."

He directs his eyes to the ground, not in a subservient way, but as a means of terminating the discussion.

"He ain't the talkative type, sir," Beale says.

"Yes... well, it would seem he's endured sufficient punishment," I say. "Have those chains struck off immediately."

"But Mr. Walton, this is highly irregular!" Erikson protests.

His indignant voice grates on my ears. I'm thoroughly sick of the man – his polished manners and elegant dress, the air of superiority he tries to maintain – all in the service of this nightmare enterprise.

"As executor of this estate, do I have authority to mandate this or not?"

Erikson looks like he's having an indigestion attack. His mouth is clamped shut and his eyes project something between astonishment and rage. He gives Beale a sharp nod.

"Come on, you." Beale grips Jake's arm. "You're going to the blacksmith."

A vision of the hanged slave barges into my mind again. I lean out of the carriage.

"You will stay put, won't you, Jake? Terrible things can happen to you out there."

Jake fixes probing eyes on me. "Yes, Master."

The overseer leads him away.

"Please forgive my saying so," Mr. Erickson blusters, "but that's no way to treat slaves."

"No, I don't suppose it is." I glance toward Lawton. "Ready to head back – slug down another gin twist?"

"More than ready."

As we ride toward the plantation house, I am gripped by feelings of purposelessness and ennui. Compared to the desperate lives of the people I've just met, my own existence seems a frivolous bore. It is a frivolous bore.

What have I accomplished besides flunking out of college, running up gambling debts, and putting some men in hospital with bullet wounds? Precious little. Is it too late to turn my life around, or am I destined for an insignificant end?

There is a dark and malignant presence hovering over this land, and it's bringing melancholy to my thoughts.

## 7.Letter from Beyond

Lawton and I enjoy an excellent meal together in the dining room, served by the impeccably efficient staff. Montgomery himself hovers in the background. Clearly, the proper impression must be made for the esteemed Western visitors.

One of the women is a bit older and supervises the female slaves. She's quite attractive, but her looks are marred by what seems a profound sadness, a sort of generalized depression. It casts a pall over our meal. Even Lawton, not the most sensitive of fellows, seems affected.

"This feels a bit like a funeral supper," he observes.

Mr. Erikson does not join us. He has his meal served to him in the library where he is putting the "finishing touches" to the paper work we'll be going over later this evening. In my opinion, this is just a ruse. The man is still irked about the Jake incident, and he wants to dispatch his duties with minimum social interaction. Lawton supports me in this view.

"Did you catch the look on Erikson's face when you fronted him off?" he says. "The old boy seemed ready to burst a blood vessel."

"Yes, he was a bit dyspeptic."

"Well, good luck with your business meeting tonight," Lawton says. "You'll be in my thoughts."

"You're coming with me, aren't you?"

Lawton does a parody of Mr. Erikson: "Whatever for?"

"Come on Lawton, I need you there. I'm a stranger in a strange land."

I want a friendly witness present when I tell Erikson to find himself another executor. Hopefully, he won't be too offended and will offer to pay our train fare home.

"Oh, all right," Lawton says. "Can I bring a pillow in case I nod off?"

"Suit yourself."

The first thing to grab my attention when we enter the library is the elevated temperature. Despite it being a warm evening, a small, pot-bellied stove is blazing in a corner.

Lawton and I exchange confused glances. This eccentricity on the part of Mr. Erikson is rather disconcerting. Perhaps the man suffers from poor circulation. Maybe he really did burst a blood vessel.

"Good evening, Mr. Walton ... Mr. Elder," the lawyer says.

He is clearly not pleased to see Lawton.

"I'm just here to take up space," Lawton says. "I promise not to disturb things."

Erikson gives me a questioning look. I offer an innocent smile.

"Very well." Erikson gestures to a leather couch. "Perhaps you could make yourself comfortable there, Mr. Elder?"

"Thanks," Lawton says.

He sits on the far end of the couch, as far away from us and the stove as possible. I take a seat directly in front of Erikson's enormous desk. The lawyer makes a show of rearranging some papers, then he adjusts his reading glasses, then he clears his throat and folds his hands atop the desk.

I prepare to give my resignation statement, but Erikson beats me to the punch.

"Allow me to offer an apology, Mr. Walton, should you feel you've been brought here under anything resembling false pretenses. I assure you I was only following explicit instructions from your late uncle."

"False pretenses?"

Erikson nods. "The telegram I sent stated you would be the executor of this estate. The reality of the situation is quite different, however."

Well, doesn't this get my attention? From the corner of my eye I can see Lawton becoming alert. Erikson hands me a sealed envelope from his stack of papers.

"This should explain everything."

The envelop is off-white parchment. Words are written upon it in a forceful, jagged hand:

Eugene Walton's eyes only

burn after reading

"What's this?"

"A final communication from your uncle. He assured me it would provide all necessary details."

I turn the envelope over. It has a weight that is not entirely physical. I break the seal and withdraw a single page. It is covered with the same tight, jagged writing:

Eugene,

Since you are reading this, I am no longer present and must exercise my influence with a dead hand, as it were. You are likely seated before some stuffed-shirt attorney's desk wondering what's going on. I shall endeavor to inform you.

I glance briefly at Erikson.

After the death of my only son, I cannot help brooding over my complex and tragic fate. I've lived to bury all those dear to me, and I cannot help but question the will of an all-powerful providence that would inflict such injury upon His humble servant.

The wealth and power I struggled so long to attain mean little to me now. My social standing among these Eastern folk means even less. I am a stranger in a strange land.

The hairs on my neck prickle at this phrase.

I have always been a man of action, not a philosopher, but I cannot help wondering what role I have played in bringing these disasters upon myself. My brothers opposed my efforts in the "moral wasteland" of the slave-holding provinces. They wished me to remain in the West and seek my fortune there.

Maybe they were right, though it is beyond my capacity to determine ultimate truths.

Perhaps you can do better. I think there might be something inside you that could help advance the world, though your lifestyle up to our last meeting hardly engenders confidence. You are a young man, however, and young men can be allowed some foolishness. It is the foolish older men who cause so much harm.

I have, thereby, designated you as my sole heir. The sale of Dunn Hollow has already been arranged so you will not be tempted to settle among these alien people. Do with the proceeds as you will.

I hope I am making the right decision, but only the Creator can know for sure.

Your Uncle,

Edward J. Walton

## 8.Into the Morass

The paper shakes in my trembling hands. My mouth has dropped open. I feel ready to faint.

"What's wrong, Eugene?" I hear Lawton's faraway voice.

I look at Erikson. "You mean ... I get everything?"

Erikson nods gravely. He points toward the stove.

"Y-yes, of course," I say.

I stand on rubbery legs and walk to the stove, nearly tripping over the carpet. I open the little door and place the letter upon glowing coals. My entire past life burns up with the parchment.

When I return to my seat, Erikson has placed a crystal decanter upon the desk.

"Perhaps you'd care for a small nip before we continue?" he says.

"Yes, by all means."

I gratefully take the offered glass and slug down the whiskey. A bit of steadiness returns to my jangled nerves. Mr. Erikson hands me a sheet of paper.

"By prearrangement, Colonel James was given first chance to purchase Dunn Hollow," he says. "The colonel has exercised his option and paid in full."

I try to focus my eyes on the figures written on the paper but am having difficulty.

"The funds have been wired to the Liberty Bank in your home province," Mr. Erikson says. "Sign this authorization if you choose to accept them."

I still can't grasp what's happening. Lawton violates his pledge to remain uninvolved and moves to my side. I hold up the paper.

"Good grief!" Lawton exclaims. "You could equip a whole regiment with that."

"I daresay," Mr. Erikson replies with evident distaste.

I gesture toward the decanter. "Might I have another drink? And one for my friend."

"Of course."

Erikson pours our drinks. Lawton returns to the couch. He looks to be as rattled as I am.

I peruse the sheet of paper. Reality begins to sink in. I'm rich! Far beyond anything I thought possible. My gambling debts, which had loomed so large, diminish to mere pocket change.

"With more time, we might have gotten a better return," Mr. Erikson says apologetically. "But your uncle was insistent that Dunn Hollow be sold as quickly as possible."

"Who is this Colonel James fellow?" I ask.

"He owns the land south of here. He's the wealthiest planter in the district. Even so, I'd imagine he's borrowed up to the hilt to pay for Dunn Hollow."

"They must have been great friends."

"On the contrary, Mr. Walton, the two hated each other."

"I see."

But I don't, really. My uncle was far more complex than I could have imagined.

Mr. Erikson hands me a pen.

"Please sign and date should you choose to accept this money," he says. "I strongly advise you to sign."

I clutch for the pen. Then a twinge of conscience restrains me.

"Does this include the slaves? Did Colonel James buy them?"

"No, Mr. Walton, that is a separate issue. We shall deal with it next."

I sign the paper, then another one. Mr. Erikson countersigns. I'm a wealthy man now, but I still can't believe it. Perhaps later tonight, when I'm trying to sleep, the full realization will explode upon me like a cannon shot.

Mr. Erikson puts the papers away and produces a couple more.

"An auction of the slave assets is scheduled for two weeks from today, subject to your consent, of course."

I lean forward in my chair. "How does that work?"

"Should you wish to minimize your personal involvement, you can approve this letter of consignment." Erikson pushes another paper across the desk. "The auction house will pay you up front. They take over the property and handle all details of sale. This is convenient but will likely result in reduced profit for you."

"What's the alternative?"

"Retain ownership. Then you can set all the terms yourself."

Yet another sheet of paper glides across the desk.

"Sign this and you'll own the slave assets free and clear," Erikson says.

The paper seems to vibrate on the desktop, like a rattlesnake's tail.

"I can do what I want with them?" I ask.

"Yes, to the full extent of our law."

I sign the document and become the owner of 68 human beings. My pen hand tingles oddly. I've taken a perilous step into moral degradation, but the next one will lead me back to higher ground.

I sip my drink. Before this is over, Mr. Erikson will need whiskey more than I do.

# Two: Plunge to Uncertainty

## 9.Surprise Visitor

The ensuing days pass in a burst of activity. Despite his obvious displeasure, Mr. Erikson does a competent job carrying out my plans. My legal studies, such as they were, equip me to better judge his performance. Whatever the man's huffy exterior, he seems to have a good sense of professional ethics.

I make numerous trips to the telegraph office to communicate with associates in the West. The townsfolk know who I am and do not question my endeavors, liquidating a large estate requires a lot of chatter along the wires.

The operators are pledged to secrecy about the content of telegrams, but I provide substantial gratuities to ensure their silence. People being what they are, offering incentives for honesty never hurts. The post is also quite efficient, thanks to the reliable train service between here and home. I've entrusted the most sensitive communications to the mails.

Matters resolve themselves quickly. I've got things largely wrapped up when a surprise visitor appears at Dunn Hollow. Lawton and I encounter him in the library after our latest foray to the telegraph office.

"Uncle Kyle! What are you doing here?"

He glowers at me from under his heavy eyebrows. His jowly face wears a grim cast. I've never seen the man so upset. Mr. Erikson sits beside him, and a wreath of cigar smoke surrounds them like a pair of demons.

"I should ask you the same thing, Eugene," Uncle Kyle says.

The old authority he once exercised over me seeks to return, but I resist the intrusion. I take the seat across from him, Lawton remains standing in the background.

"Well, you haven't answered my question, Uncle." I'm rather surprised by the bluntness of my remark.

"And why shouldn't I be here? Edward was my brother. I've come to arrange transport of his mortal remains for burial in the family plot."

Yes, and to see if there's a slice of the fortune for you, I think uncharitably.

"I'd have been here sooner, but important business in Parliament had me tied down."

Uncle Kyle tends to his cigar and prepares to ram home the main point. I'm wondering what it could be.

"I've been informed you've taken it upon yourself to manumit the slaves of this plantation," he says.

"Yes, that's true." I cast a withering glance at Erikson. "It would appear attorney / client privilege here is not what it is back home."

Now Erikson is the one looking upset. "I tried to explain our ... special circumstances, but your nephew simply did not understand."

"Oh, I understand well enough," I say. "You steal people's lives, then you concoct a load of legal and religious bunkum to justify it."

"Bravo!" Lawton interjects.

Mr. Erikson is nonplussed, to say the least. "If I were a younger man, I'd – "

"What, a duel?" I say. "Why don't you just buy somebody to take a shot at me?"

"Enough of this!" Uncle Kyle says.

"That's right," I say. "I've had more than enough of this barbarity dressed up as 'civilization!'"

Erikson looks ready to suffer a heart attack. Can't say as I blame him. My words surprise me, as well. Before I got here, I didn't give a damn about the slavery issue, or about much else. But that was before I had to wallow in this swamp of oppression and breathe its suffocating air.

Uncle Kyle takes off his spectacles and massages the bridge of his nose.

"Did it occur to you the new owners will purchase additional slaves to replace the ones you've freed?" he says. "You've merely passed along their misfortune to others."

The criticism hits me hard. I feel the chill wind of reality blowing across my new-found idealism.

"I know that ... but I had to do something."

Lawton is having none of my equivocation.

"Don't blame us for this state of affairs, sir," he says. "Sooner or later these slave holders will try to disconnect their provinces from the mother country – then we'll get the measure of them. We'll see how brave they are against men who can fight back."

Everyone is shocked at this outburst, including me.

"Lawton, please ... " I can't decide how to finish the sentence.

Erikson opens his mouth to speak. Uncle Kyle silences him with an upraised hand.

"This is precisely the outcome we in Parliament seek to avoid. I've walked a tightrope these many years trying to strike a balance between the contending factions of our country. Should word get out that my own nephew is an eradicator, well ... it could undermine all my efforts."

Again, the specter of unintended consequences places its cold hand upon my shoulder. Again, Lawton brings clarity.

"With all due respect, sir, your efforts cannot succeed indefinitely. War is coming sooner or later. I'd prefer sooner so's I can contribute."

Uncle Kyle seems to deflate in his chair, the skilled politician in the presence of a foe who cannot be persuaded. Then he turns on me.

"Damn it, Eugene!" He smacks a hand on the arm of his chair. "I didn't raise you to be a fool!"

I feel myself wilting under his attack, like the small boy I once was. But I rally without need of Lawton's help.

"You didn't raise me at all, Uncle. The nannies took care of that, and then the boarding schools. You were too busy 'serving the people' to pay attention to me."

"Such impudence!" Uncle Kyle blusters. "You always got the best of care. Do you think that came cheap?"

"No. I also think my father provided ample funds for my upbringing and an inheritance as well – not all of which I have received yet, by the way."

Uncle Kyle seems about to burst a blood vessel now. There's a part of me that wouldn't mind seeing that.

"And what need of it have you? You've gambled away whatever funds you've received."

He's got a point, but I already have my counter-thrust prepared.

"And in case you're thinking of contesting Uncle Edward's will, consider the political ramifications. The big 'champion of human dignity' seeking to profit from a slave enterprise? Your eradicator buddies in Parliament would love that."

Uncle Kyle smacks down his fist again. I half expect the chair arm to snap under the assault.

"You'll regret this impertinence, young man. You'll regret a lot of things!"

"Is that so? I certainly regret the time I've wasted talking to you."

I utter this last remark with steely calm, using the same voice as when I handle dueling challenges. Uncle Kyle flings himself out of his chair and leaves the room.

"Well ... that could have gone better," I observe.

"You did fine," Lawton says.

Uncle Kyle must have caught the late afternoon train West because I don't see him again. I wonder if Uncle Edward made the journey with him.

## 10.Things Gear up

The next arrival from the West is a good deal more welcome – my old college friend, Miles Houton.

When I see his tall, angular figure descending from the train, it's like a fresh breeze blowing away the clouds. I rush forward to grasp his hand.

"Good show, Miles! Right on time, like always."

Miles throws an arm around my shoulders. "You say 'cotton' and I gin."

Then, to my utter astonishment, my cousin Arjay steps down from the train. His exuberant 19-year-old personality seems unwilted by the long ride.

"Hello Eugene. How goes it?"

"Arjay! What are you doing here? Your father left only yesterday."

"I'll bet you enjoyed a fond reunion, huh?"

We both laugh.

"Just thought I'd tag along," Arjay says. "I heard what you were up to and I thought, 'that's for me!'"

The young man is lighting up the platform with his sunny personality and good looks. It's hard to believe he's related to his dour father.

"I told him it wasn't the best idea," Miles says, "but you know how headstrong your cousin is."

"Oh, bother that," Arjay says. "How about a drink, Eugene? I'm fed up with that barbaric swill they serve on the train."

"Of course. You'll have to try the gins twists."

"Sounds good."

I glance about the thinning platform crowd.

"So, where are the guards?"

Miles' levity fades. "They're not coming, Eugene."

"What!?"

Curious heads swivel my direction. I lower my voice.

"Why the hell not?"

"None of the detective agencies would hire out their men. They said they didn't want to get involved with politics."

"Oh, that's ... just dandy!"

What had been a bright, sunny day abruptly turns dark and threatening. I pull up my collar against it.

"The alternative was to hire some barroom riff raff," Miles says, "but I didn't think you'd want them."

"No...You did the right thing, Miles."

I can scarcely hear my own voice. The confidence I'd expected to feel from the presence of ten or twelve professional guards vanishes like a puff of smoke.

"Loren was the only other man I could think of," Miles says, "but he's off on a field trip somewhere."

"Don't worry, Cousin Eugene, you've still got me," Arjay says.

I grip his arm. "Let's get to Dunn Hollow. You're not the only one who needs a gin twist."

* * *

William Beale looked around to ensure no hostile person was nearby. Then he withdrew his feet from the stirrups and stretched his legs.

Don't want to end up like old Master Edward, do I?

Beale had pieced together the details of Walton's 'riding accident' in his head. To his thinking, it was no accident at all but a murder perpetrated by Jake. Hadn't the killing occurred near the slave cemetery, and hadn't Jake been at the cemetery burying that Nata-Mara witch?

Beale suspected Walton's skull fracture had not been inflicted by the stony ground but by Jake's spade. Or else Jake had unhorsed Walton with a rock. The specific details hardly mattered. He chuckled maliciously.

You missed your calling, William. Should have been a detective.

He'd shown unusual generosity by allowing Jake to stick the old hag into the ground at dusk – or maybe he'd feared Nata-Mara's spirit would haunt the earth if proper burial rites were not observed, as Jake had claimed. Whatever the reason for his leniency, the murder was a rare stroke of luck.

As long as Walton lived, he wouldn't give up a single hectare of this plantation; the man was tight in all things. But now that Colonel James owned the land, much of it would be sold. Beale was hoping to buy some.

A proper investigation of Walton's death could have revealed the facts, but nobody cared to investigate – certainly not Colonel James, who wished to take possession of the land with minimum fuss. He and Walton were old enemies, and the colonel wouldn't want any suspicion directed at himself.

Beale had told no one about Jake's activities that night, and he wasn't about to now. Besides, the idea of a slave striking down its master, a man with a God-given right to control its existence? That was too threatening for anyone to entertain.

Today brought an added wrinkle. Two men had arrived from the West and were being entertained by Eugene Walton at the mansion. They'd brought only light luggage. Beale knew this from his network of slave informants whose services he purchased with small favors and trinkets.

To Beale's mind, this could mean only one thing – Eugene Walton was planning to take the slaves away. The man was a mushy-headed eradicator; that was made evident when he'd ordered Jake to be unchained. Imagine, doing such a thing with no concern about the effect on the other slaves!

Also, word from his telegraph office informant was that Eugene Walton had inherited the proceeds from Dunn Hollow's sale. Clearly, the obnoxious Westerner had made his fortune and was getting ready to abandon these parts. Walton had probably signed writs of manumission and meant to cart off the freedmen, aided by his buddies. They could be leaving as soon as tonight's train – get away quick before anybody figures out what's happening.

Idiot! Those slaves would have fetched a good price at auction. Well, what of it? Beale couldn't care less about the chattels' fate.

Somebody else would care, though – Colonel James. He'd be gravely offended at the prospect of some Westerner hauling away a trainload of slaves from under the noses of civilized people. James would want to make a stand against such excess, and he would appreciate having some stalwart men backing him up.

Whoever provided these men could expect a reward – an offer to purchase land at a big discount, for example. James had a reputation as a man of honor who knew how to benefit his friends.

But what about Jake? He simply knew too much to be ignored. Well ... he'd be having his own 'accident' soon enough, wouldn't he?

"Cm'on boy!"

Beale dug his heals into the horse's flanks and cantered off toward the James plantation.

## 11.Nocturnal Departure

What we lack in armed might, we must compensate for with stealth and deception.

From my seat beside the lead wagon's driver, I look back at the cartloads of freed slaves. They are quiet and huddled close together. I ponder the limitations of their escort, and my heart sinks.

What would happen should a lynch mob confront us? The lives of four Westerners wouldn't be worth much in that scenario, and the twisted legal system here couldn't be expected to provide us protection.

You're being an idiot, Eugene!

When I learned the guards were not forthcoming, my first inclination was to abort this project – wish the freedmen well and leave without them. Miles dissuaded me, though. If we abandon the former slaves, he said, they'll be subject to all manner of reprisal, even lynching. I know he's right, but I don't have like it.

Miles is a fire-breathing eradicator. Lawton and Arjay... well, they're always up for an adventure. So, that leaves me. I stroke the pistol under my coat. At least I won't be going down without a fight.

The former slaves play their roles well. I had to inform them of their liberation sooner than I'd planned, lest they panic at the queer circumstances and complicate things further. They have strict orders not to reveal any joy. Only long faces and trepidation must be presented to the world. I've recruited some rough-looking field hands to enforce my edict.

"Slug anybody who cracks a smile," I've ordered.

But the admonition isn't necessary. The former slaves all look genuinely scared enough, as I am myself. My comrades gather close together on the ground beside me. Miles reaches up, and I grip his hand.

"I am profoundly grateful you came," I say. "You are a true friend."

"Ach! I had nothing better to do at home."

"That's right," Arjay says. "This beats the tar out of attending my dull classes."

"I'll agree with that sentiment," Lawton says. "You and I cut enough classes back in the day, didn't we, Eugene?"

I want to reach down and embrace them all, but my awkward male sensibilities restrain such an emotional outpouring.

"Yes ... well my deepest thanks to all of you," I say. "I'm certain this trip will be quite diverting."

My dear comrades take positions in wagons farther back, leaving me with my disquiet. Montgomery shares the front seat with me, and the other domestic servants occupy the rear. I did not decree this arrangement. They simply clambered aboard ahead of anyone else.

The official line is that we are transporting the slaves to another district where they can be auctioned off to greater profit. But the story is full of holes: Why are we leaving so late? Why don't we have any overseers with us? Why didn't we make earlier arrangements with the railroad?

Hopefully, we'll be well away before anyone can put the puzzle together. I'm informed the night train is largely empty when it leaves here, picking up the great bulk of its passengers farther down the line. Our whole company is getting on that train, even if bribes must be distributed, even if revolvers must be brandished.

Dimitri Erikson is another concern. How much has the man let slip? His blabbering to Uncle Kyle worries me – who else has he shot off his mouth to? And there are other potential snitches. Did the men in the telegraph office earn their gratuities, or did they spill the beans?

We pass under the gateway marking the plantation border. Again, I envision a man dangling from the crosspiece – only this time, it's me.

Get a grip, Eugene! You can always blow your head off before they can hang you.

Montgomery grips my arm; I practically cry out.

"Courage, Master Eugene," he says, "trust in the Lord."

"Thanks ... I'll do that."

Mostly, I'm trusting in my gun, but if the Lord steadies my aim, all the better. I've abandoned my luggage and am traveling light, bearing just a small case of legal papers which include a second missive from Uncle Edward. The envelope sports a directive in his jagged hand:

Open one year after the first communication

It has no "burn after reading" order. There's no time to ponder this now. A year's span is well beyond comprehension. I'll be grateful to get through the next hour in one piece.

A few toiletries plus a change of socks and underwear are stuffed into my coat pockets. My revolver, with plenty of ammo, rounds out my accoutrement. Should I meet my maker tonight, I go with minimum baggage.

We proceed through the gloom, wagons creaking, horses giving an occasional snort. Each noise thunders loud as a cannon blast in my overwrought mind. Whirring insects add to the cacophony. We men remain grimly silent, the women suppress any outcries. The few children among us cling to their mothers.

I'm like a scaled-down, inadequate Moses trying to lead the people out of bondage. I'm not very familiar with the Biblical accounts. I wish I'd spent more time reading scripture rather than gambling and sporting with ladies of easy virtue.

The kilometers between us and the train station drag by with agonizing slowness. Each clump of trees threatens to conceal an ambush. My heart speeds up at every bend of the road. My pistol is close to hand. When I glance over my shoulder, I can no longer see my friends amid the darkness. I feel myself alone on a doomed journey to the nether regions.

## 12.Fond Farewell

At last we are at the station, and my nightmarish visions retreat. Our timing is perfect, only minutes are left before the train's departure.

Miles takes charge. "Move along! Quick like!"

The former slaves descend from their wagons. Even under the dim gas lamps, I can see the fear and wonder on their faces. A few clutch tiny parcels, but most are escaping with nothing more than their clothes. Nobody utters a sound.

Miles leads them toward the last passenger car. With his towering height and commanding presence, he makes a far better Moses than me. They even have similar names. The field hand squad keeps everybody together, assisted by Arjay.

"Don't be afraid," Arjay encourages the throng. "We'll be on our way soon."

How does he keep that sunny disposition going? I'm grim as an undertaker. Everyone is clambering aboard now, leaving me to face the chagrin of the stationmaster.

"Here now!" he protests. "We can't have such as them hogging up a whole car."

I draw aside my coat so that my pistol is exposed. This softens his attitude in a hurry. I take a large gold piece from my pocket and set it in his hand.

"Thanks for your cooperation," I say. "We'll purchase our tickets on board."

The man retreats to the station with his booty. I join my friends who now stand together outside the steps to our car.

"Everybody settled in?" I ask.

"Yep, real snug-like," Miles says.

I consult my watch under the light of a nearby gas lamp. The engine has its head of steam but remains in place.

"Why in blazes don't we get moving?" Lawton says.

I share his trepidation. There's something peculiar about this sluggishness. Then the reason for the delay appears.

"Damn!" Lawton cries. "I thought things were going too smooth."

Trotting into view on horseback are fifteen men, led by my favorite overseer, William Beale. Accompanying this posse is an older man with long gray hair under a military style hat. I take him to be Colonel James. Clearly, they have not come to wish us a fond farewell.

Lawton starts crossing to the opposite side of the train.

"Where are you going?" I say.

"The locomotive. A revolver in the engineer's back should get us moving."

"Good idea."

I toss him a little purse of gold coin.

"Tell him he gets the whole thing once we're clear of these damned provinces."

"I'll go with you," Arjay says.

He scrambles after Lawton. The train's bulk covers their progress toward the locomotive. Beale rides up to me and Miles, His horse blows its hot breath into my face.

Beale doffs his cap. "Good evening, gentlemen."

"It was that, until you showed up," I reply.

Beale smiles insolently. Some of his posse have coiled ropes secured to their saddles, the threat is obvious enough. Colonel James interjects his presence.

"I'll take over from here, thank you Mr. Beale."

Beale backs up his horse so as to give the colonel pride of place. James looks down at me, square in the eye.

"I urge you to reconsider this foolish action, young man. What you are doing is against the will of the Deity."

Miles pipes up: "And what Deity is that, sir? The one who proclaimed 'release to the captives?'"

James refuses to acknowledge Miles but keeps full attention riveted on me. I feel like a bug pinned to a display card.

"Out of respect for your late uncle, I am prepared to offer you a bargain," he says.

"And what's that, sir?"

"I will pay you a fair price for those slaves. I guarantee your safe passage to my plantation, and safe transport out of the district once the sale is concluded. You have my word as a gentleman on that."

His "word as a gentleman" is apparently supported by the ungentlemanly presence of Beale and his thugs.

"I'm sorry, Colonel," I say, "but I have already signed the writs of manumission."

"By our law, those writs can be revoked within thirty days without penalty," James says.

"Really? I didn't know that."

I stroke my chin, appearing to mull over this new intelligence. I rest my other hand on the stair rail of our car. I keep an eye on Beale; he looks satisfied enough with the developments.

The train lurches, then it begins to roll slowly. I swing myself onto the car platform, followed closely by Miles.

"Sorry, Colonel, I'll have to decline your offer!"

I'm not looking at Colonel James, though, my eyes are fixed on Beale. He's raised his hand to signal his men. In moments they will be rushing us.

Blam!

I fire a grazing shot at Beale's hand.

"Ah!"

Blam! Blam!

I fire at the ground near the horse's hooves. The animal rears, flinging off Beale.

"Strike the shepherd, and the flock scatters!" Miles shouts.

I fire my remaining bullets at the ground. Other horses panic, shouts fill the air, more riders hit the dirt.

"Here, Eugene!"

Miles gives me his own gun. I empty it amid the thug posse. I feel the wrath of God bellowing from my weapon. My vision narrows and turns crimson, an infernal roaring accompanies my gunfire. Through it, I can hear other shots coming from the locomotive.

The remaining thugs wheel about in confusion. Their fallen leader scrambles up and retreats, clutching his wounded hand.

Don't kill anybody! A voice shouts inside my brain. You'll all hang for sure!

Divine intervention seems to guide our aim. We are dispersing the enemy without inflicting death or severe injury. Miles hands me my reloaded gun, but I have no need to keep up my fusillade. The train is moving faster now, putting distance between us and the rabble.

"How's that gentlemen?" Mile cries. "Don't like it when somebody fights back, eh?"

All is chaos behind us, except for the crumpled figure of Colonel James seated upon his horse, the very picture of defeat.

## 13.Flight to the West

News of our escapade precedes us, and a grim crowd awaits at the next stop.

The hate-filled, enraged faces turn my blood cold. Flaming torches create a demonic effect. Men grip rocks and clubs in their hands, guns are in evidence. Women stand on the sidewalk cheering on the mob – their expressions match the men's in blind fury. Even children shout invective at us.

But the appearance of four armed Western desperados with nothing to lose, backed by a squad of toughened field hands – also with nothing to lose – seems enough to deter violence ... barely. I can only hope the estimation of my marksmanship has magnified with the retelling.

I rush to the adjacent telegraph and fire off a message to Uncle Kyle's office in the capital city:

Underway, as planned. Will keep you informed. Your son Arjay is with us. Eugene Walton

It's bluff, but the people here won't realize that. Everyone in the country knows who Kyle Walton is, and I've just announced he's in on our scheme. Perhaps this will afford us some protection, at the cost of infuriating Uncle Kyle. Unlike my earlier telegrams, which I'd tried to keep secret, I want this one shouted from the rooftops.

Only a few other passengers choose to embark, and they keep well away from our car. We continue on into the darkness.

* * *

The situation keeps repeating as we chug-chug through the slave provinces. Every stop brings a new confrontation. They blend together like a non-stop nightmare.

At one place, I nearly come to blows with an obnoxious drunk, but his buddies restrain him. At another, Miles flattens a man with a single punch. The fellow is large and powerful-looking, and Miles' victory awes the crowd long enough for us to slip away. Everywhere, hate washes over us in an unholy tide.

I brandish my pistol, hand our bribes, pray for divine protection – and send more telegrams to Uncle Kyle. Thank God, he's cooperating.

Since his only son is in peril with us, he's decided to offer whatever remote protection he can. I'm certain he wouldn't rouse himself otherwise. Telegraph messages from Uncle Kyle await me along the route. A typical example:

God speed. My colleagues in Parliament follow your progress eagerly. Kyle Walton

It's easy to imagine the anger behind these messages.

Our progress is agonizingly slow. Miles and I guard opposite ends of our coach while Lawton and Arjay stay in the locomotive. Pot shots are fired at us. One of the women is injured. We bind her wound. It doesn't look too serious – but what do I know? I wish Loren was here!

People shout curses at us from the open fields. Horsemen gallop alongside and fling rocks. Our pistols poking out the windows discourage continued pursuit.

The car is packed, but nobody dares leave except for me and Miles on occasion. I prevail upon the dining car to deliver food and water. The supply is never adequate, and hunger is a constant companion.

Their air is pungent from the sweat of field hands who had no time to wash before their hurried departure. I find myself envying Lawton and Arjay up in the locomotive amid the heat and smoke of the vast boiler.

* * *

Then, just as I'm feeling I can't stand the situation another minute, we enter the free provinces. The effect is miraculous – one moment, a crowd is standing in a hay field shouting and make obscene gestures, the next we are gliding through peaceful farmland. A man walking being a plow horse waves to us.

A gigantic weight lifts off my mind, I can breathe again. Miles crosses the car and grips my arm.

"Good show, Eugene! That's the old college spirit."

## 14.Dispensations

I've taken to relaxing in the coach adjacent to ours for this final portion of the journey. The car is mostly empty and allows me plenty of space to stretch out. It gives me room to breathe.

To tell the truth, I long to be rid of my charges. I do not wish to be burdened with their welfare any longer and have no interest in learning more about them. I simply don't know how to act around those newly freed people. They are from a different world than me, a whole other plane of existence. Their lives have bought none of the advantages I take for granted.

Yet, I'd never considered myself particularly blessed. The breakup of my family and death of my father seemed more of a curse. I would have gladly traded all manner of material prosperity in order to keep my loved ones together.

But these are the realities. I cannot change anyone's past. Maybe everything makes sense on some higher level, but I cannot determine what it is. I'll leave spiritual philosophy to Miles who is much better suited to such things.

All I know is I've received a wonderful inheritance, and I want to share it with those who helped make Uncle Edward's fortune. I want to purge the sinful taint from my wealth.

For those desiring an agrarian life, we've contacted the Apple Bell farming cooperative about purchasing some acreage. The enterprise is geared toward freedmen. Individual farmers hold title to their own land and share the expenses of seed, labor, etc. to keep production costs down. They specialize in certain niche crops and have garnered a favorable reputation.

Miles is all agog about the place. People there live well, he says – they have adequate medical care, their children get decent education. All right, I'm for it!

Miles is in our car now presenting the options. He'll be accompanying the interested parties to Apple Bell to settle them in and arrange the land purchase. I've directed that any persons not interesting in this proposal be sent to me to discuss their cash payouts.

I pour a glass of "barbaric swill" I've obtained from the dining car. It's actually not bad, despite Arjay's unfavorable assessment. As if on cue, Lawton appears.

"Mind if I join you?" he says.

"Of course not, sit down."

Lawton stretches out on the seat across from me and accepts a glass of whiskey.

"Ah ... this sure beats the hell out of the locomotive!"

"So, how is it going up there?" I ask. "Did you settle things with the engineer?"

"Yes, quite satisfactorily. He says he'll be glad to drive us back for the same price."

I practically choke on my drink. "Fat chance of that!"

"My sentiments exactly."

Lawton turns pensive.

"The next time I go to those slave provinces, it'll be with a force of cavalry."

The door leading from our car opens, and Montgomery pokes in his head.

"Might I have a word with you, Master?"

I set down my drink and assume an official pose.

"That depends. If you can refrain from calling me 'Master,' I'll be glad to speak with you."

"Yes, Ma ... sir."

Montgomery enters the car and, after some hesitation, takes the seat I indicate. Despite his rather disheveled appearance, the man has a quiet dignity that cannot help but command respect.

"I am speaking for all the house workers, at their request," he says.

"And?"

"None of us know anything about farming, sir, and we were hoping to go someplace besides Apple Bell."

"Certainly. You'll be wanting cash settlements, then. In your case, say ... four thousand credits."

Montgomery's eyes widen. "Sir! That's so much ... I-I never ..."

"Nonsense, you've earned it over the years."

"You're in a generous mood," Lawton says. "How about sending some cash my direction?"

I overlook the remark.

"How's Widow Knox doing, Lawton? Is she still up a tree over her butler?"

"Yes. She's absolutely frantic to locate a replacement."

I turn toward Montgomery. "See here, should you wish to continue in domestic service, we know just the place for you. The butler of our acquaintance is looking to retire. The others of her staff are getting on in years, as well. I believe she'd have positions for all of you. Interested?"

"Why, yes sir. That would be wonderful."

"Very well, then. We'll take it up with the widow as soon as we get back."

"Thank you, sir."

Montgomery rises and bows his way out of the car. His extreme pleasure is almost comical.

"Ah, if only all life's problems could be so easily solved," I muse.

Then the door opens, and what will prove to be the biggest problem of my entire life walks in.

## 15.A Startling Proposal

In contrast to the obsequious Montgomery, there is nothing tentative about Jake's entrance.

He strides through the door and walks boldly up to us. He stands erect, refusing my offer of a seat. At the far end of the car, passengers look his direction, then turn away.

"What can I do for you, Jake?"

My first impression of the man was accurate. Even in chains he'd looked a superior type, now his bearing is borderline regal. There is nothing servile in it.

"I do not wish going Apple Bell, sir," he says.

"Fair enough. Let's discuss your cash payout, then."

"I do not wish that, sir."

I sip from my drink and exchange a glance with Lawton. He seems rather nonplussed, as I am.

"Exactly what do you want, Jake?"

"I wish return my homeland."

"Oh ... and where's that?"

Jake hands me a grimy half sheet of parchment.

"Seas captain write this."

I look at the numbers written upon it. They appear to be designations of latitude and longitude. I hand it to Lawton.

"What do you make of it?"

Lawton's brow wrinkles.

"I'd need an atlas to say for sure, old boy, but I can tell you right off, it's a long way from here."

I study the contents of my glass, then I look up into Jake's face. The man is stoic, unreadable. All I can say for sure is that he regards himself as the equal, or even the superior, of everyone around him.

"This is a bit out of the ordinary, Jake," I say. "We need time to discuss it."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll get back to you."

"Yes, sir."

He gives me a slight nod, then another one for Lawton. He turns and leaves the coach as quickly as he came in. A silent vacuum remains in his wake.

"Rather cheeky fellow, isn't he?" Lawton remarks.

"Yes, rather."

"We might have expected something of the sort. It's obvious Jake hales from foreign lands. The others go back generations here."

I retrieve the sheet of paper. "What about this? I suppose we could obtain passage for him on some merchant vessel – make it worth their while to veer from the trade route."

"That would never work," Lawton says. "They'd probably sell him back into slavery at the first chance."

"Well ... what then?"

Lawton has this devious, cunning expression – the one he used back at college when suggesting some prank that would get us kicked out.

"The solution is obvious," he says. "We have to go with him."

"Oh, come off it! That's your craziest idea yet."

"Really? Think about it Eugene. You're rich now, soon you'll be respectable – wife, kids, big house. Maybe you'll go into politics. You've got a knack for it, like your uncle."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. But don't you see? This is your last crack at young buck-dom. The other things can wait a while. After we drop off Jake, we could travel a bit, see the world."

My warning antennae are fully extended, but there is an undeniable allure to what Lawton is saying.

"See the world, huh? I've never been out of the country."

"We're on, then?"

"I'll think about it."

"Right." Lawton doesn't sound convinced. "You'll get back to me too, eh?"

* * *

At the next junction, I get off with Lawton, Jake, and the house workers. A trio of private guards takes our place to escort the freedmen on their journey to Apple Bell. A doctor for our wounded passenger accompanies them.

Our own train for home is not due for another two hours. I retire to the station restaurant with Lawton.

"It's great to get off that cursed train," Lawton says. "When we get back, I shall sleep an entire week."

The rest of our party is not welcome inside the restaurant and must eat their meal outside. I look through the window at the group seated on the benches. They maintain their dignity, led by the unflappable Montgomery and the inscrutable Jake.

"We've got the same crap here, too, don't we?" Lawton says.

"Yes ... "

Outside, the conductor shouts, "All aboard!"

The train tweets its steam whistle and chugs into action.

"Not going to bid farewell?" Lawton asks.

I shake my head.

"All right, then, on to the next adventure!"

Lawton clinks his coffee cup against mine. By "the next adventure" he doubtless means Jake's repatriation request. I'm too far gone to even consider it now, though. Where does Lawton get all that energy?

I don't like the idea of taking a French leave from my charges, but the thought of a formal good-bye is not appealing. I'd feel very awkward receiving their expressions of gratitude – worse, there might not be any such expressions.

My experience has been that gratitude is the strong suit of very few people. It's generally pointless to expect it. Human nature being what it is, a quiet exit from the lives of the freedmen seems preferable.

## 16.Preparations

From the diary of Lawton Elder:

Without accurate records of the past, how can future people know how to screw things up properly?

I'm not sure if I read that quote someplace or made it up myself. Anyway, I like the ring of it. This journal's philosophy is embodied in that statement. Even though I'm not the literary type, I feel that somebody should document our upcoming adventure.

I must admit to having second thoughts, but since this hare-brained scheme was first advanced by me, I feel obligated to see it through. Frankly, I'm surprised Eugene has agreed to this trip. If I'd known this would be the case, I might have been more careful with my suggestions. But, that's all in the past. The future lies ahead!

Now, there's another profound statement.

Jake's home country is a large island far from any trade route. This being an era of aggressive colonial expansionism, one might assume that some great power has designs on it. But that is apparently not the case – at least not yet. So, we have a chance to see the island before 'civilization' come barreling in.

Securing passage there was a problem. But Eugene, our intrepid leader, has solved it. My original idea was that Eugene and I would drop Jake off, then continue on to other foreign locales for some fun. Meet exotic women, drink foreign liquor, generally tear things up a bit. Then, after a year or so, come back to resume our lives here.

But maybe it won't be so easy to have a normal life once we return. I'm pleased to note that our actions at Dunn Hollow have touched off a major controversy. Talk of secession and civil war are racking the country. Parliament is in an uproar, and Eugene's uncle is furious.

Great!

If I could be sure war was really coming, nothing would entice me to leave this country. I want to show those Eastern bastards the consequences of their treason. But this crisis will likely pass. Kyle Walton will work his magic in Parliament, and things will continue hobbling along as usual.

So, if I'm to miss the jolly fun of a civil war, why not go on an adventure to primitive lands? Problem is, the trip is taking on the aspect of a mission. Just what that might be is anyone's guess.

We've scheduled a ten day's stop at Jake's island, but that might not be enough to satisfy our group. Perhaps this mission will creep into something bigger. The roster of participants has expanded. It now includes:

**Eugene Walton** – our fearless leader and best shot

**Lawton Elder** – (yours truly) sword master and general pain in the derrière

**Miles Houton** – linguist, translator of alien tongues, a religiously inclined chap

**Loren Michele** – gifted medical student, chief patcher-upper

**Arjay Walton** – Eugene's cousin, has no specific role at this time, though I imagine we'll find one for him

**Jake** – the reason we're all going on this holiday, a rather sullen and mysterious fellow

Except for Jake and Arjay, we are all old college chums. We were together at the same school before Eugene and I got expelled. We called ourselves 'The Four Ns' – Walto **n** , Lawto **n** , Houto **n** , Lore **n**.

Besides Loren, who is postponing his final year of medical studies, we are all finished with school. We're well-moneyed type fellows with too much time on our hands – restless, and looking for diversion.

I'm sure at least some of the others would disagree with that assessment, but I stand by it. If they want to state a different case, they will have to write their own diaries. Miles wants to "introduce the gospel" to whatever native people he meets. Loren wishes to study folk cures. Eugene is indulging his messianic tendencies. Fundamentally, we're all just bored.

I don't really mind that the others are coming ... except for Miles. His religious convictions give me a deep sense of foreboding. He has the gaunt and humorless aspect of a doom prophet.

Lord knows, I am a sinner in need of redemption, but I dread the thought of Miles being my intercessor. There seems something of the arrogant and unnatural about him. Plus, he is so much taller than the average that I must crane my neck to look him in the eye.

Not that he isn't a stout fellow and good in a pinch – he certainly proved that during the Dunn Hollow business. I like him fine, even though he is a teetotaler. I stated my doubts to Eugene, but he does not share them.

"Miles has true sincerity," Eugene said. "He'll keep us spiritually grounded."

I fear such will not be the case. In his own words, Miles advocates "bringing enlightenment to the heathen."

Well, if our foray into the slave provinces proved anything, it's that "bringing enlightenment" without an army backing you up is a dangerous proposition. Miles is unconcerned, however.

"We have repeating rifles," he said, "we can out fun any adversary we are likely to encounter."

"You mean, 'out gun,' right?" I asked.

"No, I phrased it correctly the first time."

How will he behave once civilized restraint is removed?

Eugene has found a righteous path. He's given up cards, fancy ladies, and alcohol – everything that makes life interesting. He's settled all his gambling debts and has avoided scuffles with the local riff raff. He even visited Wright to offer condolences for the bullet wound, saying what a "jolly good fellow," the man is.

Balderdash! Wright is a thug. I advised him to accept Eugene's goodwill or pay the price. Should he or any of his cohorts cause problems, I will snipe him first – to hell with any 'affair of honor' niceties.

Eugene is focused on virtue now and on preparations for our trip. Should he ever read this account, I shall have to beg his indulgence for expressing my sincere opinion: I think he's getting a bit puffed.

Eugene:

Montgomery et al. are settled into their new positions and appear quite happy with things. Widow Knox is ecstatic that her domestic service needs have been so abundantly satisfied, and I am pleased to remain within her good graces.

Jake is working as a groundskeeper until such time as we leave. If he wants to purchase amenities for the trip, he will have to pay for them out of his wages. I sense he is not one who appreciates free gifts, and he'll receive none from me.

I have made arrangements for our passage with Jon Venner, captain and part owner of the merchantman Alma. He's an interesting fellow who once apprenticed at a shipyard. Then he decided to go sailing rather than work on dry land. More excitement, I suppose.

Venner has made this island trip once before, eight years ago when he was first mate on the same vessel. The captain at that time, Slater by name, sickened and died on the return voyage, but the ship came through unharmed.

I questioned Venner about this earlier trip, and he replied it was a fancy of Captain Slater who had some idea of opening a new trade route. When they arrived, however, civil disturbance was taking place on the island, and it was deemed wisest to depart, but not before they picked up two natives to sell for slaves.

'Picked up' isn't really the correct term. The two captives were more or less dumped on them. I'm given to understand that they were Jake and a woman known as 'Nata-Mara.' This Nata-Mara person was, apparently, some sort of religious figure; Jake was her servant. When I told Venner that she has since passed on, he seemed relieved.

"She was a woman of ill-omen," he said. "Captain Slater took a fancy to her – I don't think it done him any good."

Venner is a rough-edged fellow, but seems to know his stuff. I've researched him with other seafarers and ships' captains. They hold a consensus on the man: He is highly capable and good at his word – just don't ever cross him.

Well, I am not in the business of crossing anyone. Play straight with me and I always return the favor.

I've questioned Jake about these events. He states that Nata-Mara was his aunt, and he stuck with her during their exile. But now that's all in the past, he simply wants to return home.

Maybe things are more complicated than that. But we won't stick around long enough to find out. After a brief stop at the island, we will continue on the Alma to its next port of call and head out on our own from there.

"The natives on the island are an ignorant, superstitious lot," Venner said. "They lack modern weapons and are easily awed. They shouldn't bother you, unless you cross them."

There's that "don't cross" language again! It's good to know Venner is so unconcerned. Or is it the exorbitant fare he's charging that makes him so confident? He stands to do well, whatever our fate.

Our merry band is leaving nothing to chance – there are repeating rifles and revolvers for each of us, along with plenteous ammunition. Also some grenado pocket bombs Lawton insists we bring. He's quite the militarist. I think he'd take along a cannon if he could get one.

Lawton even vows to teach me sword combat. Well ... months at sea should allow us time, if Captain Venner permits us a bit of deck space for practicing our swordplay. Loren is well stocked with medicines and other accoutrements of the healing trade. He seems rather eager to try them out on us.

So, another few weeks and we shall be departing on our adventure. See the world!

# Three: On to New Lands

" _For our adventurous spirit has forced an entry into every sea and into every land." – Pericles, funeral oration_

## 17.The Alma

The day of departure arrives, and we entrain for the journey to the coast. Tomorrow morning we set sail!

I am no longer a permanent fixture anywhere, but a man en route – a transitory presence streaking through the sedentary world. Our company now includes Montgomery who succeeded in convincing me to take him with us.

"I'm not so young a man any longer, and this is likely my one chance to see the world," he said. "I won't be in your way, sir. I can perform all domestic tasks – cooking, laundry, sewing."

The request rather took me by surprise. I was not unfavorably disposed toward it, however. In the rush of preparation, I'd overlooked certain minor details – like how we are going to eat. And what if my britches need mending?

"Please, sir," Montgomery said. "You gave me my life back, the least I can do is see to your comfort in faraway places."

"What of Widow Knox?" I asked.

"Her old butler has rediscovered his love for the job, now that he's losing it," Montgomery said. "He promises to fill in for me."

I took it up with Widow Knox and received her approval. So, here Montgomery is, in charge of an ample larder of preserved foods and "civilized" spices. Hopefully, the fare on board the Alma will be edible and we can save this cache until we arrive for our sojourn on the island.

As we jostle along the railway tracks, my mind goes over my financial situation. The cost of resettling the former slaves has put a big dent into my resources, but what price a clear conscience? Thanks be to God for that! And thanks to Uncle Edward for my unexpected prosperity.

In any case, I plan to recoup my losses. I have top legal and investment talent looking out for my wealth while I'm away, and Widow Knox – Claire – has overall command. Her late husband was a noted investment banker, but it was always apparent who had the real brains in the family. I look forward to sound stewardship and growth for my funds.

* * *

We arrive at the dock early next morning and are taken for a brief tour by Captain Venner and his first mate, a fellow named Tipton whose rugged good looks are marred by a cruel cast to the eyes.

The ship looks good to me, though I must confess near total ignorance about nautical matters. Lawton, slightly more knowledgeable, pronounces the vessel "stout and fit." Our accommodations, while cramped, seem adequate. The Alma is a handsome item.

The figurehead is remarkable. The wooden image almost seems to be in movement. It portrays a beautiful young woman in flowing clothes with equally flowing dark hair and a joyous expression on her face. She grasps a tambourine in her hand.

"That Alma is quite a lady," I comment.

"Actually, I'd say that's the prophetess Miriam," Miles says.

"Who's that?" Lawton says.

"Sister of Moses and Aaron," Miles says. "She led the women of Israel out of the Red Sea during their flight from Egypt."

In a flash, Miles has his Bible out.

"Ah, here it is – Exodus 15, verses 20 and 21:

And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances.

And Miriam answered them, Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea."

"As long as she doesn't throw us into the sea!" Lawton quips.

Miles casts a rather exasperated look from his towering height.

"Hardly that," he says. "Miriam was a great protector. She watched over baby Moses while he floated in the Nile and was discovered by the daughter of Pharaoh."

"Fat lot of good she done Captain Slater!" Tipton pipes up. "She should have warned him off that pagan slut."

Now Venner looks exasperated.

"Uh ... sorry, Captain," Tipton says.

I gaze up at Miles. The early morning sun has cast a halo-like aura about him.

"So, why didn't they name the ship Miriam?" I ask.

"In ancient Hebrew, an 'almāh' is a young woman of child bearing age," Miles states. "That would seem to be a reference to prophetess Miriam in this case."

"Well, don't that beat all?" Captain Venner says. "And I thought our vessel was named after some town. There's all manner of Almas about, you know."

He directs his attention at me. "We'd best get on board, Mr. Walton."

Our group begins walking toward the gangway where Jake and Montgomery await. Captain Venner takes my arm and speaks quietly.

"Keep a close eye on that Jake fellow. I'll not have him interfering with my men."

"I beg your pardon?"

"There's them among the crew who remember Jake from the last time he shipped with us. They consider him a figure of ill omen. They took some convincing, let me tell you, and I'll not have them further upset."

"Aye, Captain." I do not disguise the irony in my voice. "I figured there was a good deal of 'convincing' calculated into our fare."

Captain Venner grins. "We'll get along just fine, I think."

## 18.Departure

We nestle into what will be our home for the coming months.

As putative 'leader' of this expedition, I have a small cabin to myself. My four comrades share a larger one. I don't envy their predicament, especially since they must accommodate the gangly figure of Miles Houton with his constant preachings echoing off the walls.

Rank certainly has its privileges!

Montgomery and Jake inhabit the servants cabin, which actually provides more room per man than enjoyed by the others.

Following Captain Venner's dictum, we will all take turns watching Jake, lest he be tossed overboard as some sort of Jonah. From what I've heard of the crew's mutterings, there are many who wouldn't mind doing just that.

Jake does cut a rather imposing figure, now that he's enjoyed a good diet for a while. He's filled out nicely and projects smooth, powerful muscles toned by the work at Claire's estate. He is not somebody I'd want to encounter in a hand to hand struggle.

Yet, there is nothing hostile about him. He keeps to his silent dignity and bothers no one. His reserve is quite remarkable, considering the brutalities he's suffered. I sense that he longs to see the last of us all, and the feeling is certainly mutual.

Montgomery readies my cabin, leaving me little to do other than sun myself on deck and watch the crew prepare our departure. They are hale, stout fellows – nary a hollow-chested scholar among them.

The spirit of adventure attends their movements. Their robust shanties are led by a superb tenor. I've half a mind to seize a rope and pull along with them. I admire their vigor and sense of purpose.

And what is my purpose, exactly? This voyage promises to be "quite a lark," in Lawton's estimation. Will it prove to be more than that? And what of afterwards – what path will my life follow when we return?

Only time can answer these questions.

* * *

The moment Jake stepped aboard ship, the old terror returned. He felt the shackles upon his legs once more, smelled the rank closeness of the hold, and recalled the vile abuse suffered by Nata-Mara. Faces he'd not seen in eight years glowered at him as if from a nightmare – Venner, the captain now, and the one called Tipton. He recognized other nameless ones in the crew. Jake wanted to run back to dry land, screaming.

Remain strong! Don't let these heathen see you quake.

He forced himself to keep moving. Captain Venner stepped in front of him, blocking the way.

"Interfere with the workings of this ship, and I'll throw you overboard!"

"Yes, sir," Jake replied.

His tone was inoffensive, but he kept his eyes fixed on Venner's.

"If I even suspect you're up to something, I'll put you in chains."

Jake held his fury in check. He replaced a longing to throttle the captain with the sweet memory of the instant he'd struck down Old Master. This recollection never failed to buoy Jake's spirits – he could almost hear the skull cracking.

Captain Venner moved aside. Grasping his dignity, Jake continued to his quarters.

How the gods have arranged things so that I'm aboard this cursed ship again.

And now he had to deal with the nephew of the man he'd slain at Dunn Hollow. Who could have calculated such a turn of events?

Was this Eugene Walton the "Liberator" Nata-Mara had foretold, or was he just some fool out for a lark? Jake missed Nata-Mara, longed to hear her wisdom.

Yet he also felt liberated from her presence. He'd watched over her while she lived and had performed the proper burial rituals so that her soul would be at peace. She was out of his life now, and he must determine his own path.

Jake – Ja-kui – had little idea of what he would do once he returned to his native country or how he would deal with his enemies there. He had to trust to luck and to the forbearance of the gods. What role would these strange foreigners play? Would they help or hinder?

Only time would tell.

## 19.Season of Less

Death lurked everywhere throughout the plaza. Corpses occupied the sacred cenote, which was now just a deep, waterless pit. Other victims upheld the Temple pyramid foundations – sacrificed and interred by ancestor high priests whose own tombs now honeycombed the interior. A thick smear of human blood ran down the Temple stairs, creating a nauseating stench of decay.

From his position on the platform, Tel-ahl looked out over the plaza 90 feet below. He could hardly breathe the foul air, and the sun blazed at him from a bright, unpitying sky. The unending drought had withheld rain to cleanse the steps. It had emptied the granaries and wrung hope from the people's spirit.

The rain god is truly displeased with us.

The increasing blood sacrifices had failed to mollify the god, and the people were losing faith. Today's killing of a young warrior had drawn only a modest crowd to the square below. Just the most frenzied worshipers had shown up – those whose twisted minds, intoxicated by blood and violence, had no insight into the sacred motivations for the killings. Tel-ahl was growing to hate such types.

The common people were disillusioned with the priestly efforts and were staying away in droves – however entertaining the sacrifices might be to them. On a day like this, even Tel-ahl had his doubts.

He'd assisted at this sacrifice, attending to the incense brazier and chanting incantations while senior priest Ke-zem ripped out the victim's heart with a stone knife and offered it to the rain god. But their efforts had been to no effect, as was always the case these days.

After he finished his apprenticeship, Tel-ahl would be wielding the sacrificial blade himself. If the rains came to rescue the people, that is, if the gods had not abandoned them to extinction.

Before final collapse could occur, the high priest would exercise a further option and offer a bride to the rain god. Tel-ahl shuddered at the thought.

High priest E-zui had raided neighboring clans for the blood of lusty warriors; he'd sacrificed young virgins, tossed babes into the sacred fires. The cries of these infants were heart rending, but perhaps it was best they were dedicated to the gods rather than allowed the slow, tortuous death of starvation.

Still the drought continues!

Not only had the crops failed, but the yields brought in by the coastal fishermen had largely collapsed. Even out to sea, the gods expressed their displeasure.

In recent days, Tel-ahl had stepped outside his acolyte role and visited the coast where he'd sought to learn about the starving fishermen. He'd seen hopelessness – and desperate possibilities – against a backdrop of endless sea.

Ke-zem and the others of the sacrificial party had already left the Temple. Tel-ahl followed their route down a side stairway, one not coated in blood.

Tel-ahl was so deep in thought he didn't realize he'd crossed the plaza and was now walking through dusty residential streets. People beheld his sacred garb and retreated inside their houses lest they be chosen for some lethal role. Wary eyes observed him from the windows.

He looked back towards the Temple pyramid. It towered above all else in its dreadful majesty – too big for this island. It seemed a relic from a more glorious time when vast power resided here. The legends spoke of great cities on a distant mainland where no one had ventured for generations. A flicker appeared in Tel-ahl's mind like distant lightning on a black night:

Could the truths be other than what the priests say?

Did not the appearance of the Great Ship eight years ago prove that another world existed, with different gods and laws?

Shu-gan, the priest who'd delivered Nata-Mara to the mysterious ship denizens, had received two items in payment. One was a knife constructed of a sharp, unknown metal, the other a viewing tube which brought distant objects close. Did not these items speak of a whole different reality?

Yes, there is a greater world beyond the horizons.

Tel-ahl had seen it in the hard faces and confident strides of the men from the ship. They thought nothing of this island. Their weapons could spit destruction great distances. Had not one of them brought down a sacred cormorant with a single blast?

Shu-gan died soon afterwards, and Tel-ahl took possession of the strange items. He'd shown them to no one. Shu-gan's death was a mystery. The priest had abruptly sickened. Soon he was gone, his eyes wide with terror and a horrible blotching on his swollen face. His hair had turned a dull red.

Was this the result of some disease brought by the aliens, a curse, or was he assassinated? High priest E-zui was enraged by the Nata-Mara affair. Tel-ahl had reported to him immediately after the incident, which was disloyal to Shu-gan. Tel-ahl had regrets.

I am bound to a twisting path of betrayal and death.

Was E-zui truly the great 'servant of the gods' and intercessor between worlds? He was certainly not the celibate, pure being he claimed. The evidence of his corruption was everywhere, though none dared denounce it – the defiled sacrificial virgins, the hedonistic over indulgence in sacred potions, the destruction of all who questioned his supremacy.

Yet, Tel-ahl had received great favor from the high priest. Jealous eyes were being cast his direction, making him even more dependent on E-zui's good will. Another blasphemous thought burst into his mind:

Are the gods themselves legitimate, or is Nata-Mara right?

Would her god, Ungh-Ka, return to exact vengeance? Would he come in a great ship like the aliens had? Tel-ahl tried to conceal these thoughts from himself. He prayed E-zui could not perceive them lurking in the recesses of his mind . . .

Tel-ahl was amid farmland now – or what had been farmland before the rains stopped. It was now a parched and barren place where people starved and gaunt babies were silent, having given up their useless crying.

Independent farmers held this land. The estates of the noble families, with their throng of low caste slaves, were some distance off. The nobles preferred their fiefdoms to be more remote from the capital intrigues.

The rural folk cowered away from his approach. They viewed him over their shoulders through sullen, angry eyes. He was alone, and the idled farming implements scattered around could be used against him as weapons. Tel-ahl felt only the thinnest of restraints protecting him from the people's wrath.

He turned his steps back toward the death plaza.

Tel-ahl was in a crisis of faith even more acute than the one eight years ago because now he was blinded by love for a beautiful woman. He'd seen Lai-koa only once from a distance, but that had been enough. The tiny figure within the viewing tube had upended his entire world.

## 20.En Route

From the diary of Lawton Elder:

We're two months into this journey and I, for one, am heartily sick of being on this boat!

Not that it's bad, as far as such things go. The food is decent, if monotonous, and the weather has been generally fair – except for a quite unpleasant storm we sailed through for a couple of days.

That put a strain on everybody, especially Jake. For a while, I thought his granite reserve might crack a little, but he held himself together. I cannot help but admire the fellow.

Then there was the jolly time we had with the flu outbreak – a nasty bug of the intestinal type. It ran through us like an express train, knocking everyone off their feet for a day or two. Nothing to be done but tough it out. Even the mighty Loren Michele was powerless against the scourge.

'Dr.' Loren has proved his worth in other ways, treating various maladies among the crew. The resident ship's doctor leaves much to be desired in his medical skills.

No one has died and we've not encountered pirates or other ne'er do wells, so I really shouldn't complain. I'm just feeling cramped. What I wouldn't give for a brisk gallop on a good horse!

To combat the tedium, we've turned the Alma into a sort of floating university. We all have our specialties. Loren teaches us first aid methods, in case we encounter some exigency when he is not available to help. I know how to staunch a wound or splint a broken leg as well as any layman.

Miles spends hours learning Jake's native lingo. Listening to the pair converse, one gets the impression Miles is making wonderful progress. Along with his knowledge of ancient Hebrew, this facility should take him far.

Not that any of us needs to bother with the drudgery of earning a living. If we did, we sure wouldn't be bobbing along in this contrivance.

I get the impression that Miles is trying to engineer a religious conversion for Jake. For all the success he's likely to enjoy, Miles could just as well be talking to these wooden planks or the watery horizon.

I'm the sword master, instructing my friends with dummy weapons when the sea is calm and deck space is available – usually in the stern by the 'stinger' cannon. Arjay is my assistant. Miles and Loren have made progress, but Eugene is a poor student.

"You're lucky duels are fought with pistols these days," I told him one morning. "As popular as you are, you'd have been skewered long ago if swords were still the fashion."

"Ah, that's all over," Eugene said. "I've hung up my dueling pistols."

So, now he's added peaceable cordiality to his many virtues.

And what exactly does Eugene contribute to our seaborne citadel of learning? Not much, unless you count the words of wisdom he favors us with from time to time. I'd quote some but can't recall any off hand. Maybe after I've had a stiff rum or two.

Thank heaven for Montgomery! Without his services, we'd be living like hogs. My cabin mates and I have urged him to accept a salary, but he refuses to take a farthing.

"I can never repay you for liberating us," he said. "I saw you face down that lynch mob – God keep you all."

His devotion to our intrepid leader is particularly fervent. I dare not utter a cross word to Eugene, even in jest, for fear that Montgomery might pull out that pocket revolver Eugene gave him and let me have it.

Get this – the fellow is engaged to one of the freedwomen at Widow Knox's! They plan to marry upon our return.

Of course, the lady was not pleased with Montgomery's departure, but men will always have to be men. There are some things we need to get out of our systems before we settle down – this damn fool trip, for example.

Then there's Jake. Just thinking about him gives me a chill. I'll be glad when I have seen the last of this strange person. Something about him is disturbing, not that he's given us any cause for alarm.

It's the feeling that there's darkness in his soul, plus his haughty bearing and sense of pride. There seems not a humble bone in his body nor a kindly disposition in his heart. Perhaps it's only to be expected. Had I endured years of slavery and abuse, my soul would likely be curdled, too.

Jake shows no deference nor amiability for anyone, not even Eugene. The ingrate! Were it not for Eugene's kindness, he'd still be hobbling about in chains at Dunn Hollow. I voice my irritation on this score to Eugene, and his reply is a real classic. He's in one of his reflective moods, puffing on a pipe:

"As far as that goes," he says, blowing out a wreath of smoke, "if I want loyalty, I can buy a dog."

"What about me?" I protest.

"Like I said ... " Eugene sticks the pipe back into his mouth.

That's my old college chum, always a million laughs.

Jake (Ja-kui):

Jake stretched out his limbs on deck, enjoying his respite in the sun and fresh air. The language session in the cabin had been very taxing. It was nice to speak in his native tongue, though, even with such a fool as Mr. Miles, who'd rattled on again about his religious convictions.

Jake had turned this mania to his advantage, asking Mr. Miles to teach him the alien writing system so that he might read the 'Good Book' himself. Mr. Miles had been glad to oblige, even lending Jake a dictionary and explaining its use.

The foreign writing system was absurdly simple – nothing like the complex hieroglyphs that only the priests and scribes of Jake's native land could read. He mastered it quickly and spent much time poring over the Good Book's pages.

The Old Testament was interesting with its stories of great leaders, battles, and the destruction of whole peoples – cautionary tales for weak nations standing in the way of greater powers. Jake cared nothing for the religious message, though. He'd already heard enough about religion and had suffered greatly by it.

Something else his new literacy enabled him to read was the top half of the paper he'd shown Mr. Eugene on the train. Jake had torn it off because he'd feared it might contain something harmful. He'd been right. Above the map coordinates, Slater had scrawled in big, jagged letters:

Kill them all!

Jake's mouth curled into a snarl. We'll see who ends up getting killed.

Nata-Mara's rebellious ideas and opposition to the Priesthood had started the chain of events which brought so much disaster into Jake's life. Into Ja-kui's life – no longer would he use the name ascribed to him by the slave holders.

He felt genuine love for Nata-Mara. She'd raised him after both his parents had been sacrificed to the gods. Yet her loving concern had also condemned him.

Because of his allegiance to her, an 8-year hole had been ripped into his existence. On the far side of that chasm stood all love, loyalty, and good will – orphans like himself. On this side was nothing but anger and a thirst for revenge.

He certainly didn't feel loyal toward Mr. Eugene. For no apparent reason and at no benefit to himself, the man had rescued Ja-kui, thus imposing obligations that could never be repaid. Ja-kui hated him for that.

If Mr. Eugene was the Liberator foretold by Nata-Mara, then he was merely playing out his assigned role. If he was some frivolous person sticking his nose into the misfortunes of others, then he was not someone to take seriously. Ja-kui longed to be rid his 'benefactors,' but for now, he had to remain close, lest Captain Venner suspect him of fomenting mischief.

Ja-kui leaned back against the rail near the spot where Mr. Eugene and his brash friend, Mr. Lawton, were conversing. Mr. Eugene was smoking a pipe, sending tobacco fumes Ja-kui's direction on the wind – the same tobacco he'd spent dismal years tending at Dunn Hollow. It was the stench of enslavement. He suppressed an urge to snatch the pipe and throw it overboard.

Ja-kui turned away from the pollution to look out at the far distance where sea and sky met. He dreaded the vast expanse of water, and fearsome memories approached him across it. Recollections he'd suppressed for years came surging back.

I must confront the past and draw whatever strength from it I can.

## 21.Capture

They came late at night to take Nata-Mara – high priest E-zui and four others, including two powerful guards.

Resistance was out of the question for the young woman and her 12-year-old nephew. Ja-kui could have fled, but he remained at Nata-Mara's side as the warriors seized her.

"Stop!" he shouted. "What are you doing?"

The warriors pushed him roughly away. Ja-kui turned to the high priest and gazed up into the man's face. It was hard and immobile, as if hewn from wood. Eerie, flickering torch light illuminated it.

He's my papa – he must help us!

But the eyes cast upon him from E-zui's towering height held all the benevolence of a cobra's. Ja-kui froze. The high priest moved away from him.

"Stay here, Ja-kui!" Nata-Mara cried.

He watched with numbed horror as the guards dragged her outside the hut.

"Auntie!"

He ran after her.

"Get away, boy!" a warrior snarled.

Another brutal shove. Ja-kui stumbled back and fell. From his position in the dirt, he could see E-zui speaking with the other two raiding party members a short distance away.

One of them was Tel-ahl, a lad one year older than himself. Even in the dim light, the wine-stain birthmark on his face was visible. Tel-ahl was another of E-zui's bastard sons, rumor had it . . .

"You there, Jake!"

Mr. Lawton was speaking. Ja-kui turned his back on the dreadful sea vista and faced the man.

"Yes, sir?"

"Have you seen Montgomery about?"

"Last I know he cleaning servants' cabin."

"Well, could you fetch him here?" Mr. Lawton raised his arm to indicate a torn area of jacket. "I've ripped a seam. Montgomery needs to mend it before things get worse."

"Yes, sir."

Before Ja-kui could move from the railing, he spotted Montgomery bustling their direction between his assignments of women's work. The fool.

"He come now," Ja-kui said.

"Ah yes, capital fellow," Mr. Lawton said. "See here, Montgomery, I appear to have damaged my garment."

Ja-kui looked away from the tiresome foreigners and returned to his musings . . .

As a frightened boy, Ja-kui could not comprehend what was happening. Why was Nata-Mara, who had never harmed a soul, being dragged away like a criminal?

Now, he understood quite well: Nata-Mara was a threat to the established order. She was a heretic, an opponent of the bloody sacrificial rites central to the priests' religion – especially the ritual murder of infants. She condemned the river of human blood pouring from the temple.

Nata-Mara advocated for an older god, Ungh-Ka, the High One, giver of light and wisdom. In the legends, Ungh-Ka had been gravely wounded and driven off by the gods of darkness. He was resting now, recovering from his injuries.

When the time was right, Ungh-Ka would return. He would then wreak vengeance upon the demonic priesthood and on the craven people who supported them.

Nata-Mara's small painted statue portrayed a god much different from the ferocious deities of the temple. Ungh-Ka wore a pensive expression. His face was scarred from his fight with the evil forces; the stylized hair surrounding his face had a reddish cast – burnt that shade in the cataclysmic battle. His eyes were an unnatural blue from constant weeping over his defeat and the innocent sacrificial victims.

E-zui smashed the little stone figure, then stalked away alone. The others dragged Nata-Mara into the darkness. Ja-kui rose from the dust and followed them. Twice more the guards pushed him down, but they finally let him be.

Death lurked in the darkness. Ja-kui expected a killing blow any moment, but the remaining priest – Shu-gan – seemed to lack fortitude. Instead of immediately slaughtering Nata-Mara, he dithered and wandered, beseeching the heavens for guidance. He dreaded offending Ungh-Ka, lest he call damnation upon himself.

Morning came, and still they traversed the island's forests. Ja-kui held Nata-Mara's hand. Its gentle softness was the only comfort on this nightmare trek.

Nata-Mara leaned down and whispered: "Escape among the trees. You are small and fleet, they could not follow."

"I'm not leaving you, Auntie."

Later that morning, they scaled a high cliff overlooking a bay with broad, white beaches. Shu-gan built a smoky sacrificial fire and blathered prayers into it. Tel-ahl hovered to the side like a vulture, gazing inscrutably from his wine-stained face. Of all the oppressors, Ja-kui hated him most.

He and Tel-ahl were half brothers, if the stories were true, and Ja-kui had no reason to doubt them. Shortly before she was hauled off to be sacrificed, his mother told him of her violation by E-zui. A real brother would try to protect him, but this Tel-ahl was nothing more than another butcher.

Shu-gan meant to fling them off the cliff, Ja-kui understood. Was that not a cormorant – supposed messenger to the gods – wheeling about the dark sky awaiting the murders? Nata-Mara remained serene. She took Ja-kui's trembling hand into her firm, yet gentle, one. With her other, she stroked his cheek.

"Today we will meet our creator," she said. "I wish you had obeyed me and spared yourself this trial."

Ja-kui could not reply through his tears. Even now, he did not regret staying with her. Nata-Mara was the kindest, gentlest person in his world. Life without her would be unbearable. He tried to block out thoughts of the dreadful plunge awaiting them.

Then a miracle happened.

"Hail!" a guard shouted. "Off the horizon!"

Shu-gan roused himself from his incantations and waddled to the cliff edge. The guard pointed his spear over the water toward a great ship.

"A-yiiii!" Shu-gan cried.

He remained transfixed, beholding the mysterious vessel's approach. Time held suspended between worlds. The sacred fire died out, its stench drifting away on the breeze.

At last, the ship entered the bay and took down its billowy sails. Two boats dropped over its hull.

"Is this when we die?" Ja-kui whispered.

"I know not," Nata-Mara said, "we must remain strong, whatever happens."

Ja-kui gauged the distance between himself and Shu-gan.

Could I pull him over with me?

The priest stepped back from the cliff edge, denying Ja-kui his chance. He gestured toward the captives.

"Come!"

Wild hope flared in Ja-kui's heart, along with chilling terror. What did Shu-gan plan to do? What sort of beings were on that ship, men or gods? Nata-Mara and Ja-kui followed the priest down back down the trail, warded by the stone-faced guards.

They met the strangers on the beach. These newcomers were only men, not gods – rough-looking ones of a sickly hue. They carried long, tube-like weapons and knives made of glittery metal.

Shu-gan announced himself as a priest of the all-mighty gods and asked to know the strangers' business. A large, brutal looking man stepped from among the heathen and thumped his chest, repeating the word _Slater_. Another man, _Venner_ , stood beside his chief.

A negotiation commenced. Shu-gan offered Nata-Mara and Ja-kui to the foreigners and bade them to leave the island immediately with the chattel. Ja-kui's heart caught in his throat.

What devilment awaits upon that ship?

He looked toward Nata-Mara. She remained serene and dignified, awaiting whatever fate presented. Venner did most of the talking for the foreigners, using utterances, gestures, and pictures gouged in the sand. Throughout this interchange, Slater kept his eyes fixed on Nata-Mara.

Ja-kui could see the jackal of lust was on the prowl. He stayed close to Nata-Mara's side. Never had he felt more vulnerable and helpless.

An agreement was soon made. Slater gave the priest a knife made of the glittery metal along with a little gold-colored tube that could be pulled into a longer one.

The louts laughed and joked among themselves. They mocked Tel-ahl who was standing off to the side attempting to project a regal bearing. They dubbed him "Little Sir Henry" or just "Sir Henry." The foul alien words stuck in Ja-kui's mind.

A foreigner aimed his tube weapon at the sky.

Blam!

Ja-kui jumped back, ears ringing. A cormorant thudded to the ground by his feet. Shu-gan gaped with horror at the desecration of the sacred bird, but Ja-kui felt only scorn for the murderous old fool and his superstitions.

May this be an omen for you!

One of the ruffians seized Nata-Mara's arm and led her toward the boats. The others followed, giving wary backward glances at Shu-gan and his party. Rough hands pushed Ja-kui along.

"Pick up some sand!" Nata-Mara said.

Ja-kui did so, much to the amusement of his captors, and emptied a double handful into his carrying pouch. He understood what this meant. Nata-Mara expected to die in a foreign land, and she wanted native soil sprinkled on her grave.

## 22.Exile

Then came the long, nightmarish journey on this ship with its strange wooden female leading across dark seas. The moment Ja-kui stepped aboard, all hope abandoned him. He felt the death god's hand upon his shoulder.

Take me now! Speed Nata-Mara to Ungh-Ka.

But the god did not comply. Something worse stood before him, blocking the path – Captain Slater. Ja-kui gazed up into the puffy face with its pig's eyes and snarling mouth. The man seemed huge as the temple pyramid. He thrust a finger at Ja-kui and uttered harsh words in the alien tongue.

May you die in agony... beast!

Slater stalked to his cabin, dragging Nata-Mara with him.

"Auntie!"

Rough hands seized Ja-kui and dragged him into the hold. They locked him inside a small enclosure amid the reeking dampness.

Days later, he was brought on deck to perform menial tasks. It was then he first heard the wails of Nata-Mara coming through the beast captain's door. He paused before it.

Wump!

A blow to his head sent him sprawling. Venner towered above, snarling in the foreign tongue. Ja-kui could not understand the words, but the intent was clear – ignore the brutal treatment of Nata-Mara or get his brains knocked out.

But he couldn't ignore it. Day and night it tore at his soul. The beast captain was insatiable in his lusts. He neglected his duties, leaving Venner in charge of shipboard operations. Entire days passed without him appearing on deck.

Slater's perversities brought disapproval from the men, judging by the way they spoke among themselves in hushed voices. Ja-kui kept to the background as he worked, picking up such words as he could.

Then the beast captain became gravely ill. Nata-Mara was expelled from his cabin and sent to the hold with Ja-kui. He scarcely recognized the worn, silent woman sharing the enclosure with him.

He stroked her arm tentatively. "Are you all right, Auntie?"

She did not reply, did not seem to know him. She merely stared into the gloom with vacant eyes. Her mind was shattered, and her beauty had faded. The Nata-Mara he loved was gone.

Ja-kui cradled her in his arms and crooned lullabies he'd learned as a young child. All the while he beseeched the death god to take them away. He held the bag of native soil, ready to sprinkle it over them as his final act.

Again, the death god refused his plea, and a new idea began to take shape in Ja-kui's mind:

I am being spared for some purpose. One day I will take revenge.

A few days later, a sick crewman failed to reach the gunwale in time and vomited on the deck. Ja-kui was summoned to clean up the mess. While he worked at this repulsive task, a tumult arose.

"Here now, Mr. Venner!" someone shouted.

Then came a torrent of excited words Ja-kui did not understand. Venner and others were entering the beast captain's lair. Ja-kui tagged along, unnoticed. He'd become expert at making himself invisible to these foreign devils.

Captain Slater lay on his back, his corpse face swollen and covered with blotches. Terrified eyes stared at the ceiling, and the cruel mouth gaped in a scream. The hair bore a reddish cast, as if singed by demonic flames. Exultation surged in Ja-kui's heart.

Aii! Enjoy your time in Hell.

A sheet of paper lay on the nearby desk. On impulse, Ja-kui tucked it under his clothing, then he slinked away. Outrage shot through the crew like a wild fire. Ja-kui recognized some of their ugly words: witch ... slut ... kill ... overboard!

A group of them brought Nata-Mara from the hold and dragged her, unresisting, toward the gunwale.

"No!" Ja-kui shouted.

Often, he'd prayed for death, but not like this – at the hands of unholy men!

Venner did nothing to stop the mob. He stood with hands on hips and a cold, calculating expression on his face. Ja-kui leaped into the rigging, motivated by a vague idea he was worth more to the foreign devils alive than dead.

"Harm her and I will jump!" he shouted in his own language.

Startled faces turned his direction.

"Overboard! Overboard!" Ja-kui cried in the barbarian tongue.

The ruffians manhandling Nata-Mara paused. The breeze coming off the waters became a thundering roar. It ruffled the clothes and hair of the louts, spreading fear among them. Ja-kui nearly tumbled out of the rigging.

The wind passed, replaced by the laughter of Captain Venner barking across the deck. He issued commands. Nata-Mara and Ja-kui were hustled away to their dungeon . . .

"Your problem is you think too much, Eugene!"

Ja-kui looked over his shoulder toward the foreigners. Mr. Lawton was talking again. He was in shirtsleeves now.

"How did Captain Ahab put it? 'To think's audacity. God only has that right and privilege!'"

"You were actually sober enough to attend literature classes, eh?" Mr. Eugene said through a cloud of tobacco smoke.

"I'll drink to that." Mr. Lawton raised an imaginary tankard. "Here's to all the great scholars!"

"Let's be careful, shouldn't want to become what we hate, now, would we?"

The banter did nothing to elevate Ja-kui from his fearsome recollections. More of them drifted across the waters.

## 23.Bondage

The Alma gained port at last. Captain Venner handed over Ja-kui and Nata-Mara for sale. Ja-kui was a strapping lad and must have fetched a good price. The "crazy woman" was thrown into the bargain. She was pregnant, after all.

Standing upon the block festooned with chains, Ja-kui caught his first glance of Edward Walton. The man sat ramrod straight on his horse, observing the slave auction from behind the crowd. His man, Beale, did the bidding from within the mob.

Walton had a cold, sanctimonious look, like a high priest. His hair and beard, still dark at that time, were neatly groomed; his clothing was immaculate. Amid the uncouth gathering, he stood out as a cultivated monster.

_Some day, I will kill you,_ Ja-kui vowed.

Their bondage at Dunn Hollow commenced. Ja-kui's life became a smear of hunger, degradation, and back-breaking labor. One year vomited into the next. Disjointed recollections bubbled up from them as out of a cesspool.

Nata-Mara's infant died at birth, adding to her miseries. Over time, she recovered her sanity, but many were the nights when she cried out in her sleep. She was no longer the beautiful priestess but a worn and prematurely old woman. The other slaves revered her wisdom and listened with rapt attention when she foretold a Liberator would arrive some day to end their servitude.

She resumed her work in the healing arts. Even in the accursed new land, many beneficial plants flourished. Nata-Mara combined these into tonics and salves which brought relief to all manner of ailments. Her remedies even found their way into the Master's house.

"Why do you aid our oppressors?" Ja-kui asked her.

Nata-Mara replied with one of her serene, enigmatic smiles.

"I do not judge them. A higher power will handle that."

The Judgment seemed to arrive when an epidemic carried off Master Edward's womenfolk. People sickened all over the district, and many died. The symptoms of this plague mimicked those of Captain Slater. It's victims died in extreme agony.

Emboldened by these events, Ja-kui attempted an escape. He got no farther than the border of Dunn Hollow when Beale and his men rode him down.

"Look what we got here!" Beale mocked form atop his horse. "A boy with windy feet."

Ja-kui stood terrified amid the horses and snarling dogs. He feared the savage animals would rip him apart any moment.

"What'll it be, lad, the dogs or the whip?" Beale said.

Ja-kui did not reply.

Beale turned to his posse companions. "He ain't the talkative type, is he?"

They all laughed, like a pack of hyenas. Whips tore into Ja-kui's body.

"That's it men," Beale shouted, "flay the hide off him!"

When he was dumped at the slave settlement, Ja-kui was more dead than alive. Nata-Mara's healing ministrations brought him back among the living.

Some time later, the Judgment struck anew when Master Edward's cruel and arrogant son was killed in a brawl. Assassins, led by Beale, slew the offender and set his corpse ablaze as it hung from a dead oak. The whole tree caught fire, and its demonic light could be seen a long distance.

These fearsome events motivated Ja-kui to try another escape – no more successful than the first. When he was recaptured, the beatings were severe, but the chains were an even worse punishment.

"I should die now, before you leave this place or are killed," Nata-Mara told him. "You are the only one who can perform the proper burial rites for me."

Within the week, she was gone. The slave community mourned. They placed Nata-Mara within her grave and departed, leaving Ja-kui to shovel in the final spadesful and recite the incantations to Ungh-Ka.

So, her death brought Ja-kui to the burial ground that fateful evening. Was the inscrutable hand of Ungh-Ka, or some other deity, spinning out these events?

I think not. Matters stumble along as they always have, at the whims of men.

But no matter. Whatever else happened, even if his own life became forfeit, Ja-kui would avenge Nata-Mara, his parents, and himself. He would destroy high priest E-zui along with everything that evil man stood for.

Ja-kui returned to his cabin, hoping for a few moments' privacy before one of his benefactors intruded. Resolve hardened his spirit. Memories he'd suppressed for years were now a part of it, giving him renewed strength.

The ship ran steadily with the wind, carrying him to his fate.

## 24.Summons to the High Priest

_To be near the high priest is to be near death._ Tel-ahl felt this admonition vibrate through every particle of his being as he stood before E-zui in the high priest's innermost chamber. Even the wine-stain birthmark extending from Tel-ahl's scalp to just above his eyes – a sign of favor from the gods – was no guarantee he would leave this room alive.

Of course, it was a great honor to be summoned here, but 'honor' could be conferred various ways – anything from material reward to bloody sacrifice at the temple. At least there were no armed guards present, a hopeful sign.

E-zui, the great intermediary between worlds, was a man of few words. A mere glance from his burning, deep-set eyes was enough to command fear and obedience. His grim visage was the last thing many a sacrificial victim saw before departing this world. Mystery and danger attended E-zui. He used them effectively.

Tel-ahl bowed. "How may I serve your Holiness?"

He was not totally successful in keeping the quiver out of his voice. E-zui rose from his floor mat, unwinding himself like a great serpent preparing an assault. Tel-ahl suppressed an urge to flee.

But E-zui only moved across the room to the window. He turned his back on the acolyte and gazed out at the city below. He was prodigiously tall and lean, even more so than Tel-ahl.

The resemblance didn't stop there. Anyone who dared look could see other similarities – the sharp eyes and hawk nose, the lofty brow, the solid jaw. Yet any suggestion the high priest was other than a celibate, abstemious servant of the gods could bring instant death.

"Come," E-zui said.

Tel-ahl moved toward the window.

"What do you see?" E-zui asked.

Tel-ahl looked beyond the main square and its ceremonial buildings to the dusty streets of the residential quarter, then on to the parched agricultural fields beyond.

"I see that our land needs water, Sacred One," he replied.

E-zui nodded gravely. "The rain god ignores our petitions. He thirsts for a bride."

Tel-ahl felt his hands go cold and sweaty. Weakness stabbed at his knees, but he managed to remain strong. He felt the hard eyes of E-zui boring into him.

"And who will be his bride?" Tel-ahl heard himself ask.

"It must be Lai-koa, none other will suffice."

"As the god commands, Sacred One."

A long, unbearable moment passed. Tel-ahl fixed his eyes on an elderly woman making her way through the square below with her walking staff. He blotted out all other awareness besides her slow and dignified movements. She wore a colorful shawl, and it expanded in Tel-ahl's mind until it dominated everything in the world, the underworld, and the heavens above.

"Ke-zem will perform the wedding ceremony," E-zui said, "and you shall assist him."

The words slammed into Tel-ahl with dreadful power, carried along by terror and wild hope.

"As you command, Holiness," he said.

Tel-ahl crossed his arms over his heart and backed himself out of the room, bowing reverently.

* * *

_The young pup handles himself well,_ E-zui thought.

He returned his attention to the window and its searing vista. He spotted Tel-ahl striding across the plaza below and experienced a surge of something akin to fatherly pride.

Tel-ahl's mother had been a great beauty of noble birth and had surrendered the boy without fuss to be raised in the priesthood. E-zui didn't have to select her for ritual sacrifice, but her suspicious husband did come to a consecrated demise under the knife.

Today, he'd made a monumental decision. The protracted drought had undermined his authority. Unrest was growing among the people with every parched day; soon they would be ready to revolt.

He felt chill winds of destruction blowing for him, his religion, and a way of life his ancestors had preserved for centuries. Not even Kyr-bee and his minions could restrain the people once a rebellion began.

The situation was fraught with political peril. Selecting Lai-koa as the new bride of the rain god meant taking the crown jewel of one of the country's noblest families. The choice carried tremendous risk, yet E-zui had no doubt the rain god would be satisfied with the offering. And he'd be able to repay the girl's family for their apostasy of former times, their dalliance with the Nata-Mara witch.

E-zui was uncertain he could perform the sacrifice properly. So ravishing was the girl he would have difficulty expelling lustful thoughts from his mind. So, he'd delegated the task to grim old Ke-zem, to whom Tel-ahl was apprenticed.

The sacrifice would prove an ordeal for Tel-ahl as well. Hadn't the lad broken out in a cold sweat when he'd heard who the bride was to be? But it was a necessary test for him. E-zui had to know if his son could be a worthy successor to himself when his own mortal remains were carried to the tomb enclosure in the temple pyramid.

* * *

Back in his private quarters, Tel-ahl's crisis of faith boiled over. The deadly peril of Lai-koa pushed all other considerations from his mind. All former loyalties and obligations vanished. He yanked the sacred gold disk from around his neck and tossed it aside.

I am longer Tel-ahl. From this point forward, I am Sir-hen!

He stood defiant, expecting a death bolt from the gods to strike him, but nothing came. He'd committed the unpardonable sin of abandoning his sacred birth name in favor of the blasphemous one provided by the foreigners.

But the old name simply could not serve him in his frightful new task.

## 25.The Island Nears

From the diary of Lawton Elder:

At last! Only a few days stand between us and our destination.

I am tempted to jump overboard and swim the remaining distance out of pure joy, but – prudence getting the upper hand – I remain on deck writing my diary. Eugene sprawls nearby, napping in the sunshine.

There is growing excitement among our company, except for Jake. He's even more grim and withdrawn than usual. Maybe he's having second thoughts.

During this forced confinement, I've gotten to know the others better than I really care to. Four of us were old college chums, but there were always diversions at school – women mostly. Now we cannot avoid tripping over each other.

As we approach land, Loren can scarcely contain his enthusiasm. He hopes to study medicinal plants during this trip, then do pure research when we get home. No cranky patients for him. Except for us, maybe. I get the impression he's waiting for someone to take ill so he can try out the latest cure. He's got that injection needle gleam in his eyes.

Eugene is his usual disjointed self, varying between semi-sociability and moody withdrawal into his books, of which he's brought a trunk full. I miss the old boozing, card-playing days with him, but he's on a 'higher plane' now.

Arjay and Montgomery are Eugene's loyal followers, especially Montgomery. They almost seem like squires to a medieval knight.

"So, Montgomery," I asked the other day. "Will this journey satisfy your wanderlust, or will you travel the world further?"

With all the money Eugene gave him and his bride to be, they could pull up stakes and go pretty much anywhere.

"That depends, sir," Montgomery replied.

"On what?"

"On Mr. Eugene. If he travels somewhere, I go too – along with my lady, next time."

"Really?"

"Yes, sir. We owe everything to Mr. Eugene. My lady and I were going to be sold to different owners."

Dang! That's loyalty. Now I understand the morose faces the couple wore at Dunn Hollow.

Speaking of loyalty, the longer I'm away, the more concerned I am about things back home. I've never been so cut off from news. Did the Easterners make good on their threats to break away? I fear I could be missing giant events. Eugene and Loren don't care to talk about the situation much, but Miles is gung ho about my idea of forming a cavalry unit.

There is a rather disturbing element to Miles' zeal, however. I oppose the Easterners because they're traitors who must be suppressed. It's a simple matter: they stage a rebellion, we kick the hell out of them. End of story.

But with Miles, it's a religion. He hates the Easterners with a bloody passion as if they are the source of all evil. Their practice of slavery has divorced them from the human family, in his thinking.

He speaks of "doing the Lord's work" by "smiting the sinners" because of their "pact with the devil."

Well, I sure got a belly full of slavery at Dunn Hollow, and I'm all for abolishing it. We should make that one of our war aims. Miles is a fanatic, though. Beware all fanatics, I say.

Another round of flu, less severe this time. None of our party got sick, fortunately. What's this? Eugene's having a bad dream . . .

Eugene

Damn! A nightmare about cousin Ellery. Where the hell did that come from? It was so real! Lawton shakes me awake and I'm back on the Alma. But I'm not here, too. I don't know what I'm saying.

Thank God I can't remember many details about the dream – only that something like it actually happened. It was a flashback from the 'wild days,' only cruelly distorted ... looking below the surface of reality.

Is it a herald of disaster?

# Four: From the High Place

## 26.Death Trek

Venerable senior priests, Ke-zem and Shi-nan, made their way up the path together.

Shi-nan carried a brazier which wafted incense smoke toward the two acolytes following behind. Ke-zem made a soft, rhythmic pounding on a drum to announce their presence on the sacred cliff. Between the muffled beats, dead silence reigned.

Despite the heat, Sir-hen felt a cold oppression bearing down from the sky, as if all creation was trying to strangle him. His palms sweated so much he feared losing his grip on the carrying poles of the 'marriage bed' he and the other acolyte toted between them. He gazed upon its occupant with fascinated horror.

The drugged figure of Lai-koa reposed upon the death stretcher amid embellishments of gold and gems. More gold and precious stones adorned her person, glistening in the sun and stabbing Sir-hen's eyes. Only the slightest motion of her breast indicated she still lived.

She is truly a bride fit for a god. Dare any mortal gainsay this?

The trail was difficult in places and the burden awkward. But the acolytes were strong, sure-footed young men, and they handled it well. The burden crushing Sir-hen's heart was far more serious.

They reached the cliff top amid mournful drumbeats. As they cleared into open space, the rush of wind and the screech of birds filled the air. A lone cormorant soared above a gaggle of white seagulls.

The acolytes set down the marriage bed near the rim of the cliff, then retreated a respectful distance so the priests could perform their ceremonies. Sir-hen drew the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, over his wine stain birthmark – the emblem of divine favor. He sensed no favor today, only a wrenching pain in his heart.

What do the gods intend? When will they come for me – when will I go after them?

He looked toward the far distance with its meeting of sea and sky. Eight years earlier, he had stood on this same spot when the mysterious ship had appeared, floating with great celestial sails as if it had dropped from the heavens.

Had the vessel come at all, or was it the concoction of an impressionable lad? Sir-hen felt the sheathed knife poking his ribs under his clothing, and he knew the ship had been real. Would it come again? He strained his eyes toward the horizon but could detect no sign of approaching sails. He resisted the temptation to withdraw the viewing tube from under his robes.

Sir-hen dared not contemplate the day's fearful business lest he go mad. The stink of incense smoke contended with fresh sea air inside his nostrils. He felt damnation pressing him from every side. Ten minutes passed, twenty, half an hour. Both priests were chanting loudly, beseeching the rain god to accept their bridal offering.

Let it be over! Let it be over!

At the bidding of the priests, Sir-hen and the second acolyte placed a heavy stone beside the marriage bed. The priests began tying it around Lai-koa's waist with a golden cord, preparatory to shoving her off the precipice into the realm of the rain god who controlled every drop of water in creation. Even the ocean deities quailed before him.

The acolytes withdrew as the priests finished their dreadful binding. Sir-hen's mind was a tortured blank, his body rigid as the surrounding stones. The chanting, drumbeats, and incense promoted a hypnotic state. It sapped his will, drained his ability to act. Sir-hen's plans faded to obscurity.

What was I going to do?

Darkness closed in . . .

With a savage effort of will, he clawed back his mind and sprang into action. He pulled the knife from under his robe and plunged it into the acolyte's heart. In another brutal motion, he yanked the blade out. The man crashed down like a felled tree.

The priests turned astonished glances his direction, then Sir-hen was upon them, howling.

A-yiiii!

He stuck the blade on Shi-nan's neck with such force the old man's head nearly came off. Blood spurted everywhere, Lai-koa stirred under the hot fountain.

"Treachery!" Ke-zem cried

A fist crashed against his jaw, silencing all protest.

Sir-hen stood amid the carnage. The birthmark on his forehead blazed and throbbed. He hoisted his bloody knife toward the heavens.

"Strike me down if you will!"

Agonizing moments passed filled with the screeching of birds and the roar of breakers on the rocks below. Sir-hen felt himself on the brink of damnation, but no reprisal came from the gods.

"Uhhh," Ke-zem returned to consciousness.

Sir-hen glowered at the old man sprawled upon the rocks.

"How does it feel?"

Ke-zem stared dumbly back.

"Let me help you," Sir-hen said.

He picked up the priest as if he were a babe and held his face close to his own.

"It's your turn, dog!"

Mortal terror shone in Ke-zem's eyes. Sir-hen reveled in it.

A-yiiii!

He flung Ke-zem off the cliff. The priest's screams mingled with Sir-hen's victory howl like an incantation from hell.

Lai-koa struggled to emerge from her drug-induced trance. Sir-hen knelt beside her and undid the bindings. He carried her to a place of safety and wiped the blood away as best he could.

Now for the plunder.

Shi-nan and his acolyte joined Ke-zem in the foaming surf below. Then the brazier and the bed, stripped of its adornments, tumbled into the ocean. Sir-hen used the silken bedclothes to bundle up the riches he'd torn from the death stretcher. The gold and gems represented considerable wealth, and would be vital for their escape.

Where will our escape finally lead us?

Sir-hen pushed the question out of his thoughts. One thing at a time, and now it was time to get off this accursed cliff.

He moved to the comatose figure of Lai-koa and studied her face. Its radiant beauty calmed his nerves and soothed his turbulent soul. Looking into such a face, a man found it hard to believe in death and damnation. To be without this beauty was the true damnation.

He reached for Lai-koa's bejeweled golden necklace, meaning to add it to the loot, but her hand went to it reflexively. When he tried to pull it from her grasp, she whimpered and moaned.

"Alright, my love, retain it for now."

He returned to cliff edge and swept his eyes across the ocean. No sign of the mystery ship. He pulled out his viewing tube, but to no avail. A sudden gust of wind pushed him toward the drop off, so strong and unexpected it seemed of otherworldly origin. Sir-hen held his ground.

"Damn you to eternal darkness! Is that the best you can do?"

This terrible blasphemy hardly disturbed him. Compared to his other sacrileges today, it seemed as nothing. The wind abated. He returned to Lai-koa's side.

"Let us leave this wicked place, my love. We are in the hands of higher powers now."

What these "higher powers" might be was unclear to Sir-hen's feverish mind. He only knew that any god who wished the death of Lai-koa was evil and had to be opposed. Any deity who helped rescue her must be good and would acquire his allegiance.

For the first time since she'd drunk the sacred potion early that day, Lai-koa emerged into consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open and focused upon Sir-hen. He basked in their glow.

"Am I in heaven?" she murmured. "Are you the rain god?"

"I'm no god, but I will fight any god for you."

She slipped back into oblivion.

Sir-hen picked up her almost weightless body. Holding fast to Lai-koa and the bundle of loot, he began the descent.

## 27.Escape

The moment they moved below the cliff top, oppressive heat returned.

Unrestrained by cooling sea breeze, monstrous hands seemed to clamp upon Sir-hen's throat. Blackness intruded on the edges of his vision. He feared his precious burden would tumble from his arms and careen down the rock face. A terrible sense of abandonment assaulted his mind. He was alone and damned among all creation.

_Give me strength!_ he prayed.

But what god was he beseeching? Not the rain god whom he'd so foully dishonored. Certainly not the sun god who was hammering his brightness upon them like a club.

Was it the deity of that Nata-Mara heretic?

He'd only seen Ungh-Ka's image once, when they'd arrested Nata-Mara. But now the kind, benevolent face of the god hovered in the air before him offering encouragement.

Come, my son, I'll not abandon you.

He kept his eyes fixed upon the face, never letting go of its influence until he reached level ground . . .

Lai-koa was back to consciousness and able to stand on her own. Sir-hen placed an arm about her waist to help her walk. The touch of her body was a delight far beyond that allowed mortal men. She seemed fit and coherent, undamaged by the drugs. Yet she was not fully back in this world. A part of her had crossed over to the realm of the gods, and it was still there.

Sir-hen grasped her heavy, sacrificial necklace. "Allow me to relieve you of this weight, my lady."

Her hand went to the necklace, and she shook her head.

"Very well," Sir-hen said. "Please wait for me a short while."

He left her concealed behind some rocks while he went to dispatch the two guards farther down the trail . . .

As he stood over the dead warriors, Sir-hen was assailed by a terrible thought.

Lai-koa will be taken from me!

He hurried back along the trail as if pursued by demons, running past the rocks in his haste. He paused, heart pounding.

The gods have stolen her away!

Then he realized his mistake and returned to the right spot where Lai-koa waited obediently. The demons vanished.

"Come my lady. A long journey awaits us."

They arrived at a small cave entrance, well concealed by stones and vegetation – and by powerful taboo. This was a portal to the underworld, and the common people shrank away from it in fear.

Sir-hen entered the cave and dragged provisions out into the daylight – food, jugs of water, sturdy clothing. Also a hunting bow and a quiver of stone-tipped arrows.

"Can you walk on your own, my lady?"

Lai-koa nodded.

"Follow me," he said.

Lai-koa nodded again, not in agreement but in simple acquiesce. Sir-hen had the chilling sensation that if he commanded her to slit her own throat, she would do so.

What have those bastards done to you?

He slung a pack of food onto his back and, taking a large water jug in each hand, led the way toward shore. Lai-koa carried the bow and arrows, should they be needed.

* * *

Dan-gri, the fisherman, met them on the beach.

"Is everything in readiness?" Sir-hen asked.

"Yes, Master."

The old fisherman bowed reverentially and gestured toward a nearby boat. The craft was well supplied with sail, rope, and fishing gear. Oars were lashed inside for use when the winds might fail.

"You've done well, fisherman," Sir-hen said.

He withdrew a sack of gold nuggets from under his robe and emptied several into the proffered hand. The fisherman's eyes lit up.

"Thank you, Master!"

But even the glittering nuggets could not distract his eyes entirely from the woman standing nearby. Dan-gri had seen nothing that approached her beauty. She was like a goddess. In their ceremonial finery, both of these figures looked to be descended from the heavens.

"Come," Sir-hen said. "We have more provisions to haul."

He and the fisherman returned to the cave and transported the final supplies to the boat. Lai-koa followed obediently with the weaponry, keeping her eyes fixed upon the ground. When the boat was loaded and ready to go, Sir-hen made the fisherman an offer.

"Come with us," he said. "I have food and water enough. You can ply your fishing trade."

Dan-gri folded his hands before his face and bowed. "I could not presume, Master."

"Why not? Once we gain our destination, you may have the boat back. And ..." Sir-hen reached into the bundle and pulled out a large gold disk with a flaming emerald set into its middle. "this, too, shall be yours."

The fisherman's eyes bugged out. His breath rushed in with a ragged gasp. "My Lord!"

This item represented unimaginable wealth. In his mind, he had already melted the gold into coins, and the jewel ... who knew its infinite value?

"I have need of your services," Sir-hen said. "I know little of seamanship."

Part of Dan-gri was already in the boat pushing off from shore. But the other part of him was immobilized with terror. Things were going on he could not hope to understand. The gods were involved. Terrible rites had transpired upon the cliff today. Was not blood spattered upon both their garments? Had not fearsome chants and screams drifted amid the winds from that haunted place?

This bay had once been a busy fishing port, but the terrifying emanations from that cliff had driven everyone to other locations. Then came the disastrous declines in fish catches, along with the drought. Talk was a curse had come upon the people for their evil ways and the depravity of their leaders.

And there was the appearance of the mystery ship years ago. Everyone had fled in terror, except Dan-gri who remained in concealment to observe. Also, the dangers of the sea must be considered. This pair was clearly headed for distant lands beyond all knowledge.

"Why do you hesitate?" Sir-hen demanded. "Do you doubt my word? I am a priestly acolyte, my oath is sacred."

The irony was not lost on Sir-hen. Had he not already violated his most sacred oaths? Yet he intended to enrich this humble man, should he aid their escape.

"I-I'm sorry, Master. I cannot!" The fisherman fell to his knees. "Take my life, if you will, but I cannot. I should be damned."

For a moment, Sir-hen wanted to pull out his dagger and slay the man, but he held back his anger.

"Then remain here and be damned!"

Sir-hen placed Lai-koa gently inside the boat and pushed off. He did not bother to look back at the weeping fisherman sprawled upon the sands.

## 28.The Final Leagues

Eugene Walton

I must admit I've become as restless as Lawton these past few days.

The restrictions of our waterborne conveyance have grown quite tiresome. I long for the feel of solid ground under my feet, a horse under my rump, and a woman under ... well, the sentiment should be obvious.

The shipboard fare has become dreary. I neglected to take breakfast this a.m. and was looking forward with a singular lack of enthusiasm to the midday meal when I was struck by an inspiration: Why not dig into the victuals Montgomery has brought? Who says we must be on land before we can sample them?

So, we sit down to an excellent lunch, the main course of which is dry-cured ham slathered with horseradish.

"Bravo!" I say. "This is every bit as good as the ham at Dunn Hollow."

"Yes," Lawton says. "All we lack is that wonderful rye bread with caraway seeds."

"I brought my Dutch oven and all the ingredients," Montgomery says. "I'll bake us some loaves when I get a proper fire."

"Capital fellow!" Lawton exclaims.

It seems politic to invite Captain Venner and his senior officer, Tipton, to our repast. They arrive with a bottle of very decent rum, and we have a jolly time together. They are stout fellows, but one senses danger, as well. If I'd known them ashore in earlier times, we'd have likely fought pistol duels.

Jake does not join us. Captain Venner would never tolerate his company. Besides, the chap refuses to eat pork. This must have gone badly with him at Dunn Hollow where the cast off portions of pig carcass were about the only meat provided the slaves.

Afterwards, Lawton and I repair to the deck for some shooting practice. As we draw closer to land, various targets have been appearing in the water – tree limbs, gourds, that sort of thing. We can spare some rifle ammunition to sharpen our aim and relieve our boredom.

I'm just drawing a bead on what looks like a bunch of coconuts when Lawton spoils my shot.

"Do you think we need a full ten days ashore?" he asks.

I lower my rifle, not without a certain degree of irritation.

"We haven't even arrived yet, and you're anxious to leave? Didn't you want to meet the local ladies?" I gesture around the less than commodious deck space. "Perhaps you've grown too fond of our accommodations."

"It's not that," Lawton says. "It's just ... I'm concerned we might be stumbling into something we don't understand."

"Of course we don't understand. That's the fun of it. And weren't you the one all set to form a cavalry troop? What happened to your sense of adventure?"

"The situation back home is easy to understand," Lawton says. "A lot of bastards want to destroy our country so they can keep their slaves. But with this ..."

I heft my rifle again. Hang it, I can no longer see the coconuts! Thanks, Lawton. Another object in the water catches my eye.

"What in blazes is that?" I say.

Lawton extends his spy glass toward the mystery object. "It looks like a bed or something."

"Fancy that," I say. "This is a water logged place for a snooze!"

It's a rather droll find, but it makes me uneasy. I look into the water beside the ship. Fins are knifing through it, below them move huge, shadowy bodies. Sharks.

## 29.Adrift

As the second day at sea drew to a close amid the long sun rays, Sir-hen admitted defeat.

I've been a fool!

A death sentence was pressing down on him. He'd sinned mightily and was now adrift in this terrifying vastness with a would-be paramour stolen from the rain god.

He was no sailor and understood nothing about the sea's elemental forces. His efforts seemed to go in circles, and he'd still not lost sight of the island. Its craggy profile tormented like an evil spirit beckoning him to destruction. Worst of all, the wind was impelling him back toward land, and he did not know how to counteract its force.

Why didn't that fool of a fisherman come along?

But why should he have done so? What did any commoner owe the religious elite? Destitution and famine were all the priests offered – and bloody sacrifices which accomplished nothing besides eliminating the foes of E-zui.

Never had such thoughts occurred to Sir-hen before. When he was home, he'd accepted every article of faith passed down by the senior priests. Was he not in the holy lineage, himself? Had he not assisted in the ritual murders?

Yes, but he'd never wielded the knife. He'd never tossed a babe into the flames nor pushed a sacrificial victim off the cliff. These 'sacred duties' would have devolved to him later when he became a full-fledged priest. He was glad he'd not taken that final step.

For out here on the endless sea, reality looked very different to a man. He couldn't feel grounded in tradition and certitude amid so much emptiness. His role in the cosmic order seemed trivial, idiotic even. How could destroying innocent lives matter to these vast, impersonal spaces?

Throughout, Lai-koa remained silent and pensive, staring into the profound waters. Though she did not appear to be entranced, her mind was still not entirely in this world. She listened to distant echoes on the wind that Sir-hen could not hear.

Lai-koa ate nothing, took only an occasional sip of water, and refused to exchange her bloodied ceremonial finery for more practical clothing. The sacrificial jewelry still glittered upon her person.

Sir-hen feared she might pitch herself overboard. To forestall this, he'd tied a rope around her ankle and kept the other end within his grasp.

We are in the hands of the gods.

But which gods – the one of Nata-Mara? Out here, the beneficent visage of Ungh-Ka could not possibly hold sway. What did kindliness and forbearance signify to this unending nothingness?

The sky abruptly darkened, and the sea became turbulent under a howling wind. Sir-hen fumbled with the sail, trying to keep it from pulling the boat over. He gripped the rope around Lai-Koa's ankle more firmly.

"Throw her overboard!" a brutal voice commanded from the wind.

"No! You must slay me first."

As if intimidated by his defiance, the squall soon passed, leaving a gentle rain in its wake. Sir-hen muscled the flapping sail back from its luff position. And then he saw it.

By all the gods!

The Great Ship had returned. It's tall, stately presence emerged from the horizon like a great, celestial being. Golden sun rays illuminated its sails. Sir-hen fixed his viewing tube upon it . . . there was no doubt.

"A-yiiii!"

His victory cry shot across the waters. Lai-koa roused herself from her torpor and gazed at him.

"It comes again!" he cried. "The Great Ship from beyond the world."

Lai-koa smiled distractedly and went back to staring at the waters rippling along the hull. Sir-hen could hardly think amid his excitement.

Should I try to meet the Great Ship on the water?

No, he couldn't handle that, especially not in the approaching dark. The ship was heading for the island, so he should endeavor to meet it there. With luck, he could arrive first and hail its denizens when they came ashore.

Sir-hen was convinced a beneficent god was watching over him – testing him, seeing if he was worthy. Hadn't it organized things to the minutest detail? Even the fisherman's refusal had been part of the plan.

Had the fisherman been aboard with his seafaring capabilities, he would have likely taken them a different direction. They would be a long distance from this spot and would have missed sighting the Great Ship altogether. Sire-hen's escape into the endless sea had been foiled by his lack of skills. He'd been detained in this area by a divine hand.

But which divine hand?

Sir-hen meant to find out. When he did, he would be that god's devoted servant for the rest of his days. He turned the boat around and made for the island.

## 30.Land Ho!

Lawton Elder:

At long last, the end of our journey is near. The island is in sight, and tomorrow morning we shall tread upon its shore. All hail the conquering heroes!

Or something like that. I'm feeling a bit less heroic after so many weeks of bobbing around in this ship. I practically jumped out of my skin when the lookout cried: "Land ho!" I never thought a rough seaman's voice could sound so sweet.

Speaking of sweet voices, will a bevy of native girls welcome our arrival with kisses and flowers? We spotted a fishing boat heading toward the island, and if we saw them, they must have seen us. By the time we reach land tomorrow, our presence should be well prepared for.

I'm hoping it will be a friendly reception, we have no reason to expect otherwise. Jake, as always, is tight-lipped and noncommittal. Captain Venner seems confident of a peaceful landing, however. And if things aren't so friendly, we have our arsenal to fall back on. I'd prefer the girls. Save the 'fireworks' for a different context.

At least if the natives are not friendly, it will give us an excuse to leave early. Just dump off Jake and get the hell out. Of course, I'm curious to see this exotic new place, but as I told Eugene, we can't understand what we're getting into.

The bay where we will set anchor is broad and deep, according to Captain Venner. It lacks hazardous rocks or other unseen dangers, so entering it should be easy, even under the moon – which is blazing brightly. The idea is to lower the sails, tie the longboats to the Alma, and row the ship to its anchorage. It sounds like great fun. I hope I can prevail upon Captain Venner to let me join in . . .

Well, that was interesting. It speaks volumes about my ennui that I would regard a stint of rigorous labor behind an oar as being a jolly diversion. Still, it felt good to get off the Alma for a while and exercise muscles grown flabby from disuse.

The bay presented an atmosphere of remarkable beauty under the moonlight. I've never experienced anything like its eerie serenity and placid silence – a vision from another world. Flying fish leapt across our boat as we tugged the Alma behind us across the mirror surface. Phosphorescent little water creatures cascaded from our oar blades.

We dragged the Alma into position, and it dropped anchor. Shortly after we got back on board, a light rain began to fall, freshening the night air and cleansing my brow. If I believed in such things, I'd say it was a good omen.

* * *

Dan-gri lay inside his beach hut toying with his gold nuggets. They glittered under moonbeams seeping through the chinks. Sleep was not coming to him, except in fitful spells, and the nuggets offered little solace.

They represented considerable riches for a man of his station and were worth far more than the boat he'd traded. But what could he do with them? Food was scarce at any price, and attempting to exchange gold would set robbers upon him.

Perhaps I've made a fool's bargain.

Yet, the boat was of little use. The fish had abandoned their customary haunts, and he was getting too old to handle the rigors of fishing on his own. Both his sons had been lost in the strife that was worsening since the drought's onset, so there was no one to assist him.

Mi-den, the youngest, disappeared one night. Some claimed the unspeakable ho-toi had carried him off, others thought bandits had slain him. No one knew for sure as his body had not been recovered. There was no closure. Loyal and noble Mi-den had simply vanished, leaving a gaping hole in his bereaved father's heart.

There was no mystery about Dan-gri's eldest. He'd been publically beheaded by high priest E-zui as a 'noble sacrifice' to placate some savage god. Dan-gri had witnessed the murder himself. On lonely nights like this, the grief at his sons' loss was almost unbearable.

His scolding old wife had passed out of this world, devastated by the loss of her children. Dan-gri never thought he could miss her, but he did.

He could feel the restless spirits of his family members rustling about, beseeching him to avenge their agony. But what could a humble fisherman do except join them in death – the ultimate refuge of the poor? There seemed little reason to linger in this land of want.

Why didn't you sail off with the acolyte and the woman? Dan-gri chided himself for the hundredth time.

But he knew the answer to that question. He'd been afraid – not for his scrawny old neck which wasn't of much use to anyone, least of all himself – but for his very soul. It was no small thing to anger the gods, and there was something unhallowed going on with those two strange people. Still . . .

It would have been fine to see something of the world, even if I did not survive the journey.

A light pattering rustled the thatch roof. The wind kicked up, and the moonlight dimmed. Then something else ... the smell of moisture in the air. Could it be raining? Dan-gri rose from his sleeping mat and hurried outside.

Yes, after so many months, years, of punishing drought, rain was coming from the sky! He opened his parched mouth and felt the sweet coolness enter. And then he saw it.

By the souls of my sons!

The incredible vision struck him like a club. All strength left his knees and he dropped into the sand. There – floating in the bay like a messenger from the gods – the Great Ship!

Dan-gri trembled with fear. He wanted to crawl away, hide himself from the awesome presence. He moved as fast as he could toward the forest. Then he stopped.

No! I've been cowardly once.

Come what may, he would remain on this shore. He would meet the occupants of the Great Ship, be they men or gods.

## 31.Watchers at Morn

Sir-hen sprawled behind a rock on the beach edge, peering through his viewer at the Great Ship out in the bay. He was cold and wet from lying under the rain, and he felt terribly inadequate to be playing a role cast for him by fate.

Who does not fall short of the gods' standards? I have been allowed to remain on this earth for a purpose, and I shall faithfully carry it out when it is revealed.

Lai-koa lay nearby, sleeping under the fishing boat's sailcloth. Sir-hen cast a look of unbearable longing upon her.

Rest, my love. Destiny nears.

Then another presence was at his side. Sir-hen yanked his knife half out of its scabbard before he recognized the newcomer.

"Fisherman!"

"Yes, Exalted One," Dan-gri said, bowing his head and clasping his hands in deference. "Please forgive my intrusion."

Sir-hen grunted. Was even this humble person a part of the divine plan? Unless it was revealed otherwise, he would assume it to be the case.

"Stay down, fisherman," he said. "Great things will be revealed soon."

"Yes, Exalted One."

Sir-hen was accustomed to obsequiousness from all commoners, but now it seemed inappropriate. Who could say what the gods had in mind? Perhaps this fisherman would be tapped as the true Exalted One.

"Address me as 'Sir-hen.' I am no longer of the priesthood."

"Yes, Ex ... Sir-hen."

"What name do you go by, fisherman?"

"I am called Dan-gri."

"Mmm ... "

The name struck a chord in Sir-hen's memory. He recalled a sacrifice he'd attended some months back – a man identified as "son of Dan-gri" was beheaded by E-zui to appease the god of strife. The ritual murder had helped quell the discord plaguing the southern districts, at least for a while.

Sir-hen felt a stab of guilt at his participation in the killing. Never before had he experienced such emotion concerning his duties. A priest needed to harden his heart against such considerations and keep his mind fixed upon the greater good. The gods must be appeased with blood; otherwise, they would punish the people severely.

He returned to his viewing tube.

Out in the bay, boats were being lowered down the sides of the great mystery ship. Sir-hen had seen such craft before. In his mind, the intervening years vanished, and he was an insecure boy again. Who could feel like a strong man in the presence of such majesty?

"Behold."

He handed the viewing tube to Dan-gri. The fisherman squinted through it.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "This device is truly a work of the gods."

"Yes ..."

Sir-hen allowed the fisherman to use the viewer a few minutes. When next he raised it to his eye, a shock greater than any he'd ever experienced struck him. His heart stopped cold.

"What is the matter?" Dan-gri asked.

In a faint, trembling voice, Sir-hen uttered: "Ungh-Ka."

Dan-gri took the viewer from Sir-hen's clammy grasp and focused it upon the first boat heading toward shore. A noble figure stood in the bow, his red hair flowing in the breeze.

* * *

Out on the bay, seated in the last longboat, Sir-hen's half brother, Ja-kui, observed events with a good deal less drama.

_I am home, at last,_ he thought with a singular lack of emotion.

What lay ahead was a mystery. All he knew for certain was that fate had called him back to this place. He would succeed in his quest for vengeance, or he would not. He would impose his will across this island or die in the attempt.

The gods, or whoever was responsible for the destinies of men, would guide his path.

He could not attribute to mere chance the incredible series of events which had brought him from a chained slave to his position in the longboat. What would Nata-Mara make of things? She would probably nod and offer an inscrutable smile, leaving him none the wiser.

Ahead, in the first boat, Mr. Eugene was standing up like some legendary hero, despite the risk of tumbling into the surf. The large quantity of rum he'd consumed this morning with his friends could not have had added to his steadiness. Mr. Lawton and the servant Montgomery accompanied him in the boat, along with Captain Venner and the oarsmen. The next boat carried the rest of Mr. Eugene's party, including the insufferable Mr. Miles.

And then came the final boat with its party of armed men. Everyone was armed, except for Ja-kui. He was, supposedly, the reason for all this effort, but he occupied the lowest status of them all.

Things will change soon, my friends.

## 32.Encounter Between Two Worlds

Ja-kui waded ashore, bringing up the rear of the landing party. Mr. Eugene and his friends were already on dry ground and had gathered themselves around Captain Venner. The other men stood nearby – everyone armed and alert.

Ja-kui kept to his place in the background. This was fine, as it enabled him to observe events without being noticed and ponder his next moves. He felt only cool detachment toward his homecoming.

Mr. Eugene offered a witless observation: "Well, here we are!"

"Very nice," Mr. Lawton said. "Now, let's drop off Jake and head back."

The other foreigners laughed, but Ja-kui understood Mr. Lawton was not entirely jesting. Two figures advanced from the edge of the forest.

"Who do you suppose those chaps are?" Mr. Lawton said.

"Beats me," Mr. Eugene replied. "Let's hope they're friendly."

Ja-kui knew one of them, all right.

Tel-ahl!

The towering figure striding across the beach must be his half-brother, grown to manhood. The wine-stain birthmark above his facial tattoos and scarifications verified that. Ja-kui fought to keep the anger from his own face.

What devilment is Tel-ahl up to?

He was dressed in commoner attire for some reason. Was he still of the priesthood? The man with him was a servant, or maybe a fisherman, judging by his weathered features. Both paused in front of the foreigners, keeping their eyes fixed upon Mr. Eugene. Ja-kui remained invisible in the back of the group.

Tel-ahl placed a fist before his heart and bowed to Mr. Eugene. He uttered words of greeting that astonished Ja-kui.

"What's he saying, Miles?" Mr. Eugene asked.

"He is honored by your presence here," Mr. Miles replied.

The foreigner could not grasp the profound reverence the words conveyed. Tel-ahl had spoken with the highest honorifics, as if addressing a god. Ja-kui recalled his own overawed reaction when he'd first beheld Mr. Eugene at Dunn Hollow. Was the acolyte similarly taken in? If so, the ramifications could be enormous.

Tel-ahl had grown to a prodigious height during the past eight years. He was tall as Mr. Miles now. He paid no attention to Mr. Miles or anybody else, though. His burning eyes focused solely on Mr. Eugene. He reached out a hand and stroked the dueling scar. The servant Montgomery yanked a little pistol from under his jacket and stepped forward.

Mr. Eugene held out a restraining hand. "It's alright, Montgomery, he's not hurting me."

"Put that thing away," Mr. Lawton said. "Don't want to spoil the party now, do we?"

Montgomery holstered the gun, but his eyes retained their dark suspicion. He did not take them off Tel-ahl for an instant. Ja-kui could not help but respect such loyalty.

If you knew who you were dealing with, perhaps you wouldn't be so bold.

Now that his astonishment and rage had subsided, Ja-kui found the situation rather amusing. Clearly, Tel-ahl was taken in by the Ungh-Ka legend and was convinced a god in the living flesh stood before him.

Can this be turned to my advantage?

Ja-kui composed himself as best he could and stepped forward. "Greetings, Tel-ahl. Many years have passed since the persecution of Nata-Mara when last I saw you."

Tel-ahl shifted his gaze toward him. His face did not betray a flicker of surprise, as if having an exile suddenly return after eight years was a common occurrence.

"My name is not Tel-ahl. I am no longer with the priesthood."

"That would explain your humble clothing," Ja-kui said with a trace of sarcasm. "So, how may we address you?"

"My name is Sir-hen."

Ja-kui fought to keep from laughing. He bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to almost draw blood. This man had adapted the mocking nickname given him by the sailors!

"What's going on here, Jake?" Mr. Eugene asked.

"This is Sir-hen. Once priest, now regular man."

"I figured those tattoos marked him as some kind of big wheel," Mr. Lawton said. "He's an imposing chap, isn't he?"

"Yes, rather," Dr. Loren said. "Come down in the world, has he?"

Ja-kui nodded.

"Ask him what happened, Jake," Mr. Eugene said.

Ja-kui turned toward 'Sir-hen' and was struck by an insight. If they were both sons of E-zui, then he, too, should have a physique as powerful and lofty as Sir-hen's. But years of slavery and poor diet had worn him down.

Hatred surged in his heart – for Sir-hen, for all the devil priests, for the people who had put him in chains, and the ones who released him. He swallowed his rage sufficiently to speak.

"Why are you no longer with the priests?"

Before Sir-hen could reply, the answer came walking up in the person of a woman clad in bloody ceremonial clothing.

Lai-koa!

The last time Ja-kui had seen her, she was only eight years old. She'd come to Nata-Mara's hut with her parents to obtain medications and hear about the great, merciful Ungh-Ka.

It could be no other. Lai-koa was the daughter of a noble and respected family. Even as a child, she'd been a rare beauty. Now she was celestial. For the first time, Ja-kui's stony reserve threatened to crack.

Sir-hen waved his arms, exhorting her to keep away. His servant rushed back and urged her to depart, but she ignored the entreaties and continued her stately progress across the beach. She halted beside Sir-hen.

Her eyes settled on Ja-kui. He wanted to die under their entrancing gaze.

"Greetings, Ja-kui," she said. "Welcome home."

Ja-kui felt as if struck by a thunderbolt. He placed his right fist over his heart and bowed his head.

"My gracious lady."

He instantly sized up the reactions of everyone on the beach – the furious, jealous glower from Sir-hen, the astonishment of the foreigners, the leer directed at Lai-koa by Captain Venner.

The captain was taken by Lai-koa's beauty, as his swinish predecessor had been with Nata-Mara's. And something else. The pig's eyes were fixed on the gold and bejeweled necklace Lai-koa wore, on her magnificent earrings and bracelets. The man had plunder in his heart.

Ja-kui wanted to strike down the bastard. If he'd been armed, he might have done so. Unuttered curses filled the air. Mr. Lawton broke the tension:

"My, isn't she a looker!"

"Quite so!" The other foreigners chuckled among themselves.

You pack of fools.

They were like infants at a springtime sacrifice with no idea of the lethal forces confronting them.

Ja-kui pieced together the story of what had transpired on the island. Lai-koa had been marked for sacrifice – to be the bride of some god. Sir-hen had saved her for himself, and the blood on Lai-koa's ceremonial garments proved the rescue had been violent. No wonder he was finished with the priests.

The eyes of Ja-kui and Sir-hen locked briefly. Both men knew the other understood him. Sir-hen returned his attention to Mr. Eugene.

"Why's he staring at me, Jake?" Mr. Eugene said. "I feel like a bug under a microscope."

Ja-kui considered his answer carefully. The real reason was too outrageous to be believed, yet trying to conceal it was not wise. The foreigners would learn of it one way or another. He decided to present the unvarnished truth.

"Sir-hen thinks you are god," he said.

Stunned silence fell over the landing party. Then Mr. Eugene spoke:

"What! H-how does he figure that?"

"It is hair and face scar," Ja-kui said. "In such ways you resemble old legend."

The foreigners erupted with laughter. Mr. Lawton gave a mocking bow. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. God. Or is it the other one? I always said your red hair was the mark of the devil."

Sir-hen remained unmoved.

"You can tell your chum I'm no god, Jake," Mr. Eugene said.

"Or else God's one hell of a lousy card player!" Mr. Lawton said.

More laughter. Then, inexplicably, Mr. Eugene pulled a knife from under his jacket and drew it across his palm, leaving a shallow cut.

"See?" He held up his hand. "I bleed the same as anyone else."

Sir-hen's mouth dropped open with astonishment. He fell to his face in the sand.

"What in blazes is going on now?" Mr. Eugene cried.

"Sir-hen is ... impressed god offers blood sacrifice," Ja-kui explained.

"Damn! What must I do to convince him – blow my brains out?"

"There's a start," Mr. Lawton said.

## 33.Uncertainty

Another silence fell over the beach like a death shroud. Dr. Loren lifted it this time.

"That was a damned stupid thing to do!"

He withdrew a bottle from his medical kit and poured some of its contents onto the wound.

"That stings!" Mr. Eugene protested.

"There's no telling what infectious organisms might be swarming around this place," Dr. Loren said. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Guess I should have laid off the rum, huh?"

Dr. Loren bound up the injury in a bandage of gleaming whiteness. "Quit playing with knives, before you cut your bloody head off."

"Thanks, Doctor," Mr. Eugene replied in a chastened voice.

He looked sheepishly around the foreigners, then down at the prostrate figure of Sir-hen.

"What's to be done with this fellow? Please tell him to get up, Jake."

Ja-kui turned things over in his mind. Should he play along with the farce, or should he attempt to enlighten Sir-hen? He decided to play along.

"You are ordered to rise, Sir-hen," he said.

He'd used the loftiest honorific, indicating the command had divine origins. Mr. Miles looked at him curiously. During their language lessons, Ja-kui had taught only the most basic verb forms, as if he was conversing with a child or an individual of lowly status.

Sir-hen got to his feet, keeping his eyes fixed to the ground in an attitude of extreme reverence. Lai-koa and the servant stood off by themselves, detached from the worship.

"Miles," Mr. Eugene said. "Tell this chap who I am and where we're from. Get those foolish notions out of his head."

Mr. Miles spoke to Sir-hen in rapid, confident tones. He explained they were some friends travelling the world together and had stopped here to deliver a former resident. They were not gods, just ordinary men, even if their appearance was quite different from the residents of this island.

Throughout this harangue, Sir-hen nodded in supposed agreement. Ja-kui could tell he was not convinced, even though the foreigner seemed to think otherwise.

Sir-hen was of the priestly caste, used to being addressed with great deference. Yet the foreigner was speaking to him in the lowest manner possible, without honorifics. This was precisely how a minion of a god would talk to a mere mortal.

Sir-hen thinks he's being ordered to conceal the god's true identity.

"Well, I think we've straightened that out," Mr. Miles stated with obvious satisfaction. He turned to Ja-kui. "How'd I do with the lingo?"

Ja-kui kept his face impassive, but a smirk resided in his heart. "Your skill is most striking, Mr. Miles."

"So, what's to be done?" Mr. Eugene asked the foreigners. "Do we explore a bit or make tracks for the next port?"

"Let's explore," Mr. Arjay said. "This place looks fascinating!"

Mr. Miles and Dr. Loren looked noncommittal, but Mr. Lawton was forthright in his opposition.

"You know how I feel," he said. "There's some weird stuff going on here. Next thing you know, somebody might proclaim me as a god."

"Not much chance of that, I reckon," Mr. Miles said.

Mr. Lawton gestured toward Ja-kui. "We've accomplished what we came to do. I say we get out."

Mr. Eugene looked to his servant. "Montgomery?"

"Whatever you decide, Boss."

Then Mr. Eugene consulted the lowest status member of the group. "What do you think, Jake? Should we cast off or stick around to see you get settled in?"

Ja-kui had already concluded that keeping the foreigners around a while might suit his purposes. The trick was to convince the undecided ones.

"That is your decision," he said carefully. "For me, I am honored if you stay."

"Uh-huh," Mr. Eugene said.

Ja-kui gestured toward Sir-hen. "There be many like him, confused about true god. Maybe you can teach."

Mr. Miles' ears perked up. Ja-kui's shrewd assessment had been correct. This religious zealot would not miss a chance to convert 'the heathen.'

"I think we should take advantage of this rare opportunity," Mr. Miles said. "We'll never see a place like this again."

Mr. Eugene looked at Captain Venner.

"We agreed to tarry ten days, and so we shall, if that's decided," Venner said. "But I'd suggest you re-embark with us now. Like your friend says, there's no telling what kind of mischief is brewing here."

Damn!

Ja-kui was not fooled by Venner's show of concern. The swine only wanted to get the others out of the way so he could return on his own to seek loot.

Mr. Eugene was stroking his chin, like some great holy man pondering a message from the gods. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dr. Loren beat him to it.

"Well, we're here already. And as Miles puts it, we're not likely to ever see such a place again. I'm thinking there might be some interesting native medicines to study."

Ja-kui's hopes rose, but he kept his face noncommittal. "Yes, there be many medicines here, many healers."

"There you are," Dr. Loren said. "Maybe we should stay, then."

Mr. Eugene gave a solemn nod. "Very well. Let's stick around and get the lay of the land."

Ja-kui smiled inwardly. Powerful forces, over which he exercised little control, were determining events now. He had to accommodate these forces roiling about him, like a swimmer in a fast, dangerous river. Either that or perish.

Only Mr. Lawton seemed disturbed by the course of events. He was the sole foreigner who possessed any wisdom, Ja-kui believed. It would be a waste of time trying to manipulate that man.

# Five: Down the Slope

## 34.Freak March

Lawton Elder:

And so we are off, marching to the big city in what has to be the strangest procession this island has ever seen.

That Sir-hen chap is in the fore, heralding our approach. He's put on more formal clothing and wears a golden disk around his neck. Jake brings up the rear, as sullen as usual.

I wonder what's going on in that mysterious mind of his – why was he so eager for us to stay? He's a man who bears watching. Lai-koa walks with him, also silent. The two seem to be harboring an infinity of secrets.

We foreigners fill the trail between these natives. We are like the main attractions of some freak show. Eugene wears a long native scarf type thing which covers his hair and wraps around his mouth to conceal his red mustache. This was at the suggestion of Sir-hen.

I would be reluctant to dispute a 'suggestion' from that fellow, without a revolver handy. He is one fearsome gentleman with his towering physique, scary eyes, and tattoos. Thank heaven he appears to be on our side – for now. Anyway, the scarf seems a prudent measure. No sense riling people up about Eugene's god-like appearance.

Of course, Eugene looks like an idiot, but we probably all do. Such locals as we come across seemed overawed, if not downright frightened. They receive stern words from Sir-hen.

"What's he saying?" I ask Miles.

"He's telling them not to speak about us to anyone, under pain of death."

"Good heavens!"

My sense of foreboding increases. What the hell are we getting into? Am I mistaken those are vultures hanging around the tree tops? Well, I've told Eugene how I felt – to no effect. He said I could remain at the ship, but since this whole imbroglio was my idea, I feel honor bound to see it through.

The servant chap, Dan-gri, has gone ahead to scope out the city. I'm told a rigorous, all-day hike will get us there, but we've decided to stop at some village along the way and take our ease for the night. We don't have our land legs back yet, and a rest will be good. Besides, this climate is humid, even if rather cool from the rain. It saps your energy.

We're carrying a lot of things, too – camping gear, food, clothes, guns. Sir-hen has commandeered porters to tote much of the baggage, but we won't give up our weaponry. I never realized how heavy a repeating rifle can get after hauling it around for hours. Not to mention the revolvers, plus a backpack full of ammo and grenado bombs. My trusty saber, as well. I'm a veritable walking arsenal.

The others laughed at me when I insisted on bringing so much firepower. "Where's the war?" they joked.

Well, better to have it and not need it than the other way around. Hopefully we won't have to use any of this stuff. I wouldn't mind dragging it all back to the ship after this fun vacation.

I shouldn't grouse, the hike is going well enough. If only this blasted rain would stop! It's not coming down in buckets, just a moderate, steady pace – but it sure is muddying up the trail. My boots look a fright.

Well, we're settled in at the house of a village headman. Tomorrow, we strike out for the city. I'm much too virile to admit it, but I'm grateful for the rest. Amazing how your legs can atrophy on a sea voyage.

We have an excellent dinner. Montgomery baked some loaves of the wonderful rye bread with caraway seeds. The natives love it, but they won't touch the dry-cured ham. Eugene won't, either, although he'd previously expressed such fondness for it. Seems he's going native pretty quick.

The household includes several slaves, low caste persons who serve the elites. This does not sit well with Eugene.

"It's the same crap all over the world, isn't it?" he says.

"How true," I agree.

Eugene takes his objections no further, but Miles (go the extra mile with the Lord) Houton wastes no time trying out his proselytizing skills on these unfortunate persons. He presents them a message of "hope and change" which they seem to find interesting, in a frightened sort of way.

These efforts bring glowers from Sir-hen and looks of anxious bafflement from the village chief, but Miles doesn't care.

Eugene prevails upon him to button it. "We're in no position to influence things here, so let's just grin and bear it, eh?"

Lai-koa and Jake are getting on well. She's taken off her jewelry and changed out of that horrible bloody clothing. I think Jake had something to do with that. They have a positive influence on each other. Sir-hen is not appreciative, judging by the scowls he sends Jake's direction. I wonder when things will come to a head between those two?

We, of course, are caught in the middle. Thanks, Eugene.

## 35.In the Capital

Dan-gri maneuvered through the crowd in the main city market, stopping periodically to make little purchases and chat with the stall keepers.

Throughout, he kept his attention fixed on the little sack of gold nuggets hidden beneath his clothes, wary that someone might attempt to relieve him of it. This was an absurd fear, though. Who would consider a shabby old fisherman as a robbery prospect?

A little wealth does things to a man.

The talk everywhere concerned the Sacrifice of Rebirth scheduled for tomorrow in the great square. The rainy atmosphere hummed with anticipation of this gruesome event. Dan-gri's memory traveled back to the cursed day when his eldest son was sacrificed.

Again he smelled the stinking incense clouds and heard the demonic chants. He saw the evil, blood-thirsty priests in their grotesque outfits and the frenzied mob of onlookers, many of whom were enjoying perverted sexual gratification. The piteous wailing of the victims' family members assaulted his ears – his own voice among them. A vengeful plan took shape in his mind.

I must inform Sir-hen about this.

It would do no harm, and maybe it could stir things up. Sir-hen already had priests' blood on his hands; perhaps he'd like some more. And how would the foreigners react to this barbarism?

Dan-gri smiled. Visions of chaos danced in his mind.

* * *

High priest E-zui gazed out his palace window at the gentle rain drumming on city streets and the fields beyond. He purred like a great cat preparing to rend its prey. This gift from a grateful rain god was ideal!

It was no downpour to swell the rivers into raging currents and send mudslides down denuded hills. Rather, it was a loving caress to the parched country. The ground would absorb it like a sea sponge, sending life-giving moisture to replenish the wells. Soon, the farmers would be planting crops to fill the people's empty bellies – after E-zui had given thanks at the sacrificial rites tomorrow.

He crossed to the other side of his apartments and looked out at the temple pyramid. This magnificent structure dominated the square, the island, the world! It was the source of E-zui's power, his conduit to the gods.

On the far side of the temple pyramid reposed the guards' barracks. Only the most skilled and loyal warriors resided there, men who would go to their deaths before allowing harm to the sacred priests. Recent times had tested their loyalty.

But now the rain had come. The family of the Lai-koa virgin had been honored by her sacrifice while, at the same time, they'd lost political clout. Such families were regarded with reverence, but the people were not willing to be ruled by them. The high priest, erstwhile power behind the throne, could assume greater control.

E-zui's only misgiving was that he'd heard nothing from Ke-zem and his party. Had some misfortune befallen them?

But the bridal sacrifice had clearly been successful. Perhaps the rain god required further rites to be performed. Or perhaps the god had finished sating his lusts by consuming the whole sacrificial party. That would mean the loss of Tel-ahl, which would be a source of regret. But a man in E-zui's position could not afford the softer emotions.

Everything is in the gods' hands.

Tomorrow's ritual sacrifices would complete the cycle. The dedication of the infants would usher in a rebirth for the land.

## 36.Work of the Devil

Lawton:

We are finishing an excellent breakfast in the common room. Montgomery has toasted the last of the rye bread and opened tins of fruit preserves and real butter. Coffee and tins of bully beef go with it, plus some eggs provided by the house.

Even though our host is the village headman, he seems hardly more prosperous than anyone else we've encountered. People have a starved-out look here. We're told a great drought has gripped the land. Well, it appears over now. I retract any negative comments I made earlier about the rain.

So, the eggs must be very precious. Eugene has directed that we leave a portion of our own foodstuffs behind to compensate.

Arjay sidles next to me. "I say, Lawton. Do you suppose the other girls are as pretty as Lai-koa?"

"We should be finding out before long."

"I'd sure like to meet some of them," Arjay says wistfully.

He is such a wholesome, good-natured young fellow! Hard to believe he's related to an old walrus like Kyle. I can't imagine he's here with his father's blessing, yet wild horses couldn't have kept him home. All the Waltons are bloody-minded in my view.

Lai-koa and Jake are off in their own little corner world. They converse in low voices as they eat. I have never seen Jake so relaxed, and Lai-koa has unwound a great deal. One could think they are an 'item,' but their connection seems deeper than that.

Is it because they were both victims here – does this give them a common bond? We already know Jake had a tough row to hoe in this society, and Lai-koa's blood splattered outfit did not speak of courteous treatment. I wonder what her story is?

Sir-hen is obviously displeased. He gulped down his breakfast and retreated alone to the courtyard. Dan-gri is out there now conferring with him – giving his scouting report on the capital, presumably.

Miles goes outside to eavesdrop. His voice comes roaring back in:

"Bloody hell! Work of the devil!"

He stalks into the common room and begins amassing his weapons.

"What's going on?" Eugene says.

Miles looks toward us. His face is beet red. I've never seen such fury on a man's countenance.

"Those savages are going to murder babies! Some diabolical human sacrifice."

Eugene gasps. "My God!"

Miles straps on his revolver belt. "Not if I can stop it. Who's with me?"

"Hear, hear!" Eugene shouts.

Then he, too, is collecting his weapons. Arjay and Loren follow suit. Eugene takes up his scarf for a moment, then tosses it away.

The magnitude of this enterprise leaves me breathless. We're barging into some strange alien rite, guns blazing, killing God knows how many. Where will this lead – can we survive such a thing?

But the cry of decency is too loud to ignore. I arm myself along with the rest. Montgomery enters from the kitchen.

"Stay here, Montgomery," Eugene says. "Watch our stuff."

"The hell I will!"

We all pause, astonished.

"Please forgive me, sir," Montgomery says, "but I'm not leaving you."

He's got his pocket pistol out and is spinning the cylinder.

"Oh ... very well," Eugene says, "but we have to move fast. We can't wait for anybody."

"Understood."

"And keep back from the fighting."

Montgomery does not reply.

My perceptions become disjointed . . .

I find myself outside, hurrying along the muddy trail through the rain. Miles leads the way on his spidery legs, the rest of us close behind. Montgomery manages to keep up, though it's taxing him. At least he has only a little pistol instead of the armory I'm toting.

Sir-hen attempts to stop us. I fear he might turn violent, and even Miles' brandished pistol does not quell his objections. But our blood is up and we brush him aside. He's chosen to join us now and is out in front, toting a club.

Dan-gri and Jake bring up the rear, also hefting clubs. Only Lai-koa stays behind. God knows what we're heading into!

I am rushing through a nightmare. Will I ever come out? I'm leaving behind everything familiar. Should I live through this day, it will mark the great divide in my existence.

All is uncertainty.

## 37.Battle of the Babes

High priest E-zui stood erect in all his glory upon the altar stones. His magnificent headdress added to his towering presence; he dominated all others. He tilted his face skyward, felt the blessed rain sprinkling upon it.

Ten meters behind him, the great pyramid loomed toward the heavens. A worshipful crowd filled the square ahead. The reverence emanating from the people was more precious to him than life itself. Armed guards flanked the altar, assuring that violent passions did not rage out of control.

E-zui held aloft the first sacrificial babe for all to see – the gateway to new beginnings. He felt the life force draining out of the infant and into himself, increasing his power.

An awed gasp shot through the crowd, mixed with the agonized wails of the babe's mother. Her crying, and that of the other mothers, was a good sound. It attested to the value of the offerings.

E-zui was one with the gods, communing with the infinite. He inhaled the incense cloud. It's aroma increased the potency of the sacred libation he'd drunk at the onset of the ceremony.

The infant – a fine, unblemished male – squirmed and whimpered in E-zui's hands, unaware of the crucial role he played today. Soon he would frolic among the gods. E-zui carried him to the fiery brazier – the holy flames danced eagerly . . .

E-zui paused. A disturbance was taking place in the crowd.

Lawton:

We dash through the town like men possessed. The place seems deserted. In the market, a few shopkeepers gape at us. My second wind is behind me now, and I gasp along struggling to maintain the pace. My rifle is unbearably heavy.

In the distance, thrusting above the low buildings, looms a pyramid. One look at the ghastly thing and my nerve almost fails. We charge toward it like moths to a flame.

"Come on lads!" Miles shouts. "We're almost there!"

I summon my last reserves of strength and keep up the charge. All of us are still together – even wiry old Dan-gri has kept up. We come to a big square filled with people. We collide against the back of this crowd. Ahead, the pyramid casts its unholy gaze upon all.

"Out of the way!" Eugene yells.

He enforces the command with his rifle butt. Miles shouts in the native language. We batter our way through the crowd – striking people out of our way with rifle butts, fists, elbows. Righteous joy surges through me, banishing all fatigue.

At last, we force our way to the front. We have a clear view of the pyramid. If buildings exist in Hell, they look like this one. Priests in fantastic regalia stand on a platform before this unholy structure. Armed warriors flank them. A stone brazier belches flames, and clouds of vile-smelling incense pollute the air.

It's an atmosphere of diabolical chaos – sobbing women, ecstatic onlookers. The priests wear horrifying masks and towering feather headdresses. The tallest one is holding aloft a babe before the fire.

Other crying infants are clutched by people nearby. Women shriek with agony, the crowd sways in a hypnotic trance. Eugene levels his rifle at the demonic figure holding aloft the child.

"Sonuvabitch!" he shouts.

Then he redirects his aim.

Blam!

The bullet strikes another priest between the eyes. His head adornment flies off as his body crashes backwards. The priest holding the infant cowers away. A woman rushes from the crowd and snatches the babe from him, knocking the man over.

Then we are all shooting at the priests and at the armed men surging toward us – coming from the altar and a building to the right. Terrifying men with tattoos and satanic adornments.

"Grenados!" I shout.

We hurl pocket bombs at the advancing warriors and at the crowd attacking us from behind. Blood, shrieks, bodies blown to pieces.

The fighting is hand to hand. An empty space forms around Sir-hen as he slashes with knife and club. He howls an alien battle cry.

"A-yiiii!"

We are sorely pressed. Arjay goes down.

We form around the brazier, clubbing, slashing, shooting. Eugene fires revolvers with both hands. A club glances off my head, almost knocking me over.

I blast the enemy. Montgomery goes down.

"Back to back!" I shout. "Don't let them outflank you!"

The enemy surges in, I've no time to reload. I hack my saber at the hoard of nightmare faces. Blood splatters, men scream, Hell bursts into world . . .

## 38.Slaughter's End

It ends abruptly. One moment we're flailing in the roaring depths of Hades, the next we're standing amid a field of corpses – reapers of a bloody harvest. Masses of people are retreating from the square, pursued by Sir-hen. A light, cool rain rinses my face. I feel not of this world.

Loren stoops to examine Montgomery. "He's gone... stabbed through the heart."

He turns his attention to Arjay who is groaning and writhing upon the blood-soaked ground.

"Somebody give me a hand," Loren says.

At last, I climb out of my inertia. I fling away my saber and move to assist Loren. Eugene beats me to it.

"I'll take care of this," he says. "Keep a sharp lookout."

Eugene and Loren attend our wounded comrade while Miles and I stand guard. We reload our guns and keep our remaining grenados handy. I survey the carnage. Six priests lay on the ground amid their accursed masks and headdresses. Two of them still live and are attempting to crawl away.

"God damn you to hell!" Miles cries.

He assaults one of the priests with his rifle butt, pounding the man's head until the brains splatter out.

"That's enough, Miles!" I shout.

He stops his infernal hammering. His face is a mask of rage and hate. He turns to the other wounded priest and aims a pistol.

Ka-pow!

The man's head explodes. The gunshot echoes off the pyramid like the crack of doom. I turn away and vomit out my breakfast.

"What's the matter, Lawton?" Miles says. "The pig slaughter not to your liking?"

I don't reply. Miles finds this amusing.

"The big bastard got away," he says. "His Easter bonnet is still here, though.

He kicks aside an ornate feather headdress adorned with what looks to be precious jade.

"Not such a hero against full-grown men, eh?" Miles sneers.

He walks among the fallen warriors, revolvers at the ready. Even in their reduced state, these fellows are terrifying with their tattoos and scarifications, their flowing, tied back hair. Spears, war clubs, and paddle-like swords embedded with stone chips litter the ground.

Ka-pow! Ka-pow!

Miles dispatches any warrior who still breathes. Each blast reverberates off the gruesome pyramid and the buildings along the square.

"Damned waste of good ammo!"

Miles picks up a war club and proceeds to brain the survivors. I am shocked by his ruthlessness, even as I recognize the necessity of the executions. Those warriors don't look the type to forgive injuries should they be allowed to live.

Even so ... Miles doesn't need to enjoy it so much.

I am utterly exhausted, and now that the danger is past, I'm badly shaken. For all my brave talk about charging off with a cavalry troop, I've never been in a battle before, never killed anybody. There doesn't seem much glory in it.

Sir-hen is speaking to the distant mob in a loud, commanding voice. What is he saying? I could ask Miles to translate, but he's busy with the "pig slaughter."

The priests and warriors seem like vanquished demons with their grotesque attire and body modifications. It's easy to regard them as 'the other,' but the dead also include many ordinary looking people.

Why did they attack us? What were they doing at this evil ceremony? I look about for any babes among the dead. Thank God I find none. Eugene joins me. His face is grim and ashen. He's bleeding from minor wounds, as I am.

"Is Arjay going to make it?" I ask.

Eugene swallows hard. "Give me a drink, for God's sake."

I hand over my water bottle, and Eugene takes a swig. He steadies himself with a deep breath.

"Loren doesn't know. Arjay's hurt real bad ... we can only pray for him. What can I tell his father?"

Miles joins us. "How's Arjay?"

Eugene can only shrug. "Talk to the doctor."

"Right."

Miles strolls off to consult Loren. He appears energized by all this bloodshed. Not like Eugene and myself who are on the verge of collapse.

The two of us move to the body of Montgomery lying beside the altar platform. There is a quiet dignity in his death, heroism. His face is serene.

"He took a spear thrust meant for me," Eugene says. "Were it not for him, I'd be lying there myself."

I feel a tear springing up and wipe it away. Eugene brushes others from his own eyes.

"Such a fine gentleman," he says, "and those bastards made him a slave."

I feel a burst of rage against all oppressors – every slave owning, baby killing son of a bitch who walks the earth. Would that I could slay them all! My battle fatigue disappears. I regret that I did not brain one of those priests myself.

Miles rejoins us. I feel new admiration for his coolness and deadly efficiency.

"Arjay's bad off," he says. "We might lose him."

"I know ... I know," Eugene says.

"A pity about Montgomery," Miles says. "He was an excellent fellow. I shall see he gets proper burial." He gestures to the fallen priests and guards. "A bonfire is good enough for them."

Speaking of fires, the unholy flames into which the priest meant to toss the infant are still going in the brazier. Somehow they have remained burning in the midst of all the turmoil. Eugene is staring into the fire with the most peculiar expression on his face. I mean to query him when Miles distracts me.

"What happened to Jake and Dan-gri?"

"I don't know," I say. "Last I saw they were busting heads with their clubs."

"They must have run off."

I nod. "Good riddance."

"They're not all that's missing," Miles says. "Did you or Eugene pick up Montgomery's revolver?"

"No."

"Well, somebody did."

I look back toward Eugene. He is still fixated on the flames. An expression of fascinated horror attends his face. I grab his shoulder and shake it hard.

"Eugene!"

"Huh?"

He turns a blank look upon me. His mind seems a universe away.

"It's that God-cursed fire," Miles says. "Let's take care of it."

Together we kick and shove the brazier until it falls over, spilling its contents onto the ground. Eugene shakes his head and rubs his eyes, as if waking from a nightmare.

"Feeling better?" I say.

"Yes, quite ... thank you."

"Excellent!" Miles says. "Let us pay homage to the sacred deities."

He proceeds to urinate on the coals. I join him. A smoky, infuriated hiss! fills the air.

We button up in time to behold Sir-hen walking toward us at the head of a large crowd.

"What the deuce is he up to now?" Miles says.

"I think we'll find out pretty quick."

We grip our weapons and wait for Sir-hen to reach us.

## 39.Proclamation

Eugene:

The slaughter and chaos ends, leaving us victorious.

But at such a cost! Montgomery slain, Arjay at death's door, the rest of us battered and bloodied. Would that I'd listened to Lawton and stayed back at the Alma.

But I can't replay the past. It has now become the present reality, and its rank spirit hovers over all. Sir-hen approaches us at the head of a crowd. Miles, Lawton, and myself draw together to meet him.

Loren continues to attend my wounded cousin. I look back toward them with a breaking heart. If only I'd been wiser!

_All that can be done is being done,_ a voice inside me says.

It provides scant comfort.

"What's Sir-hen doing now?" Miles asks.

"We'll find out soon," Lawton replies.

I turn my attention to Sir-hen. He wears his usual demeanor of imposing dignity. The blood splattered over his clothing adds to his fearsomeness. He's obtained a long staff and is wielding it like a pagan Moses.

Those coming behind him look meek and hesitant ... overawed, like a religious procession. They step gingerly past the corpses lying all about – many of which are in such horrid states of mutilation I cannot bear to look at them.

It would be more appropriate to depart this kill zone and confront the assemblage in less blood-soaked surroundings. But that would mean leaving Loren and Arjay alone, which we will not do. Nor will we depart from Montgomery until he has been properly interred.

Numerous women with babes in their arms lead the crowd. All is silent. Even the infants are silent, looking about with wide-eyed wonder.

Sir-hen stops before me and bows. He mutters something.

"What's he saying?"

"He bids you to meet your people," Miles translates.

"My people?"

"That's what he said, as far as I can make out," Miles replies. "He's using some fancy honorifics. I don't have the hang of them yet."

"Well ... please tell the people I wish them all prosperity and good health."

The carnage piled around us adds an ironic cast to my words. Miles translates. I can only hope he has the right diplomatic slant.

Whatever he said appears to encourage the people. They gather about me, staring into my face, stroking their hands along my dueling scar. I have plenty of fresh injuries, too, and they regard these with awe.

Women thrust their babies into my face. One little fellow squeezes my nose. I grin awkwardly. What am I supposed to do? I feel like an office seeker at some political rally.

Sir-hen bangs his staff on the ground. The crowd withdraws a respectful distance from me. Sir-hen speaks to them in a commanding voice. I look toward Miles for a translation. His eyes are wide, he gives the impression of having been slugged in the gut.

"What's he talking about, for God's sake?"

Miles wipes a nervous hand across his mouth. "Aptly put, Eugene."

"Well?"

"He says you are the earthly incarnation of the god Ungh-Ka and the people must obey you."

Now I feel slugged in the gut.

"Ohhh ..." Lawton moans, "this is worse than I feared."

"I thought we straightened out that nonsense," I say.

"Apparently not," Miles says.

Sir-hen keeps his probing eyes fixed upon my face, like a being from the nether regions come to torment me. Why wasn't he slain instead of Montgomery?

"What the hell should I do, Miles?"

Fortunately, Miles has regained his composure. He's once more the steely, tough-minded friend I have admired so much since the college days.

"I don't think you can wriggle out, Eugene. You've got to play along for now – unless you want the fighting to start again."

"God forbid!"

"Then give these people direction," Miles says. "There's a power vacuum. If you don't step into it, others will."

"All right ..."

I turn away from Miles to face 'my people.' Never have I felt so exposed and insecure – even more naked than the babes in their mothers' arms. What on Earth can I tell them? Then some badly needed inspiration flutters into my mind. I point back toward the altar and the toppled brazier.

"Destroy that evil platform! Dump its stones in a place of dishonor."

Miles translates. The crowd listens attentively, many heads nod. I gesture to the slain priests.

"Burn those wicked men and discard their ashes in the same place of dishonor."

Again, neither the crowd nor Sir-hen show any visible dissent. I wave a hand at the remaining corpses. My God, there are so many!

"Such bodies not claimed by family members should likewise be burned." I gesture toward Montgomery. "I want a place of highest honor for the burial of our fallen hero."

Miles finishes the translations. I do not detect overt hostility from the crowd. Sir-hen has maintained his stony demeanor throughout. He does not seem opposed to my edicts.

"You seem to have pulled this off all right," Lawton mutters.

Miles bellows at the crowd. His face is contorted with rage, and he's pumping his rifle in the air like a drum major's baton. The people shrink back.

"What'd you tell them, Miles?" I ask.

"I said anybody who attempts a human sacrifice will be shot like a dog."

"Bravo, Miles!" Lawton says. "Let the savages know what's what."

I am full of admiration for this pronouncement. Without this ban, all our losses would be in vain. Why didn't I think of it? Of course, it's not every day I'm promoted to god status, and it will take some getting used to.

Then another thought occurs: Why didn't Miles run this past me first so I could issue the edict? He's undermining my authority. I determine to do him one better.

"Tell them I abolish slavery in all corners of this island."

"Good show, Eugene!" Lawton cheers.

Miles translates. The effect on our audience is immediate. A collective gasp shoots through the crowd, followed by a wave of agitated conversation. A thunderous frown creases Sir-hen's brow. Astonishment takes over his once impassive face.

"He didn't like the sound of that," Lawton says.

I feel a moment's trepidation. Have I gone too far? But why should I care what these heathen think? Besides, my blood is up. After so much carnage and loss of dear comrades, I'm in no mood to compromise.

"Well, like it or not, it's the law of the land," I say.

"Stick to your guns," Miles urges. "You can't back down now."

"Proclaim it!" I shout. "I ban every form of slavery, everywhere. Henceforth all shall have liberty."

Miles translates. His voice carries over a square devoid of sound.

## 40.At the Underworld's Maw

Dan-gri sprawled in the brush and peered across the water toward the Underworld entrance. It stared back malevolently, like a ravenous monster, chilling the blood in his veins. He fought a powerful urge to flee.

I must stay ... at all costs!

He directed his eyes away from the maw. But the long, narrow fissure into the nether regions soon commanded his attention again. He could not refuse.

"Ugh!"

The water was red with blood now, and the rocks displayed bizarre, glittering hues. Dan-gri shut his eyes tight, ground fists into them. Darkness spun around him, tearing at his sanity.

Dan-gri did not know how long he struggled against the horror, could not tell if he was living or dead.

I cannot leave! All depends upon it!

At last, his eyes opened again. He was lying upon his back now, staring into the cloudy heavens. Dan-gri snatched his mind from the brink of madness.

Am I still of this world?

He turned over and peered once more at the Underworld's maw. Things had returned to normal, whatever 'normal' meant in this devilish locale. He could think clearly again.

What happened to the other guard? Did the evil one lure him inside the world's bowels?

Only a single warrior was on duty, standing upon a rock near the cave mouth, thrusting his fierce visage into the morning gloom. There should be a pair of them warding each side of the Underworld entrance against intruders.

Not that anybody in their right mind would want to intrude here. Dan-gri was not a man in his right mind, though; he was in a mind for vengeance.

Something stirred in the forest behind him.

He snapped his head around, but no guard approached. It was only a big lizard poking though the underbrush seeking prey – an ugly brute, but harmless to men. It shot a forked tongue inquisitively toward Dan-gri.

An evil omen, a voice in his mind cautioned. Let us depart this place.

No!

Dan-gri adjusted to a less uncomfortable position. His muscles were sorely stressed and his belly rumbled, but his spirit glowed. A grin spread across his weathered face as he recalled yesterday morning's events.

During the fight, while the others concentrated their attack on the priests and guards, Dan-gri had sought different targets. He'd aimed his club at the ecstatic worshippers in the forefront of the crowd, the ones working themselves into a sexual frenzy at the sight of death – the same bastards who'd howled and gyrated when his own precious son was slaughtered.

He'd already cracked a few skulls when the mob gathered its wits and rushed him. Dan-gri expected to die, but the men from the ship tossed exploding rocks among the worshippers, tearing bodies apart and wrenching screams from lacerated throats. The sounds still echoed in Dan-gri's ears like heavenly music. His grin broadened.

Vengeance for you, my son.

Then rage elbowed aside his contentment. The chief monster priest still lived! He'd escaped the massacre, scrambling away on all fours like a beast, leaving only his headdress behind. So much for the exalted Holy One. The man was nothing but a murderous, cowardly thug!

With his senior priests and guards slain, E-zui would be seeking a place of refuge where he could plot countermoves – this place, or so Dan-gri thought.

Hopefully, Ja-kui had drawn the same conclusion. Dan-gri had seen him gather up a weapon from the slain foreigner and run off, following E-zui's path – to no avail, as yet.

Ja-kui was part foreigner now and could not be expected to know the quickest route to this location. Dan-gri knew the route, though. He'd passed here more than once during his wanderings scrounging for food. Perhaps the two of them could join forces to destroy E-zui.

May the gods permit me to slay that evil man!

Then Dan-gri could die with some peace. And if he avenged his second son, he'd leave this world shouting with joy.

## 41.Stalking the Beast

Ja-kui guided his canoe along the narrow river. He was not a skilled boatman, but he didn't need much skill where he was going. The gods directed this 'sacred stream' flowing to the bowels of the Underworld, and no mortal could control its impulses.

Curse the gods and all their works!

He spat into the water. Had he not seen, only yesterday, how impotent the gods were? A gaggle of foreigners had wiped out the senior priests – during one of their holiest ceremonies, no less. Where was the gods' retaliation for such sacrilege?

Gentle rains continued to fall, replenishing the parched ground and increasing the flow of this supposedly sacred waterway. If the gods were offended, why did they continue to bless the land?

And that Sir-hen fool! Well ... anybody corrupted by the priesthood for so many years would have to find something to worship, even if it was just a frivolous gambler with a dueling scar on his face. Ja-kui gritted his teeth and dug his paddle savagely into the water.

Then an image of Lai-koa's beautiful face arose in his mind, dispelling all anger. He'd hated to abandon the lady, but knew Sir-hen would protect her – until Ja-kui returned to claim her love. And she did love him, if only as a brother. But that could change, right?

Once he'd overthrown the corrupt old regime, she would rush into his arms. Passionate love would consume them both. They would found a new order on this island, free of monsters and blood-thirsty priests. Their descendants would rule for many generations.

Ah ... please wait for me, my love!

Ja-kui adjusted the revolver at his belt. He liked the feel of the weapon. It was compact and lethal, there was no deception about it. He'd taken it from the one called Montgomery after the battle. The man had fought bravely and might well have survived had he not exposed himself to so much danger protecting Mr. Eugene.

Ja-kui respected such courage, even if it was exercised in a foolish cause. He wished he had a loyal companion with him now to assist in his own undertakings.

He'd not participated much in the battle, hanging back to observe the course of things – uncertain if he should fight or blend in with the crowd. The grenado bombs decided the issue. The diabolical little weapons broke the mob's resistance. Only then did Ja-kui throw in with the outsiders.

This period since the battle, as he traversed the island in search of the high priest's refuge, was the only time Ja-kui had been fully in control of his life. He relished this freedom. He possessed the revolver and its bag of ammunition, plus a settling-in kit filled with useful items purchased in the slave country. Silver from his groundskeeper wages jingled in his purse. Ja-kui had spent some of it to buy the canoe.

During these wanderings, he'd come to realize that manly pride was the most crucial thing in all existence – more important than any love or attachment to another. It had been brutally stripped from him, but now he had it back. Pride had been the reason for his extravagant defense of Nata Mara, he now understood.

He'd felt genuine love for the woman who'd raised him after the murder of his parents, but in defending her, he'd been protecting his own right to assert himself. She'd repaid his dedication by leaving the world at the precise moment which allowed him to take revenge on Old Master – and set in motion the events which brought him here today.

Now he was after a final bit of vengeance, against the beast who was the source of all his misery.

Papa!

Again he spat into the water. E-zui was no father to him. The man was just some bastard who had raped his mother, killed both his real parents, and exiled him into slavery. This would be the day of reckoning, if he had to journey into Hell to get it.

Ja-kui rounded a bend and came in sight of his goal – a large pool in front of a cave entrance. The river made a sharp turn at that point and continued on into the Underworld. His blood quickened.

E-zui hides in there.

A warrior guard standing on the rocks by the entrance shouted at him and waved his arm in a threatening gesture. Ja-kui waved back jauntily. The guard hefted a spear into throwing position.

"Good morning, my dear fellow!" Ja-kui shouted in the foreign tongue, imitating the voice of Mr. Eugene, "What in blazes are you saying?"

This astonished the guard. He hesitated with his spear cocked in throwing position while Ja-kui closed the range.

Blam!

The bullet went low, striking the guard in the abdomen.

"Sorry, old chap!"

Ja-kui fired again. The bullet hit the warrior in the forehead, ending further conversation.

The guard fell backwards into the pool. A crimson stain spread around him. Then the entire pool blazed red, and fantastic colors shimmered across the rocks. Dizziness seized Ja-kui, trying to pitch him out of the canoe.

Am I going insane?

He shut his eyes tight against the onslaught. Then a voice calling from the bank brought him back into the world.

"Hail Ja-kui! A-yiiii! A-yiiii!"

Ja-kui opened his eyes. The fisherman Dan-gri was wading into the water towards him.

"Take me with you!"

Ja-kui made to shout back, then restrained himself. He wasn't sure his voice would be firm and dreaded sounding weak. Instead, he reloaded the pistol carefully and shoved it back under his belt. Only then did he address the man standing in knee-deep water on the far side of the pond.

"What are you doing here, Dan-gri?"

"I seek revenge upon the high priest for my murdered son."

"Why talk to me?"

"Because you also have a grievance," Dan-gri called back. "Why else are you here?"

_Good answer,_ Ja-kui thought.

He paddled toward Dan-gri. The fisherman was rubbing his hands together and bowing.

"You are a great man, Ja-kui, a true instrument of justice returned from across the seas."

Never had anyone spoken to him with such respect. Ja-kui basked in it momentarily, then resumed his steely demeanor.

"Why should I take you with me?"

"There is strength in numbers. Even an old husk like myself can be useful in a tight spot. Did I not prove that yesterday?"

"You inflicted some harm upon the enemy," Ja-kui said.

"We can hunt the monster together," Dan-gri said in a low, conspiratorial voice. He pointed toward the cave entrance, his finger trembling with rage. "We both know he has sought refuge within."

Ja-kui nodded. "Mmm."

"Your thunder weapon can bring the beast down, then ..." Dan-gri whipped a stone-bladed knife from under his clothes. Ja-kui flinched, groping for his revolver. "Perhaps you will permit me inflict the final blows?"

Ja-kui was impressed by such forcefulness. He withdrew his hand from the gun butt.

"Should I succeed, it will be only the beginning," he said. "I have further plans for this island."

"Whatever they are, I am with you," Dan-gri said. "Grant my wish and my old bones will be at your service as long as they are able."

Ja-kui had already decided his course of action, but he made a show of pondering his next move. He stroked his chin, then looked toward the cave entrance, stoked his chin further.

"Agreed," he said.

"Bless you!"

Dan-gri clamored into the front of the canoe. Ja-kui began paddling across the pond.

"While awaiting your arrival, I had time to consider a plan of attack," Dan-gri said.

"What did you decide?"

Dan-gri pointed to the area beyond the warrior's floating corpse. "Yonder, is the boat used by the guards."

"I see it," Ja-kui replied. "Shouldn't there be another guard?"

"He could be inside with E-zui, warding his back," Dan-gri said. "So, we might confront two enemies within."

"Yes, I fear that might be the case."

"Have you brought light?" Dan-gri said.

Ja-kui nudged his settling-in kit with his toe. "In here. All the light we should need."

"Excellent," Dan-gri said. "Here is my plan . . ."

## 42.Clash in the Nether Region

Deep within the Underworld entry, on a rock shelf above the sacred stream, E-zui emerged from his trance.

What's that noise?

Maybe it was claps of distant thunder, or the memories of yesterday's battle emerging from his tormented mind. It did not occur to him the sounds could be gunshots fired by a would-be assassin.

He pushed the guard's corpse away. It tumbled into the water and continued its journey, down to where the gods of the Underworld dwelt in fearsome splendor. E-zui had sacrificed the warrior to propitiate those gods. They were angry and had abandoned him yesterday at the thanksgiving sacrifice.

Was it only yesterday? Down here, normal time did not function.

He'd feared the warrior might resist him when the time for sacrifice came. With such a spirit of rebellion convulsing the land, all things were possible – even among the elite guards. E-zui had to use deception to bring the man into the nether region, then be quick and stealthy with the killing blow. It was not an ideal sacrifice, but these were far from ideal times.

E-zui required divine aid to repel the invaders. He needed to rally the surviving priests and warriors, contact Kyr-bee and his minions ... but first, he must cleanse himself of all error through meditation and fasting.

The treachery of Tel-ahl had been the cruelest blow. His own son had stood at the forefront of the attack! Their eyes met for an instant before the infernal noise of the foreigners' weapons tore the world apart. The moment was burned into E-zui's mind forever.

What's to be done about this renegade?

Would a simple traitor's execution be in order, or a sacrifice to the offended gods? This was one of many things E-zui had to consider during this period of introspection. He descended again into a trance, seeking guidance and wisdom from the darkest of the gods – those who judged all wickedness.

* * *

Dan-gri maneuvered his canoe across the pond toward the cave entrance. The high, narrow portal to the Underworld beckoned him toward doom. His nerve almost failed.

Be strong, be worthy of your sons' memories!

Both Dan-gri's sons were victims of the priests, as were all the others slain or disappeared throughout the island. The governing system was based on terror, and priests were at the heart. They made the auguries, conducted the human sacrifices, interpreted the stars. The noble leaders were mere pawns in the hands of these monsters and their warrior elite. Dan-gri gripped the hilt of his knife.

Today, it all ends.

He felt better now, stronger and younger. If the gods of the Underworld devoured him, so be it, but he would live long enough to see high priest E-zui suffer the agonies he'd inflicted on others. And then what?

Ja-kui said he had "further plans" for the island. These must include destruction of the surviving priests and overthrow of the nobility. Beyond that, Dan-gri cared little. His time on Earth was growing short, and he wanted to make it count. A grin spread across his weathered face as he relished thoughts of annihilation.

His boat crossed the border of everyday reality and penetrated the Underworld realm. Superstitious dread elbowed aside Dan-gri's bravado. Chill oppression closed in as he paddled along the sluggish current with stiff, jerky motions like one of the ho-toi zombies.

The candle lantern in the bow directed a thin beam of light ahead. It bounced off high rock walls and stalactites thrusting from the ceiling like daggers. Another candle fixed to the stern provided a beacon for Ja-kui who followed in the unholy darkness.

Seated in his own canoe, Ja-kui glanced back toward the high, narrow entrance. Beyond it, the living world receded into the past. An atmosphere of evil assaulted him. He battled a powerful urge to turn his boat around and abandon the mission.

_Don't be a fool! Do you wish to be shamed by an old man_?

He stiffened his back and pulled his cloak of pride around himself. Whatever happens, I will not falter.

The whole earth pressed in on Dan-gri, damnation assaulted him from every angle. He hardly needed to direct the boat. Spectral hands within the water seemed to guide him, directing him away from collisions with the steep walls. He closed his mind to the fearful presences as best he could, tried to imagine his sons sharing the canoe with him, warding their old father.

Keep going ... keep going. Vengeance will be ours.

Ten minutes passed, a year ... who could say how long? Time was suspended in this horrible place. Fantastic rock formations loomed above him, ledges ran along the high walls. The ceiling arched into the blackness. Dan-gri dared not look toward it, lest his mind be pulled away.

He ran his light along the ledges, revealing piles of human bones – the remains of sacrificial victims. Skulls gaped down at him, agony carved into their wan features.

You, too, shall enjoy vengeance today.

_Downstream_ on the left, a huge rock like the head of a jaguar thrust over the water. Beyond it, the river made a sharp turn. Dan-gri realized this was the limit of human exploration into the Underworld realm. He was coming to the border where no living man dared pass.

* * *

From his position on the high ledge near the jaguar formation, E-zui watched the light approaching along the water.

Who is that?

Were other priests seeking refuge here? Had some fool, acting on a brash and unholy whim, dared to encroach? Or was this the instrument of divine guidance for which he'd prayed so fervently? E-zui crouched behind a rock and observed, ready to accept whatever judgement the gods might send him.

* * *

Dan-gri glided under a stone bridge spanning the waterway. Beyond it and past the great rock, the ceiling lowered. The waterway narrowed and rushed downward into the depths of Hell. Again, his nerve almost abandoned him.

Vengeance is ours, my sons. Vengeance is ours!

Dan-gri yearned for the strength and fortitude of Ja-kui, not realizing the younger man was also terrified. He hoped Ja-kui's boat was following, but dared not look back. Were the canoe not there, or if some apparition had taken its place, Dan-gri go insane.

A towering figure loomed on the shelf above him. Dan-gri nearly fainted from shock. Then he recognized who it was, and vicious joy surged in his heart.

"Who comes here?" E-zui boomed.

"It is only I, your Grace," Dan-gri said in a trembling voice. "Please grant me a hearing."

E-zui moved into full view. His large, angular body dominated the cavern, his demonic tattoos shimmered. "How dare you insult the gods with your insolence! You were at the ceremony yesterday."

He hefted a throwing club.

This is it! May some decent god protect me.

Then another light appeared, coming from the boat behind Dan-gri's. A second candle lantern blazed. E-zui turned his head toward it, shading his eyes with one hand.

"Son?"

"Son of a dog!" Ja-kui shouted back.

Blam!

An ear-splitting blast, a blinding flash of light. E-zui dropped his weapon and crumpled in agony.

Blam!

A bullet struck E-zui's thigh. He tumbled off the shelf into the water.

"A-yiiii!"

Dan-gri threw himself onto the high priest, slashing, stabbing. E-zui wrapped his huge body about him and dragged him down. They scraped along the rocky bottom.

Die, damn you!

They were back on the surface. E-zui's screams echoed off the rocks, then halted as Dan-gri drove his blade into the monster's throat. Dan-gri hurtled toward the precipice with the corpse. Evil forces drew him on.

"A-yiiii!"

Dan-gri felt the last of his sanity abandoning him. Then a powerful hand gripped his arm and pulled him back from destruction. He flopped into Ja-kui's boat. Together, they paddled hard against the lethal current.

E-zui's corpse traveled down to Hell unaccompanied.

# Six: The Republic Emerges

Every man takes the limits of his own field of vision for the limits of the world. – Arthur Schopenhauer

## 43.The Haunted Palace

Lawton Elder:

It's day four since the battle in the square, and I'm not over my jitters. Whenever I close my eyes, I see ferocious warrior faces confronting me, their upraised weapons seeking my death. I hear the screams, smell the blood, watch my dear comrades fall . . .

Arjay is improved, though still in danger from his injuries. We others have had our lesser wounds treated and are doing fine. Eugene is sporting a couple more scars on his pretty face. Bravo Loren! Thank God you accompanied us on this mad venture.

Sir-hen provided a beautiful hilltop for Montgomery's final resting place. We interred him there during a dignified service conducted by Miles who spoke of Montgomery having fallen in a "noble struggle" to "bring enlightenment to the heathen."

We were all deeply moved, though I'm not sure how much "enlightenment" we're distributing in this place. I'd much prefer to enlighten myself out of here – the sooner the better.

Sir-hen ordered laborers to haul away the other corpses, I do not desire to know where. Likewise, the "Devil's Altar" was dismantled and dragged off. I wish that ghastly pyramid could likewise be demolished, but that's beyond our capabilities. Nothing good will result from keeping it, I reckon. At least workers are scrubbing the stairs to remove the caked blood.

Ugh!

We are ensconced in the palace of the late priests, which is to the pyramid's right. We burned every document, furnishing, and article of clothing left here by the unholy butchers. This "exorcism" was Miles' idea, and we did not object – though the building is cavernous and echoic now.

It's more like a mausoleum than a home for the living with its long, icy corridors and grim chambers. The place has a more than physical cold; it's frigid in its lack of humaneness. Since we've discarded the various tapestries with their hellish depictions of gods and mangled corpses, the walls stick out like weathered bones.

My room – cell – is on the top floor facing the town and the countryside beyond. It's not a bad view. The windows across the corridor present a very different scene, however. They look out on the square and its death pyramid.

Would that I had a ton or two of explosives to blow up that monstrosity! Such an act would inconvenience Sir-hen, however, who spends much time in the enclosure at the top of the pyramid. He emerges to harangue the crowd below and perform religious rituals.

He makes no sacrifices, not even of animals. I have no doubt Miles would shoot him dead at the first sign of backsliding. God knows what would happen then. A gigantic power vacuum has opened, and Sir-hen seems the only one holding things together – after him, the storm.

You can hear the sighs and groans of disembodied spirits wandering the palace hallways, mingling with the night breezes. It's enough to chill the stoutest heart. I never believed in such things before, but now I do. How many people have died on the pyramid?

The vista outside my window changes at night. The houses, fields, and drifting clouds seem to operate in a different dimension. We in the palace exist in an alternate reality.

More than anything, I want to abandon this place, but we can't until Arjay is better. The palace is by far the most substantial residence in the city. We seem like prisoners here, though nobody prevents our departure.

Sir-hen had our luggage delivered, along with our food cache. These provisions, plus staples prepared by native women, keep us well fed. We're comfortable, from a physical standpoint. Our spiritual well-being is another matter. We're on the brink of damnation here.

I determine to confront Eugene with my concerns. His room is right across the hallway, with a view of the pyramid. He's gazing out at it when I enter.

## 44.Debate

I dispense with trivialities. "When are we getting out of here, Eugene? Captain Venner gave us ten days, and it's going fast."

Eugene turns from the window. I feel every bit the unwelcome intruder.

"You know we can't leave yet," he says. "Arjay is in no condition to travel."

"Well ... "

"Even if we could get him down that trail to the Alma, how would things go on board? What if we hit another storm with the ship tossing all over the place?"

Mention of the storm gives me an even worse chill than I'm already feeling. My resolve crumbles a bit.

"Let's get the doctor's opinion," I say.

"Good idea."

We proceed down the eerie halls and staircases to Arjay's chamber. Our footsteps echo behind us like the sound of ghouls creeping up. I can't help glancing over my shoulder.

"This place gives me the creeps," I say. "Miles' exorcism didn't go far enough."

"Perhaps not."

Eugene is trying to sound sympathetic, but I can tell he's not nearly as upset about our accommodations as I am.

We arrive at the sick chamber on the ground floor. The room is about as bright and pleasant as is possible in this gruesome place. Arjay floats atop the only cushions rescued from the "purifying fires." He is swaddled in bandages. Loren attends him.

I was here only a few hours ago, standing my watch. We keep a 24 hour guard on Arjay and on the main door nearby, ready to assist our comrade or repel intruders, as required.

"Cousin Eugene, Lawton!" Arjay exclaims in a weak, though cheery voice. "How good of you to come."

We wait at the doorway until Loren waves us in. We advance to the bedside, or 'cushion side,' rather. I regard the thick bolsters with some longing, having endured uncomfortable nights sleeping on the floor.

"Please forgive me for not standing," Arjay says.

We grin. At last, we're seeing flashes of the old Arjay.

"How's the doctor been treating you?" I ask.

"Like a crown prince. He's the best."

Loren chuckles. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"Might we have a private word with you, Loren," Eugene says.

"To hell with that," Arjay says. "If you're going to talk about my condition, I want to be included."

An indulgent smile plays on Eugene's lips. For a moment he looks the wise old uncle type.

"Spoken like a true Walton," he says. "All right – give it to us straight, Doctor. What are the prospects for my feisty cousin?"

"Much better than I would have thought four days ago," Loren answers. "He's mending well."

"So ... we can expect a full recovery?" Eugene asks.

Loren glances toward Arjay.

"Tell us," Arjay says, "with the bark on."

"I'd give a cautious 'yes,'" Loren says. "Unless an infection sets in, but I've seen no sign of any."

"Bravo," Arjay says. "See? It wasn't so hard dealing me in."

"How soon can he be moved to the ship?" I ask.

"Hold on," Arjay says. "I haven't met the local ladies yet."

We ignore his protest.

"It's hard to tell," Loren says.

He's stroking his chin in the best doctorial tradition, leaving us hanging on his every word.

"I wouldn't move him in anything less than ten days."

"All right," I say, "then it's a matter of persuading Captain Venner to wait on us."

"That'll cost a pretty farthing, I'd reckon," Eugene says.

"Hey, aren't I worth it?" Arjay says.

"Of course you are, lad," I say. "We wouldn't trade you for a whole boatload of sardines."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Arjay says.

Miles pokes his head into the room. "Am I missing something?"

"Come on in Miles," Eugene says, "we're discussing departure plans."

Mile's customary dour aspect becomes even more grim.

"Departure?" he says. "Are you sure that's a good idea at this point?"

"Exactly what 'point' do you have in mind?" I ask.

"I can't say for certain," Miles replies, "but we've started something here. I don't think it would be advisable to walk away now."

I'm not surprised to hear this. Miles is the sort who enjoys tight spots, but Eugene's reply is a disappointment.

"You have a good point, Miles," he says.

"What the hell?" I say. "You can't be serious."

"We are perfectly serious," Miles says. "What do you think happened here a few days ago – a ladies' tea party? We've caused quite a stir, we should stick around to pick up the pieces."

Eugene nods, even Loren does not seem adverse to this mad statement.

"Well ... how do you propose we 'pick up the pieces?'" I say.

"This Sir-hen chap is in charge now," Miles says. "We should remain to see he doesn't muck things up – especially with that human sacrifice butchery."

Miles' hand twitches, as if he's aching to pull a trigger and blast somebody. I turn toward Loren, who has remained seated beside Arjay.

"Talk some sense into these two, will you?"

Loren assumes that condescending, 'scholarly restraint' type expression of his. It would be irritating enough in an older man, but for somebody my age, it's unbearable.

"There's nothing I can do for Arjay aboard ship I can't do here," he says. "Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to stay a while."

I can scarcely believe what I'm hearing.

"We can send Venner on his way," Miles says, "and have him pick us up on his return voyage. That should give us a couple months to see things through."

"He'd charge a fortune!" I protest.

"I imagine he will," Miles says. "I'll pay my share – more, if necessary."

"Well ... what about this 'god' business?" I say. "Doesn't it strike you a bit peculiar that Eugene's been deified? Where is that going to lead?"

Miles shrugs. "These are primitive people. We may as well let them keep their delusions for a while."

I am at a total loss for words.

"Nobody asked my opinion," Arjay pipes up. "Don't I count?"

We all look toward him.

"Well?" I ask.

"I'll go along with whatever Eugene wants," he says. "I don't mind staying if you can find me a pretty señorita."

"This is just great!"

I stomp toward the door.

"Where you going, Lawton?" Eugene calls after me.

I turn back toward my quartet of 'friends.'

"I've had my say. There's no point trying to talk sense here."

Then I'm gone.

## 45.Final Objections

I'm in my room sulking like a small boy when Eugene appears at the door. He announces the consensus to my unwilling ears.

"We've decided to stay, but only until Venner gets back from dropping off his cargo."

I do not reply. An angry silence hovers in the air like a vulture. Eugene busies himself with glancing around my room, studying the ceiling. He examines the blank wall where a gruesome tapestry of a god holding severed heads used to hang before we chucked it on the bonfire.

"There's no reason for you to stay, if you don't want," he says at last. "Leave with the Alma and continue your trip, as you originally planned."

"As we planned," I say.

Eugene shrugs apologetically. "Yes, that's true. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but things have changed. Who could have foreseen any of this?"

"I foresaw it! The moment Sir-hen appeared on the beach, I knew we were in over our heads. I told you."

"That's also true," Eugene says, "but it is what it is."

"And exactly what is that?"

Eugene enters my room, sans invitation, and leans his back against the wall near the window – arms and ankles crossed. I await his words of wisdom.

"As Miles put it, we've started something here," Eugene says. "It wouldn't be right if we walked away now."

"Of course not," I say. "You need to apply your godly powers to make things right. You're getting a messiah complex, Eugene – or should I say 'Ungh-Ka?'"

"Messiah complex, huh? You have a convoluted mind."

"Why do you say that – because I've got some common sense?"

Eugene sighs, as if he's talking to some thick-headed kid who can't grasp obvious truths.

"I know you're upset, but I can't abandon these people. I have a higher calling now to redeem them from savage customs."

"Ach, that's Miles talking!" I shoot back. "Let him worry about 'higher callings,' he's tall enough."

"What am I supposed to do – abandon this place to its barbarities? Murdering infants for God's sake!"

"So, who are you?" I say. "Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great? We are not historic figures."

"Perhaps not, but sometimes the greatest things have small beginnings – besides, we are the ones at hand."

All I can do is throw up my own hands at such idiocy.

"I don't have the answers, Eugene. I can't see any farther below the surface than you. All I know is we'd be making a huge mistake staying here."

Eugene shakes his head adamantly. "I can't help it if they've chosen to love me. Lord knows I tried to disabuse them of their misconceptions."

This mawkish sentiment fails to impress me.

"The 'love' of the people only lasts as long as things are going well," I say. "And what will happen should you do something not totally god-like? When matters head south, these people will leave you flat ... or worse."

Eugene sighs. "There's truth to that, I must admit."

"You had it right with the Dunn Hollow slaves. Put them on their feet, then take off without so much as a 'have a nice day.'"

"That was an abrupt departure. Rather bad manners on my part."

I throw out my hands again.

"It was the best possible departure. Let them find their own path, one that feels right to them. Don't stick around to get blamed when things go wrong. You said so yourself: If you want loyalty, buy a dog!"

Eugene remains stuck to the wall, making no reply. I continue my rant.

"If I had a magic wand I'd wave it and the world would be a better place. But we don't have one. We can only make things worse."

"You may be right," Eugene says, "but I have to stay."

He unglues himself from the wall and strides to the door.

"I'm leaving first thing tomorrow to see Captain Venner," he says. "I'd like you to come along, if you've a mind.

I grunt.

"Well, think it over, anyhow. See you at first light ... I hope."

Then he's gone. I am alone again in my mausoleum chamber. I feel like shouting profanities out the window. Somehow, I control myself. Of course I'll accompany him tomorrow. He knows that as well as I do.

So, why am I going along with this?

First off, I'm the one who got us into this mess, and I have a responsibility to see it through. Second, I hate abandoning Eugene to his delusions.

And there are other reasons, like not wanting to appear cowardly. As much as I hate to admit it, I admire Eugene's brass – the various duels he's fought, his bravery at Dunn Hollow. I want to prove I'm on the same level, even if it is beyond stupid.

## 46.Hike to the Coast

We've been trekking all day, preceded by a four man escort assigned to us by Sir-hen. They wanted to divide their force and have two bring up the rear, but I would not tolerate having them at my back.

They are stout, intimidating fellows, and well-armed by the standards of this place – not the sort you'd want to tangle with. But they don't appear to be demonic, not like those guards we fought in the plaza with their piercings, tattoos, and savage attire.

Still, I don't trust them, I trust no one on this strange island. I've brought my full armory, which is a pain to carry even though my knapsack of ammo and grenados is lighter since the battle. Eugene, by contrast, has brought only a single pistol, which he keeps hidden beneath his jacket. It wouldn't do for a god to go around too blatantly armed, I suppose.

At least the rain has let up and the sun is out. Things have an almost fresh feel to them, but a sense of disquiet underlies everything. We pass small villages and farming areas with workers tending the fields. Most people shy away at the sight of our escort. Those brave enough to stick around gawk at us with wonderment and fear in their eyes – and reverence, too, I'd venture to say.

They're staring at Eugene. I'm just a hanger-on who gets little more than passing notice. Eugene seems untroubled by the attention; he actually seems to enjoy it. The first hours on the trail pass quietly as I walk along nursing my resentments. Finally, I break the silence.

"Why the hell did you ask me to come on this bloody expedition? Wouldn't Miles be more agreeable company?"

"I was wondering when you'd ask that."

Eugene says nothing further.

"Well?" I demand.

"It's this way, Lawton. I have a big idea in mind. I wanted to get your input before anybody else hears it."

"And what is this 'big idea?'"

"I'll get to that soon," Eugene says, "but first some context."

Yes, sure, I'm all for context.

"What's going on these days with the world's major powers?" Eugene asks.

"Well, they're taking over as much of the Earth as they can, slicing up the planet like a big cake." I gesture to the surroundings. "They're building empires out of places like this. Grabbing raw materials, markets, cheap labor ... geographic advantage."

"Precisely," Eugene says, "and do the local inhabitants benefit from being included in these empires?"

"Hell no! Unless you consider being slaughtered and having your land stolen as a 'benefit.'"

Eugene nods. "I quite agree. Yet our country has no overseas empire."

"Last time I checked we had enough problems without an empire," I say. "Besides, we have huge undeveloped territories within our borders already."

Eugene turns quiet. I suspect the "big idea" is about to appear.

"What would you think if our country took over this place," he says, "not as a colony to exploit but as a republic to develop?"

"I'd think that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. The world doesn't work that way. Nobody will come this far just to found a 'Republic.' We're the only ones crazy enough to show here up on a lark."

"I'm not talking about a 'lark' but an advanced social experiment," Eugene says. "I'm talking about bringing these people up to a high level – maybe even higher than ours – a society free of exploitation and superstition, with true equality."

I thought I'd heard everything peculiar yesterday, but I was wrong.

"Exactly how do you plan to found this republic?" I ask.

"It's just a matter of getting a government charter allowing us to assume control."

"Us?"

Eugene doesn't seem to hear my sarcasm.

"Uncle Kyle could be a big help getting a charter," he says. "He and his eradicator friends are always talking about founding an overseas colony for freed slaves. Why not here?"

"So, we jumble together all these different people and they'll get along great," I say. "When the hell has that ever worked?"

Eugene shrugs. "There won't be many freedmen sent here. It's an excuse for getting the charter."

My lack of enthusiasm must be shouting loud and clear.

"Can't you see, Lawton? If we don't take over, some rapacious colonial power will. They'll suppress the people."

He's got this weird glow to his eyes, as if he's beholding things us mere mortals cannot.

"We'll build a Great Republic here," Eugene says. "Imagine all we could do for these people! Freedom, education, efficient farming methods so they won't have to starve if there's another drought."

"I know nothing about that," I say, "but I do know you can't throw together a republic like it's a ham sandwich."

I cup my hands around my mouth, impersonating a food stand worker. "Coming right up, one Great Republic on Rye!"

The members of our escort pause and glance back.

"Sorry lads," I say.

They resume walking.

"As I said before, you have a very convoluted mind, Lawton."

"And I'll tell you something. Sandwiches are made to be eaten, and so will your Great Republic."

Anger flashes across Eugene's face. I'm not at all certain he won't take a swing at me, despite my arsenal.

"Mock me if you like, but I believe in the dignity of man and the desire for freedom. I only want what's best for the people. It's for their own good."

"You can't know what's for their own good," I say. "Things run their course – here and everywhere else. We cannot see far enough ahead to know the ultimate route."

"I think you should leave with the Alma," Eugene says in a frosty tone. "Don't come back."

I'm sorely tempted, but I can't tolerate the thought of abandoning Eugene. Maybe I'm just a congenital second, like I was at his duels.

"Come on, Eugene, you're getting in over that red head of yours. Huge events are going on in the world, but we're not large enough to handle them. Nobody is."

"I would beg to differ with you on that, Lawton. These natives need big changes in their lives."

"Leave these people to themselves," I say. "The 'big changes' you're after don't spring from them, they come from you. What qualifies you to decide for others?"

"But if we leave, who knows what barbarities will follow?"

"Then it'll be on them," I snap back.

We trudge along in a miasma of mutual offense. After several minutes, Eugene takes things up again.

"It doesn't have to be that way," he says. "We can make a difference."

"I know you're a decent person, Eugene, but it's the decent ones who can screw things up the worst."

"Thanks."

"What about our own country?" I say. "Slavery is tearing it apart. If you're so concerned about saving the world let's go back and fight the traitors. We should have never left in the first place."

"Don't forget, this was your idea."

I ignore the jibe. There's plenty of blame to go around, and pointing fingers is useless.

"We could lose the war, no matter how 'right' we are," I say. "Then we'll have a powerful enemy nation smack on our border. How important will this island be then?"

No reply. It's clear I'm not getting through, so I terminate the discussion.

"All right, Eugene, I'll stay until the Alma returns, but then all bets are off. If you want to come back here and be the governor, or god, or whatever, you're on your own."

"That certainly is a direct reply," Eugene says. "Thank you for your candor."

"You are most welcome."

I retreat into my cocoon of silence.

## 47.Visit to the Alma

Captain Venner and his first mate, Tipton, stood onboard the Alma and gazed off toward the land basking under late afternoon sun.

The island looked idyllic, a place one might wish to explore – graceful palm trees along gleaming sands, thriving forest, and a dramatic cliff looming over all. Venner was careful to avoid any foolishness, however, restricting his crew to a small island in the center of the bay where they could stretch their legs without danger of confronting locals.

"Do you suppose our passengers will come back, like they said?" Tipton asked.

Venner shrugged. "Don't know. They might have got themselves into more difficulty than they could handle. That big native buck they met had trouble written all over him."

He didn't mention the gold and jewels dripping from the native woman, but these were not far from the reckoning of either man.

"Well, time's going fast," Tipton said. "What'll we do if they don't show – go after them?"

"We could try that."

Venner turned away from the tranquil beach vista and leaned his back against the rail. He charged his pipe with tobacco.

"Problem is," he said, "if they couldn't handle things with that arsenal of theirs, what chance have we got?" He waved a hand about the deck with its crew of scrubbers working on their knees. "Our lads ain't elite troopers."

"Aye, that's a fact," Tipton said.

"And if any of them got killed, there'd be hell to pay with the major owners," Venner added. "So, I think we should forget about interventions."

"That Kyle Walton big shot won't like it if his family members disappear," Tipton said. "They're supposed to write him when we get to port, ain't they – get us off the hook?"

"Yes ... I'm wondering if maybe we don't have more trouble than we can handle," Venner said. "I'm not looking forward to another inquest. The one for Cap'n Slater was bad enough."

The two men remained silent for a long while – Tipton gazing landward and Venner puffing on his pipe. Visions of gold and jewels danced within the smoke.

"You know, I'll miss Eugene Walton if he don't make it here," Venner said. "He's got excellent taste in tobacco."

"Hold on," Tipton said. "Looks like we have company."

* * *

Eugene Walton:

We've finally made it to the beach! I must confess to being quite footsore. How much worse must Lawton feel after carrying that load of weaponry? A boat lowers from the Alma and heads toward us. I recognize Captain Venner among its occupants.

"Well, this is it, friend," I say. "Looks like we're expected."

Lawton makes a final protest. "I understand Captain Venner. The man is strictly out for himself; he wouldn't mind hurting others to get what he wants. But you can take down a hell of a lot more with your good intentions."

This is very tiresome. Perhaps Lawton thinks I haven't heard it all before.

"And what about Jake?" Lawton says. "There's more to him than we know, and he's wandering around God knows where. Let's get out while we still can!"

"Leave if you want, but I'm staying."

And that's my last word. I very much want Lawton to remain, but I won't try to argue him into it.

Men jump out of the longboat and pull it up to the beach. Venner and the oarsmen disembark. They are all armed and keep a wary eye on our escort.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Venner says. "Where might the others of your party be?"

"We've had trouble with the natives," I reply. "Mr. Montgomery has been slain and my cousin Arjay gravely wounded."

Surprise flashes across the captain's face, followed by a calculating look.

"I'm truly sorry to hear that, Mr. Walton. How is your cousin faring?"

"He's recovering, but is still in poor condition," I say. "We dare not move him yet."

"Best bring him to the ship as soon as possible," Venner says. "We can wait ... for a consideration, of course."

"Of course," Lawton mutters.

I hope Venner didn't hear that.

"We were hoping to make a different arrangement," I say.

"Oh?" Venner says. "And what might that be?"

I shoot Lawton a glance. He keeps his eyes fixed on the sand.

"We'd like to stay longer," I say. "Could you make a return trip here on your way home?"

"Well now ... this is rather out of the ordinary," Venner says.

"Yes, I suppose it is. How much extra would you require for another stop on these shores?"

Venner strokes his chin. He's got us over a barrel and knows it.

"Well ... a return here and passage home for your party could be arranged," Venner says. "An extra 3,000 credits should do it."

"That's highway robbery!" Lawton cries.

"If you have another conveyance available, you've my permission to take it," Venner says.

"Very well," I say, "I'll pay what you ask."

"But Eugene – "

I don't give Lawton a chance to complete his objection.

"Plus an extra 500 if you get us all safely home," I say. "Is it a deal?"

Greed flashes in Venner's eyes. "You're on, Mr. Walton."

We shake hands.

"I can make a partial payment when you return, and the balance when we get home," I say. "Let's draw up the contract."

"By all means," Venner says.

I turn to Lawton. "You'll be a witness?"

"I'd be delighted."

"Let's make for the Alma, then," Venner says. "You'll be our overnight guests?"

"Certainly," I say.

Venner nods toward the members of our escort who stand nearby viewing the proceedings.

"I trust those ... gentlemen can find accommodation on shore?"

I utter something in the native language taught to me by Miles. Rough translation: "Wait for us, we will return here in the morning."

The leader of the quartet grunts a reply, and our escort departs. We all breathe easier.

I don't suppose this visit to the Alma will be disagreeable, except for the resentful presence of Lawton lurking in the background. At least I'll be able to pick up some of my books to entertain myself over the coming months. Loren has also requested we bring back some of his library.

Good thing we have the guards, I don't believe Lawton would take kindly to hauling these heavy items.

* * *

Early morning, the Alma prepared to sail. Venner and Tipton paused in their labors to watch the longboat drop the visitors on shore.

"I'd thought we'd seen the last of these parts," Tipton said. "Can't say's I like the prospect of coming back."

"Mmm," Venner replied, "could be good profit in it, though – and I don't mean just the fare."

Tipton caught Venner's drift but decided not to acknowledge it just yet.

"And a tidy sum that is, too, sir," he said. "You can never tell how these rich gentlemen will spend their money."

"Aye ..."

Venner contemplated his own circumstances. His fortunes had improved since the death of Captain Slater, but he was far from being the rich gentleman he aspired to. Fortune favored the bold, however, and he was a man of direct action.

"The most important thing is we have good cover for returning," Venner said, "something the major owners will not object to overmuch. And when we do come back ... we'll see what happens."

"I'm with you Captain. You can count on me."

The two men resumed their duties, putting thoughts of the island out of mind. Their efforts were now directed toward reaching port with their cargo.

## 48.First Raid

Ja-kui lay prone among the underbrush observing the plantation slaves toiling in the field some distance off. Dan-gri joined him.

"What did you find out?" Ja-kui asked. "Have the locals heard of Ungh-Ka's proclamation against slavery?"

"Yes, Great Liberator," Dan-gri replied, using the title he'd fashioned for Ja-kui. "Such news spreads like a wildfire."

"Good, let's hope the slaves know of it as well," Ja-kui said. "What of the banner?"

Dan-gri withdrew a parcel wrapped in palm leaf from under his shirt. He opened the leaves to reveal a banner fashioned from sailcloth.

Ja-kui nodded approval. "Excellent."

He would have smiled, but it did not come natural to him. Ja-kui caressed the fabric rectangle. Its center portrayed the face of Ungh-Ka, as it appeared in Nata-Mara's old statuette. The seamstress must have been familiar with Nata-Mara from years past.

Every detail was perfect – the flaming red aura, the facial scars and blue eyes, the placid expression with its slightly sinister undertone – as if the god was not quite as benevolent as he might seem. Beneath the face, stitched in alien letters, shouted the battle cry:

FREEDOM!

Only the priests and scribes could interpret the native language's pictographs, but no equivalent word for 'Freedom' existed, anyway. No one on this island was free; even the upper classes were in thrall to savage ideas. So the foreign power language would have to serve.

"Did you pay the women extra?" Ja-kui asked.

"Yes, their skill seemed to warrant that."

"Good work, my friend."

Ja-kui knew he must be generous to build his following. The gossipy women who'd crafted the banner would spread the word of the bonus silver they'd earned, and his reputation would improve.

Above all else, Ja-kui needed supporters, and the potential first batch was right before him, toiling under the brutal gaze of two bosses.

Just like in the exile land.

"How many overseers?"

"Six," Dan-gri said, "a fair number for a plantation this size."

"They must be expecting trouble." Ja-kui withdrew the revolver from under his shirt. "Let's not keep them waiting, eh?"

Dan-gri grinned. "Yes, Great Liberator!"

They tucked away their weapons and emerged from cover. Each man assumed his predetermined role.

The head overseer looked about the dozen slaves working the rows of beans under the hot sun. He yawned and stretched himself. It was quite a while since he'd had to supervise planting, so he was in a foul mood.

"Boss," his assistant called, "over here!"

What's this? Looks like we have visitors.

The overseer hefted his club. It would be a fine thing to trounce somebody, make up for his discomfort and boredom. He moved to where his assistant confronted two strangers. One newcomer was old. The other was a young man, but there was something wrong with him. His face bore an idiot expression, and his eyes were closed.

"Please, kind sir," the older one said, "can you spare us a handful of grain? My nephew is unable to see, and he is not well in his mind."

The overseer barked a laugh. He thought of the food stores hidden away by the noble family who owned this plantation. What would they think of these worthless beggars?

"There's nothing for you here." He jabbed his club menacingly. "Move along before I thrash you both."

The old beggar fell to the ground, weeping. "Please, kind sir, if you would only take pity!"

The overseer gazed at the supplicant with absolute contempt. "Stay there and I'll bury you for fertilizer."

He looked up with a malicious grin creasing his face. The young beggar was pointing something at him. It glinted in the sun.

Blam!

A bullet crashed into the overseer's skull, and his days of working for the noble family came to an end.

Blam!

The assistant boss went down. The slaves scattered in panic.

"Get back here!" Ja-kui yelled after the fleeing men. "Don't you want Freedom?"

A few paused their headlong flight to look back fearfully. Ja-kui tucked away his revolver and raised empty hands in a gesture of peace.

"I mean you no harm!" He turned to Dan-gri. "Raise the flag."

Dan-gri unfurled the banner and held it high. Ungh-Ka's beneficent face beamed above the overseers' corpses.

"Come!" Ja-kui waved his arm at the field workers. "Join us, friends!"

A few came walking back slowly, then a few more. Soon, they all formed a curious semi-circle around Ja-kui and his lieutenant.

"I am here to enforce the decree of Ungh-Ka," Ja-kui announced. "You've heard of it?"

"Yes... master," a man replied.

"Address the chief as 'Great Liberator,'" Dan-gri snapped.

"Yes, Great Liberator," the man said.

Ja-kui pumped a fist into the air and bellowed the foreign word: "Freedom!"

He gestured toward the banner. The slaves beheld it with awed expressions, then they lowered their eyes toward the soil they'd been so recently tilling.

"Freedom is only for those brave enough to take it," Ja-kui proclaimed. "Who will join me?"

A hollow breeze whistled over the fields. The slaves remained staring at the ground. Then, gradually, a new awareness seemed to enter their crushed spirits. The boldest one raised his head and proclaimed in a loud voice:

"I will!"

This cry of defiance lifted the burden of fear which had oppressed the men their entire lives.

"I will!" another shouted.

"I will! I will! I will!"

Every man swore his allegiance. Ja-kui smiled, and triumph gleamed in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Over that way!" Dan-gri interrupted, pointing toward a low hill.

Both sons of the noble house were rushing over it, accompanied by four overseers. All of them were heavily armed.

Ja-kui turned back toward his troops and brandished his revolver. "Come on men. Prove yourselves!"

Two of them snatched weapons from the fallen guards. Others seized rocks or tilling sticks. They rushed en masse toward the advancing foe. The banner of Ungh-Ka preceded them, and a battle cry roared from their throats:

"FREEDOM!"

More slaves charged in from an adjacent field to join the fight. The combined force attacked with such fury it didn't need Ja-kui's intervention. He gave it anyway, taking pleasure in shooting down one of the aristocrats.

Take that, Mr. Ellery.

Soon, all the foe lay dead upon the blood-soaked ground, along with a few rebels. A mighty cheer arose.

"FREE-DOM! FREE-DOM!"

The victors danced and howled like a troop of devils, raising their weapons in triumph. On the outside, Ja-kui shared their joy, but inwardly, he recoiled.

The volcano has erupted. Who can be safe from it?

"On to the big house!" a man shouted.

The liberation army ran off shrieking toward the mansion. Dan-gri and Ja-kui stood alone among the mangled corpses.

"A fine day's work." Dan-gri nudged a fallen overseer with his foot. "These bastards will make good fertilizer."

Ja-kui picked up a club from a slain enemy. "Come, let us join our troops."

By the time he and Dan-gri reached the estate house, full-fledged destruction was under way. Smashed furnishings lay all about, and the plantation owner staggered under a rain of blows. His wife and two young daughters screamed as clothing was torn from their bodies.

Ja-kui took in the chaos, wide-mouthed. In an instant, he reverted from victorious leader to a frightened boy, hearing again the wails of Nata-Mara as the Beast Captain assaulted her. His vision turned red, then black.

"Enough!"

He seized one of the rapists and crashed his club onto the man's skull. He wheeled and struck a second man. The remaining attackers backed off, snarling. Ja-kui roared into their faces.

"No woman shall be violated ever – on pain of death!

He fired into a rapist's head, adding a spray of gore to the mayhem. In Ja-kui's frenzied mind, it wasn't a worthless slave going down, but the Beast Captain himself.

Blam!

Another man fell dead. The others cringed away like beaten dogs. Quiet fell over the scene, interrupted by Dan-gri's malicious cackle.

"Anybody else not understand?"

Ja-kui pointed at the plantation owner lying on the floor. "Pick up that dog."

Two men pulled the aristocrat to his feet. Consciousness flickered back into his eyes.

"Go tell the others of your sort what happened," Ja-kui said in a cold, menacing voice. "Tell them they can expect more of the same."

"A-yiiii!" Dan-gri cheered. Exultation stalked the corridors of his barren soul.

## 49.Affairs of State

Sir-hen glowered up from his floor cushions at the man standing before him.

This shattered figure had once been a haughty, mid-level nobleman strutting about religious festivals in his finery accompanied by two arrogant sons. How the gods had chastened him!

Despite his injuries, he'd got here fast, borne by sedan chair porters – who still had to be paid, incidentally.

"Have you anything more to add?" Sir-hen could not keep the contempt from his voice.

"No, Excellency. That's the whole story, as far as my broken mind can recall it."

"All right, then. You may go."

The man hesitated. "One other thing, if I may, Excellency."

"Well?"

"Might I request accommodation for myself and my women folk? We have lost everything and have no place to stay."

His manner was piteous, beaten. Sir-hen's attitude softened a bit.

"Very well," he said, "food and lodging will be provided at the palace until such time as you can find more suitable accommodation."

"Thank you, Excellency!"

"And ask the foreign healer there to look at you."

The ruined nobleman bowed himself out of the chamber leaving Sir-hen alone with his disquiet.

This situation must be remedied, but how?

The nobleman brought a chilling report from his outlying plantation. Three days ago, a pair of strangers freed his slaves and went on a rampage. His sons and overseers were killed. The men tried to rape his wife and daughters, but their commander intervened, slaying two of them with a thunder weapon.

This leader was a young man with "fierce, burning eyes like a jaguar." Sir-hen reasoned he could be none other than his half-sibling Ja-kui.

Is he a true servant of Ungh-Ka, or is he playing his own game?

Either possibility could be true, maybe both were. Whatever the case, this appropriation of slaves had to stop. Yet, hadn't Ungh-Ka declared an end to slavery?

I've been a dithering fool!

The sacred ban needed to be enforced – no matter how much Sir-hen disliked it. The nobles must be ordered to free their slaves. The alternative was a spreading rebellion, famine, and untold misery.

Would the nobles go along? Would the freed slaves consent to keep working, or would they choose the path of violence and mayhem? The old order had been torn up by the roots. Nothing was certain.

And I am at the center of it.

Again, he was assailed by guilt and remorse, but he thrust aside the two unwelcome visitors. His allegiance was totally with Ungh-Ka now. He could not look back to the old loyalties. He must keep Lai-koa fixed in his mind – and Ja-kui, as well. A reckoning between the half brothers would surely come. Both men knew that.

The entire world is upside down.

He needed to confer with Ungh-Ka, but dared not approach directly. He must seek an audience through the acolyte named Miles and attempt to gain clarification. He moved to the door and stared out across the plaza.

Who will survive this tempest?

Lawton Elder:

I'm getting elbowed aside these days. My professed opposition to the Great Republic idea has put me in the doghouse – or into this palace joint rather, which is pretty much the same thing. Eugene and Miles are off at an "important conference" with Sir-hen – to which I was not invited. I'm not sure if Loren went or not.

He's very busy these days conferring with native healers, studying their various medicines, and treating local patients. The natives suffer all sorts of maladies, many of them caused by inadequate diet.

Arjay is doing wonderfully and requires little by way of treatment. He's sitting up in bed and was even on his feet today, assisted by me and Loren. He stood clutching our arms, a fierce look of triumph on his face.

"Good work!" Loren said. "You'll be walking on your own soon."

"Can I chase after the girls then?" Arjay asked.

"That's entirely up to you."

I took advantage of the relaxed atmosphere to address my concerns.

"So, what do you think of this 'Republic' business, Loren?" I asked over Arjay's stooped figure standing between us.

"It's certainly a novel idea," Loren replied.

"Do you plan to come back with Eugene if he gets a charter?"

"That's another interesting idea."

Clearly, he wasn't going to be drawn into a discussion. I didn't bother raising the topic with Arjay. By his own admission, he'll go along with whatever jackassery Eugene dreams up. Our situation has strong elements of the absurd. The deadly absurd.

Lai-koa has moved into the palace and taken over the 2nd floor. She's got her own guardsmen, the same rough looking chaps who accompanied us to the Alma. They show utmost deference when they encounter us. I'm glad they appear to be on our side. I'm also glad my trusty revolvers are ever at hand.

Lai-koa seldom leaves her chambers, except to visit Arjay. She almost seems to be smitten with the lad. I'm smitten by her, I don't mind admitting. She's incredibly beautiful, but also the most profoundly sad person I've ever encountered, as if she's drawing from a deep well of regrets she could not possibly have amassed in her short life. What is she, sixteen, seventeen? I wish I could talk to her.

Miles tells me Lai-koa has been spurned by her family and cannot return home. They won't accept that this rain god bloke has been denied his "marital rights," so they've ostracized her. Dear God! Is there no end to this madness? The longer I'm here, the crazier things get. I'm counting the days until the Alma returns.

A nobleman and his women folk have moved into the first floor back chambers. You can see their scared faces peering out now and then. The fellow was quite banged up when he got here, but Loren put him right. I wonder what happened to him? You don't suppose Jake had something to do with it?

Eugene Walton:

Things are taking unexpected turns.

At the conference today with Sir-hen, we learned our esteemed colleague, Jake, is leading a rebellion out in the sticks. He's waving the bloody standard of Ungh-Ka and claims to be enforcing my anti-slavery decree. Sir-hen fears the whole island will disintegrate into civil war and mass slaughter.

I think Lawton is right. I'm in over my foolish red head!

Yet how can I be faulted for wanting to stop oppression? Granted, I should have thought over my eradication diktat more carefully, but my blood was up. With brave, loyal Montgomery lying dead at my feet and my dear cousin gravely wounded, I felt the need for a dramatic gesture of righteousness.

And, perhaps less laudably, I wanted to outdo Miles with his blood-curdling pledge to "shoot like a dog" anyone who attempted a human sacrifice. It looks as if a great many humans might lose their lives before this is over.

Well ... there's nothing for it now. The genie is out of the bottle and cannot be rammed back in. Sir-hen wants me to accompany him on a tour of the island. The nobles require strong convincing to get with my program. Only my 'sacred presence' can lend enough credibility to the situation.

What the hell am I getting myself into?

## 50.Holding the Fort

Lawton Elder:

Eugene's gone and done it! He's off with Sir-hen on some mission to save the island. Our pal, Jake, is out raising hell and must be opposed. Considerable blood has already been spilled.

The bitter words, "I told you so" almost gagged me, but I managed to keep from uttering them. I think Eugene realizes how badly screwed up things are, and the last thing he needs is condemnation from me. Hey, what are friends for but to keep their mouths shut while you go over a cliff?

He tried to put a brave face on things. "We shouldn't be gone too long," he said, "everything will be fine."

Of course, I was dumb enough to offer my services, but Eugene said I ought to stay here and "hold the fort." Miles is going with him, and he's every bit as capable as I am in a pinch – probably more so.

I don't mind holding the fort; it's this damned pyramid I object to. I wish I could tear it out by the roots. Every time I look, it's like beholding the devil's countenance. Eugene is right, though. Loren and Arjay shouldn't be left on their own, and Miles is the only one of us who can speak the language.

On the bright side, Arjay continues to improve and is now shuffling about under his own steam. Loren and I are delighted at his progress.

I believe Lai-koa is too, although "delighted" is not a word I would ordinarily associate with her. She is as melancholy as ever when she comes to visit Arjay and walk with him along the palace corridors. He's enamored with her – as I am myself – but I don't think she has similar feelings toward him.

I have a theory about her affections. She likes Arjay because he's a victim of the madness all around here. It's like she's taking an abused puppy into her care. She showed a similar attitude toward Jake. She's been a victim herself – a human sacrifice designated for the rain god. Damn!

As I stand my watch at the palace door tonight, Lai-koa suddenly appears with one of her guards. One moment, the hallway is dark and deserted, the next they are right beside me. I practically cry out with shock.

They glide past me like I'm not there, as if they're operating on a different plane of existence. They have a weird, otherworldly glow in their eyes as they move into the plaza. Lai-koa flows through the blazing moonlight toward the pond at the square's far side. Her feet don't seem to be touching the ground. The hulking guard follows – a real Beauty and the Beast scenario.

It's a haunted vista with the moon throwing grotesque shadows about the plaza – and that unspeakable pyramid towering over all. Lai-koa pauses to speak with her guard. He bows and remains standing in place as Lai-koa covers the final yards alone to the cenote.

Though she's some distance off, I can see everything clearly – right down to the grim, yet rapturous, expression on her face. She seems in the grip of a bizarre ecstasy as she stands at the edge of the water, arms outspread. I stare at her unblinking, as if mesmerized. An elephant might come stomping up and I won't notice. Somewhere, a haunted bird screeches.

She lowers her arms and turns away from the pond. She and the guard come walking back toward the palace. I slip inside Arjay's room so as to avoid them. Maybe they aren't real, and I dread finding out.

Then, I am wandering the square myself, with not the vaguest idea how I got there. I seem to be in a trance. The death pyramid looms above me in brutal moonlight. Had I a newspaper, I could be reading it.

The blood has been washed away from the stairs. The whole edifice gleams under a fresh coat of lime, but it is more nightmarish than ever. An image of Ungh-Ka adorns the platform, mocking the heavens and the true God. In the black sky, a meteor blazes, looking down on the follies of men.

## 51.The Peace Tour Commences

Eugene Walton:

The first aristocratic plantation holder we meet is a tough nut to crack. He has plenty of bully boys on his payroll and is not intimidated by our own escort of fighting men.

The contrast between his plantation and the small, independent farms we passed near the capital couldn't be more extreme. On the small farms, the owners worked industriously, attended by smiles. Even the sight of our rather intimidating group walking by did not darken their countenances for long. When I glanced over my shoulder, they were back to work again, laughing and singing.

Here, by contrast, those tending the fields wear long faces and project the same despair as the slaves at Dunn Hollow. Déjà vu assails me.

Our interview takes place outside under the hot sun where the nobleman can keep his private army close. He's dressed himself to maximum effect, wearing a fine robe and feathered headgear only slightly less ornate than those sported by the late priests. Slaves till the surrounding fields.

"That nobleman chap looks 'above it all,' doesn't he?" Miles comments.

Miles has a sour expression on his face, like he's chomped into a lemon salad.

"Yes," I say. "That's not hard when you can force others to do your dirty work. Didn't we learn that in the slave provinces?"

"Right."

Sir-hen gets down to business, Miles translates for me.

"I have come to enforce the holy writ of Ungh-Ka," Sir-hen says. "You are ordered to free your slaves at once."

Well... at least he possesses the virtue of brevity. He's spoken loud enough for the nearby workers to hear. They brighten, but immediately wilt under the glowering eyes of their bosses.

The nobleman grunts. He projects a look of utmost contempt at Sir-hen, then turns it on me.

"Piss on Ungh-Ka!" he says.

Sir-hen's face contorts with fury, his eyes seem about to pop out of his skull. The aristocrat's men close in on us. Miles pulls his big revolver from under his jacket and settles the issue.

Blam!

The nobleman's headdress goes flying. The shocked expression on the guy's face is hilarious as his hands grope his bare noggin. The bully boys cringe. I whip out my own revolvers to encourage their deference. Miles saunters up to the bewildered aristocrat.

Thud!

A whack from the long pistol barrel sends him to the ground. Miles shoves the business end of the gun into the man's face and cocks the hammer.

"You'd best listen, my friend."

No translation seems necessary.

After this little misunderstanding, things go more smoothly. We negotiate a wage scale for the liberated slaves and oversee the first payouts. In return, we extract a pledge from the workers that they will remain at their posts until the harvest is brought in.

Sir-hen backs things up with threats. Any aristocrat or freed slave who breaks the agreement will pay a heavy price. He leaves a man behind to supervise the arrangements.

As added insurance, we take the aristocrat's son with us. Should things not be to our liking when we return, Sir-hen pledges bloody consequences. I don't know exactly what he has in mind, but no sense worrying about it now. We'll cross that massacre when we come to it.

"Pretty good day's work, eh?" Miles says.

"That it is. You are a very persuasive gentleman."

## 52.The Tour Continues

We move on to the next slave plantation and the ones after that, making a thoroughfare for liberty amid the surrounding jungle. I must say this island seems far bigger than I first reckoned. Cartography was never my strong point.

I must also say that Miles' forceful persuasion at the first stop has had its effect. Our reputation precedes us, and none of the other aristocrats has been nearly so truculent. Not that they welcome us with open arms, but at least they seem to fear us, which is an acceptable substitute for virtue in these circumstances.

Sir-hen has concocted a sort of ceremony to overawe the locals. He feels having me involved too directly with the negotiations complicates things and I should display more "godly remoteness." Those are the exact words Miles used for the translation.

Sir-hen has produced this extraordinary get-up for me. It must have been packed away by some priest buddy of his for special occasions. It consists of a robe with golden threads woven throughout. The threads and accompanying semi-precious stones make all sorts of fantastic images. The thing is hot and heavy.

To top things off, I have to wear this feathered, bejeweled crown type thing. I must confess to feeling a bit of a damn fool in the outfit. An overheated damn fool.

It seems to work with the locals, though, and it sure beats having another scuffle. We shouldn't be over reliant upon our weapons. If the bully boys rush us en masse, things could turn out badly. So, a little bluff is a useful addition to our arsenal.

I stand in the background looking 'godly' and remote while Sir-hen negotiates with the aristocrat landlords. The glowering presence of Miles at my side adds to my authority, and my revolvers are always handy under the golden robe.

Conditions vary at the plantations. Some are as oppressive as the first one and require strong convincing to free their slaves. Others have already come to terms with their workforce, leaving us little to do.

But as we move farther into the hinterland, the situation becomes unstable. The plantations here are smaller. Some are abandoned, the manor houses burned and the slaves gone. The noblemen at these places have been killed or run off and their women folk reduced to servitude at nearby villages.

We include a number of these women in our party with the intent of bringing them to the capital or dropping them off at sympathetic plantations. Despite their pitiable condition, few have been raped or otherwise assaulted. This is by direct command of the "Great Liberator" a.k.a. Jake.

His favored punishment for rapists is to disembowel them and let them die slow, agonizing deaths. Word has gotten around, and the women survive largely unmolested.

The knife he uses for these ministrations is reported to be shiny and constructed from an unknown metal. It has a black handle. Sounds like he pilfered some cutlery from our food store. I never knew Jake had such a sense of style.

Well, there's nothing for it but to head back to the capital. We've accomplished about all we can on this excursion. I think we've been largely successful in preempting Jake's rebellion and whipping the noblemen into line.

The social fabric of the island is greatly weakened, though. If only we can hold things together until the Alma gets back, until we can obtain a charter and establish genuine order here.

So many imponderables.

Miles Houton:

Such a jolly good time at that first plantation we visited! It was wonderful to limber up the old shooting iron and give that snotty nobleman a bash. I have not been so energized since we knocked off those baby killers.

The book of Romans tells us: "Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord."

I cannot help but credit that we are the instruments of the Lord's vengeance in this unholy place. We heap coals of fire upon savage heads. Our boots trample untold centuries of barbarism.

One aspect of our mission troubles me, however. This deification of Eugene is blasphemous, although I would certainly not expect a heathen like Sir-hen to advocate true religion.

Beholding Eugene in his 'godly raiment' is an unsettling experience. Worse is the stolid, remote attitude he assumes when thus clad – as if he's regarding us mere mortals with utmost contempt. He is damned convincing! I'm hopeful it's all an act, Eugene assures me as such.

I understand we must, to some degree, disguise our intentions. When we return with the government charter and increased military force, authentic missionary work can take place here. Then this Ungh-Ka rubbish can be discarded.

We are truly strangers in a strange land, yet the Lord has provided for us well. I draw solace from the words of Rev. Matthew Henry:

"We should desire and try to be useful; and when we cannot do the good we would, we must be ready to do the good we can."

I pray Eugene does not let this idolatry turn his head. We are all weak, sinful human beings and subject to every manner of temptation.

# Seven: Fissures in the Facade

## 53.Rain on the Parade

Lawton Elder:

Talk about too much of a good thing! The rain, which had seemed such a blessing, has become a nuisance. Over the past two weeks we've had fierce storms lasting hours, all-day pounding rain, and glowering overcast.

From my chamber window, I can see rushing water turn the streets into virtual rivers. The cavernous pond off the main square has filled nearly to the brim. Then the sun comes out for a day, and we think the ordeal is over. But sure as clock work, the rain returns.

Loren reports a worsening health situation among the natives. Vast mosquito hatchings have unleashed a round of disease upon them. In starvation-weakened bodies, this sickness is causing a growing number of deaths.

I can vouch for the mosquitoes. The little buggers have given me a good peppering and driven me indoors – not that there's anyplace I care to visit. Loren has concocted a repellent for us, and it seems to work fairly well, though every day reveals at least one new bite.

Eugene, Miles, and Sir-hen have returned. I'm told they attained some success on their peaceful trip about the island, but just how anything can be settled 'peacefully' in this place is beyond my reckoning. But I'm just a guy who's been kicked out of the best schools. What do I know?

Eugene is greatly changed since he got back. He's much more into his 'god' role, and it's scaring the heck out of me. He's been emerging at the pyramid platform to join Sir-hen's religious rites. He wears this fantastic getup, complete with headdress. An adoring crowd watches from the square.

I observed the initial pyramid ceremonies through my telescope. Sir-hen was burning incense and chanting. The guy has quite a pair of lungs and a good sense of theater.

What bothered me most was Eugene's deportment. He seemed carried away and wore this ecstatic expression on his face. At a prompt from Sir-hen, he raised his arms over the multitude as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea.

I confronted him after this first 'manifestation.'

"What in blazes were you up to?" I said. "You looked like an idiot up there!"

"It was Sir-hen's idea," Eugene answered breezily, "he thinks we need to keep the people satisfied."

"Satisfied – with that charade?"

"It's only for a while, Lawton. We have to keep playing the god dodge until the Alma gets back."

The god dodge! I didn't like the sound of that and said as much.

"If we don't follow this policy, there will be increased civil disturbances," Eugene said. "That's Sir-hen's opinion, and I agree."

I threw up my hands. What could I say in the face of such overarching wisdom?

"The people must believe something," Eugene said in an almost pleading tone. "We destroyed their old faith, we can't just leave them hanging."

Talk about the grandfather of all slippery slopes. And ours is being lubricated with rain, like a waterfall.

"This is madness! You're going off the deep end, Eugene."

He flared with anger, his red hair nearly bursting into flames as he moved toward me. For a moment I thought he was going to demand a duel, or simply pull a revolver from under that grotesque robe and let me have it. But he calmed down.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Lawton. I can assure you, I'm not 'going off the deep end.'" He strolled away in an offended huff.

Well, Eugene has apparently taken sufficient criticism from me. He's vacated his palace room, moving out in the dead of night while I slept. Whatever tenuous lines of communication we once had are severed.

I don't know where he is now, maybe at that military barracks across the square. Or maybe – I scarcely possess enough nerve to contemplate this – maybe he's living in that God-cursed pyramid. Whatever satanic passages and chambers exist within that monstrosity are beyond reckoning. It is a place to steal men's souls.

To top things off, Miles has begun a Bible study group with the natives. He preaches a weird adaptation of the Faith in which Eugene has been elevated to major prophet status, a sort of patron saint for the island.

Miles explained the details to me when I stumbled across his class one afternoon.

"I may not be a pious regular church goer," I told him, "but this seems blasphemous to me. No ... 'obscene' is a better word."

I expected an angry outburst, but Miles seemed accepting of my observation.

"It bothers me, too," he said, "but it's merely a type of sanctified deception. When we come back with the charter, we'll preach the True Faith."

"So, who exactly 'sanctified' this deception? Last I heard, God wasn't in the fraud business."

Miles shook his head condescendingly and offered a faint smile, as if he was dealing with an ignorant kid.

"And what of this charter I keep hearing about?" I said. "Do you think Eugene is still interested in that – or has he got other plans now?"

This got a rise out of Miles, alright. He turned a furious expression on me, his mustache bristling. Then bewilderment supplanted the rage. I left him to his ruminations.

I brought my concerns to Loren, but he brushed me off again. He's a gentle soul, concerned only with the welfare of his patients. And their numbers are increasing these days.

Something is going to happen. I can't say what. All I can do is bide my time and try to keep from getting sucked into the madness, wait for some moment of advantage.

I suspect Jake is doing the same, out there in the forest with his blood-thirsty crew. Nothing good will come from this, I fear.

## 54.Thieves' Bargain

Captain Venner settled into a corner booth of the tavern, well away from prying ears. The bar boy approached.

"Your order, sir?"

"Two tankards of rum punch – delivered when my guest arrives."

"Aye, sir."

The boy departed. Venner glanced about the room with its complement of drunks, shady characters, and losers.

This is a sorry place.

Then a bright vision entered the gloom. In his mind, Venner beheld the jewels and gold adornments of the pagan girl. These had fanned his greed into a conflagration, supplied proof that wealth could be obtained on that island.

It was just a matter of bringing sufficient force to bear. Which is how Thompson Bennett figured in. The two had done business before, of the dubious sort, and Venner needed a partner again.

We should have gone treasure hunting on our first trip. Then I'd not have to deal with the likes of Bennett.

But Captain Slater had allowed his lusts to get the better of him. He'd passed up an opportunity for gold to enjoy the favors of a heathen temptress. Not that she wasn't a rare piece of work, even so, Slater had been an ass.

Though to credit the man, things did appear to be stirred up on the island then, so a plundering foray might not have turned out well. And Slater didn't know his life would end before he could return.

Venner relaxed in his chair and lit a pipe of the tobacco Eugene Walton had presented him – it was good stuff. Better if Walton had come with the Alma to this port and booked passage out on another ship. Now the man was a complicating factor.

Then again, if Walton hadn't provided written proof of his intention to remain on the island, what pretext would Venner have to return? If he showed up on his own volition and things went wrong, the major owners would have his scalp. This was a game that required precise strategy.

No sense overestimating those dreamer types. Walton and his friends might have already met a dicey fate. And if push came to shove back home, it would be one man's word against another's. Walton probably had enough of his own mischief to conceal and wouldn't be keen on shooting off his mouth about Venner's improprieties.

So, the potential benefits of an island raid surpassed the risks. If Venner wanted to advance in this world, he had to stick his neck out when required. He glanced around the tavern again and shuddered.

Fortunately, Bennett was in town, and Venner had made him a proposition. Today would see his reply.

He'll come around. What else has he got going in this lousy port?

Venner took another drag of the tobacco and brooded about the first voyage to the island. He was convinced the Nata-Mara girl had caused Slater's death. She'd poisoned the captain or placed a hex on him. Slater was not a man of noted virtue, so his mind must have been open to all sorts of evil spells. A better man would have been immune to her curses, and her charms.

Despite the mysterious circumstances of Slater's death, Venner had spared the witch and her lackey, had even improved their treatment. Perhaps this had saved him from being likewise cursed. He was not so virtuous a man himself that he could regard his own mind as closed to toxic influences.

Venner had always wanted to revisit the island but knew the Alma's major owners would not approve. And then Walton appeared offering big money to go there. It was like a gift from God – or perhaps somebody else.

Bennett entered the tavern. His great bulk approached the table and took a seat. Venner experienced a thrill of disquiet, a keen awareness that a man risky to trifle with was now present. Tankards of rum punch appeared.

"So, did you think over my proposition?" Venner asked.

"That I did."

"And?"

Bennett regarded the tankard before him, then pushed it aside. He seemed unwilling to drink until business matters were settled.

"What about them others you dropped off at the island?" he said.

"A bunch of do-gooder types," Venner said. "I wouldn't worry about them. They might have got themselves killed already."

"They're connected to that Kyle Walton big shot, ain't they?"

Venner tended his pipe. So, Bennett was more politically savvy than he'd thought.

"Kyle's son, Arjay, is the one who matters," he said. "If something's happened to him, that could make problems for us, all right. But it's out of our hands. Either the natives knocked him off or they didn't."

"Mmm."

Silence descended on their corner table. Venner filled the vacuum with puffs of smoke.

This man's a tough one. I'd best dispense with any sugar coat.

"Look, my friend," he said, "I have no guarantees. Either we cash in big or we get nothing for our troubles. At least you'll have a nice boat ride."

"I get seasick," Bennett said.

Venner chuckled. "We've plenty of room at the gunwales. Just mind the wind direction."

Bennett grunted, displeased with the attempt at humor. Venner tried a different tack. He gestured to the shabby room and its low-life denizens.

"Unless I'm mistaken, there's not much happening around here."

Bennett grimaced. "Why don't you state the terms for me again?"

"Certainly," Venner said. "An even split between us of all gold and other metals. Weighed out to the ounce."

"What about precious stones and such? It ain't so easy to determine their value by weight."

Venner puffed on his pipe, letting the tension build a while.

"There's an easy solution to that," he said.

"What?"

"One of us divides the items into two shares, the other man chooses the portion he wants. If there's a difference in profit gained, set it down to luck of the draw."

Bennett nodded, clearly impressed. Venner sweetened the pot.

"Choose whichever role you prefer," he said.

Bennett nodded again. He was trying to maintain a façade of ambiguity, but Venner could tell the man was hooked like a tuna fish.

Venner raised his tankard. "Is it a deal?"

"Deal."

They clanked drinking vessels and drained them.

## 55.Broken Fellowship

Lawton Elder:

It's a pleasant time of morning, or about as pleasant as it gets in this odd country. I'm lying on the floor midway between sleep and wakefulness, listening to a light rain patter.

A floral scent drifts through the window. It's not half bad. I imagine myself on the deck of the Alma sailing home, this whole experience fading into dim memory . . .

A knock at the door interrupts my musings.

"You up, Lawton?" It's Miles talking.

"Yeah, just a minute."

I get up from under my light covers and holster the pistol I sleep with, like a stuffed toy. I open the door to a revolver barrel in my face. Miles is on the far end of it.

"What the hell!"

Miles snatches my pistol from its holster. Native guards shove their way in and begin hauling off my weapons cache. I stumble back, trying to get my footing in this nightmare.

"W-what are you doing, Miles?"

"Sorry, Lawton, but Eugene thinks you should stay in the palace until the Alma arrives."

I watch, aghast, as my rifle and saber are hauled away, followed by my pack of ammunition and grenados.

"It's only for a while," Miles says, almost apologetically.

"Eugene told you to do this?"

Miles nods.

"And you go along with it?"

"Yep."

The full horror of the situation has still not sunk in. This must be a grotesque joke! Only Miles is not the joking sort.

"We're in a tight spot," he says. "Things could go to hell in a handbasket at the drop of a hat. If left to your own devices, you could upset the apple cart ... without meaning to, of course."

His face is turning red. He's embarrassed, awkward, tripping over his words.

"Well, aren't you the Master of Metaphor today," I shoot back. "How would you translate that nonsense into ancient Hebrew?"

Miles grimaces but does not respond to my insult. He's so tall his head looks about to brush the ceiling. I'd love to double him over with a fist in the gut, but the big revolver dissuades me.

"Look here Lawton, it's nothing personal. Nobody thinks you've got bad intentions ... it's just you need to keep out of things you don't understand."

"So, you two geniuses understand the hell out of everything, right?"

Miles looks miserable and guilty, like a kid caught with his hand in the sugar bowl.

"I know this must seem terribly unjust," he says, "but it's necessary. We're doing the Lord's work on this island, and the Lord moves in mysterious ways."

"I don't see the Lord working here at all. And thanks for disarming me in this madhouse, friend."

Miles glances toward the guards and barks an order. They retreat into the hall, closing the door behind them. Miles lowers his voice, as if those savages could understand anything he says.

"If you'll give me your word, as a gentleman, that you won't interfere or leave the palace until the Alma arrives, I can let you have this."

He withdraws a pocket revolver from under his jacket, along with a small ammo pouch. I glower up at him.

"Take it or leave it, Lawton. It's the best I can do."

The sense of betrayal cuts far deeper than any blade. Jake, yes – Venner, yes – but my closest friends treating me like this? I see my hands reaching out before me, as if they belong to somebody else. They grasp the offered weapon.

"Very well, you have my word ... as a gentleman."

"I'll accept that." Miles jerks a thumb at the door. "I have to leave guards with you. Don't let them see you've got that thing."

"Right."

Miles strides out to the hallway. After a brief pause, during which he dares not look my direction, he reaches back and closes the door.

"Well, I'll be damned," I mutter.

So, a pair of heavies is standing outside my door to keep me in check. I cross to the window and look out. Another guard is posted below – as if I have wings to flutter myself down.

* * *

Out in the corridor, Miles and Eugene carried off Lawton's weapons.

"Well, that was pleasant," Miles grumbled.

"Perhaps I should have gone with you."

"No, it was better this way," Miles said. "It would have just made things worse if you were present."

The two men fell silent. Guilt hovered in the air around them.

"We have to keep in mind it's for his own good," Eugene said. "For the good of us all."

"Right . . ."

## 56.Visit from Lai-koa

Across the plaza in his barracks quarters, Sir-hen brooded over his responsibilities. Anxiety gripped him in its jaws, like a savage beast rending its prey.

How has all this come about?

Not long ago, he was a mere acolyte moving in the shadow of high priest E-zui. Now, he was de facto ruler of the whole island, subject only to the will of Ungh-Ka. No one had ever exercised so much authority. With the power of the nobles and the priesthood broken, he alone held things together.

His best efforts were hardly sufficient, though. The slavery ban had brought severe consequences. The decree seemed an act of madness intended to destroy society. Was that the goal of Ungh-Ka – bring an end to humankind on this island? Sir-hen shook his head.

What mortal can fathom the ways of gods?

The noblemen were struggling to retain their plantation workers, but the bad blood ran too deep. The former slaves grew insolent, refusing to tend the fields. This resulted in much good land lying fallow while the hungry people needed bumper crops.

Despite their promises to keep working, many ex-slaves had run off – some became bandits, others joined Ja-kui's men. These rebels circulated in the forests like ho-toi, eluding capture by Sir-hen's warriors.

I should have slain that cursed man the moment he stepped ashore!

Yet hadn't Ja-kui been under the protection of Ungh-Ka at the time? Even a god could not rely upon the devotion of his vassals.

The food situation was turning critical. Small farmers were jacking up prices to unattainable heights for many people. If Sir-hen imposed price controls at the market, these independent farmers would stop selling altogether. If he tried to seize their produce, they would join the rebellion. They were the type of small landowners Ja-kui claimed to support.

Sir-hen could subsidize prices so that more people could buy food. That would drain the treasury, though, and how then could the warriors be paid?

Hunger, robbery, discord. Only in the capital city were things still under full control. But even here it was a situation waiting to erupt. Sir-hen felt himself a man pressed between great boulders.

And now these cursed downpours! If things didn't moderate soon, all manner of destruction would follow. What could mollify the dishonored rain god? Sir-hen knew the answer but refused to accept it.

I shall die myself before allowing harm to Lai-koa.

The Great Ship loomed into his imaginings. Ungh-Ka said it would soon return to bear him away for a time. And then? What power struggle between the gods was occurring on the heavenly plane while here, on earth, the people suffered?

Lai-koa appeared at the door, and a surge of love replaced Sir-hen's fears. The dim chamber seemed flooded with sunlight.

"You sent for me, my lord?" Lai-koa asked.

"Yes ... yes, please come in, my gracious lady."

She stepped over the threshold. Her guards remained standing dutifully outside.

"I ... wished to inquire about your accommodations," Sir-hen said. "Are you comfortable at the palace?"

Hot male arousal blasted through him like a thunderbolt, nearly strangling his words. He fought to contain it, drive his passions onto a 'higher plane.' But what mortal man could accomplish this once he was smitten by Lai-koa?

"I am quite comfortable there, thank you," she said.

"The guards are attentive, the food is to your liking?"

"Yes, my lord."

These brief statements constituted almost the sum total of the words she'd spoken to him since her rescue. He was deeply honored by her attention. An award from a god could not have pleased him more.

Is she finally emerging from her melancholy? Do I dare approach her?

"That is good," he said, "very good."

He wanted to rush forward and seize her in his arms, utter words of profoundest love, merge with her into a cosmic whole. He wanted to erase all thoughts of others from her mind – of Ja-kui and of Ung-Ka's wounded minion.

He could do that – at least the forcible taking of her. But then he'd be a low beast, unworthy of her love. He remained seated.

"How are you feeling, my lady?"

Lai-koa's bright presence faded. Her eyes became blank and distant. "I feel myself as hovering between two worlds. I do not truly belong in either one."

A chill ran through Sir-hen, quenching his ardor. "I see."

"Is there anything else, my lord?"

"No... you may leave."

Lai-koa bowed herself from the room. All warmth departed with her. Sir-hen returned to his solitary musings.

Was everything done by the old priesthood evil? Am I right to embrace Ungh-Ka?

He still had doubts. But whenever he thought the materialization of Ungh-Ka might not be authentic, the evidence of the golden robe confronted him. And other thing, too – the physical resemblance, the arrival of the ship at a crucial time, the return of Ja-kui. These happenings couldn't be mere coincidence.

Ah ... the events of today were already written in the stars.

## 57.Infestations

Loren Michele:

I fear a great calamity is in the offing. Pestilential disease is spreading among the people, sickening many and carrying an increasing number to their graves.

In my opinion, massive hatchings of mosquitoes have brought on the problem. These tiny enemies of mankind are taking a fearful toll. Epidemiology, immunology, microbiology – all these sciences are in their babyhood. And I, too, feel like an infant struggling against dark, malignant forces.

Effects of this disease are remarkably diverse. Many victims recover in 3 to 7 days after the appearance of symptoms. Others die almost immediately in the most horrific circumstances. There seems little correlation between general health and recovery rate. Strong young people have succumbed, while older, less vigorous persons have recovered. It must be a question of natural immunity.

Yet there is cause for hope. Drawing upon my own medical studies and upon advice from the local healers, it might be possible to develop a vaccine.

I have been experimenting with the body fluids of infected persons and with puss matter extracted from the skin eruptions common to this disease. I am hopeful I can develop minor cases of the illness from these materials with which to immunize the population.

It rends my heart to apply these experimental vaccines to healthy persons, but there is no alternative. The disease inflicts only humans, so it is not possible to use animals for test subjects. And there is little time.

Another worrisome problem is the appearance of influenza among the population. This has been the cause of many other deaths, or at least a contributing factor. Such lethal reactions are not surprising among a population weakened by malnutrition.

The local healers tell me this illness has been unknown, so I must conclude we, ourselves, brought this danger into their midst. The natural flu immunities we've developed over generations are absent here. And didn't we all sicken on board the Alma despite this advantage?

Good God! Aren't we supposed to be helping these people?

At least I can look to Arjay for validation of my skills. He is almost fully recovered. I wish Doctor Swanson back at medical school could see these marvelous results.

Eugene Walton:

This is a time of challenges, but also of wondrous vistas. The meaningless hum-drum of my former life has been replaced with deep purpose. I was shackled to the wrong path and could have never seen my errors if left to my own. It took Uncle Edward's death to bring clarity.

Whatever might be said of my uncle's moral failings, he was a decisive man. He got things done, however un-laudable. I like to think I've uplifted him by my actions. Maybe that's why he chose me as his heir, to provide this redemptive service for his memory.

Then there's Uncle Kyle. It's easy to dismiss him as a vainglorious windbag, but he has achieved great things. He is among the handful of men keeping our country intact. His stitched-together compromises have, at very least, postponed the breakaway of the Eastern provinces to a more favorable time.

During his thirty-year stint in Parliament, the West has surged ahead in population, transportation, industry and technology – while the East's slavery-choked society has stagnated. Thirty years ago, the East could have broken away, but now their prospects are much less favorable.

The world might be moving past men like Uncle Kyle, but this new world could not have arrived without his efforts. I belatedly take off my hat to him.

Even Jake has noteworthy qualities. I don't approve of his bloody campaign, but he's a man of bold action. And did I not set him on his way? I cannot, therefore, condemn all his efforts out of hand. His chastisement of the rapists fills me with awe. The bleeding hearts back home are wrong – harsh, sure punishment is the best way to deter crime. To hell with that 'rehabilitation' bunkum.

In contrast to these extraordinary individuals, what did I achieve in my early life? I wasn't even a good card sharp, as evidenced by my gambling debts. But things are different now. I am upon the cusp of history. Here, my will reigns supreme. I am protector of an entire people.

Granted, a certain charlatanism is involved, but what historical leader did not rely on showmanship? Alexander the Great, the Roman Caesars, the ancient pharaohs of Egypt – all were proclaimed gods in their time. Would things be better without their contributions? They were the architects of history. I stand upon the shoulders of giants.

And there is the peculiar 'coincidence' of this golden robe to consider. The garment was taken from Nata-Mara's hut after her arrest. E-zui kept it at the priests' palace, and Sir-hen rescued it from the purifying fires. Since Nata-Mara was a devotee of Ungh-Ka, it can be assumed it had something to do with that god.

It fits me as if tailor made, and the crown accommodates my head perfectly. I am larger than nearly all native males, yet not in the statuesque league of Sir-hen. So, why is the robe crafted to my exact measurements?

The most extraordinary symbols cover it. One, in particular, catches my eye – an intimidating creature with a spring coiled inside its head. A similar, reversed coil lies outside his mouth, as if the contents of the creature's mind is being projected to the world. I asked Sir-hen what it meant, but he gave only a frown for an answer.

At boarding school, Nellie Mitchell drew a similar caricature in my yearbook with the teasing caption: "Eugene talks and the world listens!"

Nellie was very attractive and didn't mind taking you down a peg. Had the school year not ended soon afterwards, I believe she would have led me astray.

## 58.A Fearsome Reckoning

Ja-kui approached within several yards of the cave entrance, walking cautiously through the underbrush. Then he paused and dropped into concealment.

This cavern was the final lair of Kyr-bee, renegade holy man and crypto-ally of the high priest. Kyr-bee – master of the dreaded ho-toi – a boogeyman used by E-zui to threaten the people.

Just another rat, hiding in its bolt hole.

Ja-kui recalled tales about this loathsome individual – how Kyr-bee would send his ho-toi walking dead immortals to abduct those who displeased the gods. Mothers used such stories to frighten their children into behaving. Then an actual abduction would occur, and no cautionary tales would be needed.

Walking dead, my ass! Ja-kui fondled the pistol under his shirt. We'll see how immortal these gentlemen are.

Nobody had ever seen Kyr-bee and lived to speak of it. He and E-zui were thick as thieves, according to Nata-Mara. She'd called this unholy pair a "conspiracy of evil." Well, half this conspiracy had been wiped out. Today would see the rest of it destroyed, if fate willed it.

Dan-gri approached. "All is in readiness, Great Liberator."

"How are the men holding up?"

"Everyone is frightened," Dan-gri said, "but none have deserted."

"That's as much as we can expect." Ja-kui gestured toward the cave entrance. "It won't be easy getting those superstitious fools to enter this place."

Ja-kui spoke with the bitter wisdom gained from years of travail in the slave country. Why attribute evil to spectral beings when it so obviously resided in the hearts of flesh and blood men?

Dan-gri coughed. Ja-kui gripped the fisherman's shoulder.

"How are you feeling, my friend?"

Dan-gri coughed again. "Not well. The mosquito sickness has taken possession of this old relic."

Pity for his faithful lieutenant surged in Ja-kui's heart. The emotion surprised him, as he was not accustomed to such things. The mosquito sickness had shot through the liberation army, sickening many, killing some. Ja-kui had endured severe pains and fever himself before the sickness left his body.

"Perhaps you should sit out this attack," Ja-kui said, "give yourself time to recover."

"It's all the same to me, as long as I can avenge my sons." Dan-gri looked toward the glowering cave entrance. "If I can get my blade into that bastard within, my life will be complete."

He rejoined the others. Solitude pressed Ja-kui hard, despite the nearness of his troops. Tough, loyal Dan-gri was preparing to exit this world, and it saddened him deeply. He'd not appreciated until now the bond of affection linking him to the old man. Dan-gri was like the father he'd never known.

All higher emotions had become strangers to Ja-kui during his exile. Only Nata-Mara maintained a hold on him, and when she died, so had all humane considerations. His spirit became a wasteland nothing could penetrate . . . until Lai-koa. She was his beacon in this dark, evil world.

Ja-kui looked to his men. All 15 remained in place – a modest remnant after desertions and illness had reduced their number. Many had fled this morning when they learned of the day's objective.

Cowards! They'll be back seeking booty once this is over.

Then punishments could be meted out – after the battle had been won. If Ja-kui lifted his rape ban, if he allowed his men to act like savages, then many more would flock to his cause. But he could never allow such barbarism. How could he face Lai-koa? And Nata-Mara's ghost would drift all the way from the slave country to haunt him.

Ja-kui rose from concealment and approached the cave. Its bleak, vine-covered visage stared back, pulsating with evil. A chill ran through him. For an unworthy moment, he considered calling off the attack.

Don't let these fools see you hesitate.

He withdrew the revolver from under his shirt. A mere dozen bullets remained. In his other hand, he clutched a lantern. He turned back to his men.

"Let's go!" he beckoned in a harsh whisper.

Prodded by Dan-gri, the men got to their feet and began creeping forward. Then, gruesome, other-worldly howls coming from inside the cavern froze everyone in place.

Wahoooo! Wahoooo! O-uoo!

"Ho-toi!" a trooper wailed.

Others took up the terrified chorus. "Ho-toi! Ho-toi!"

Despite threats and blows from Dan-gri, the men fell back.

"Damn it, come on!" Ja-kui ordered.

A dozen creatures burst from the cave – walking nightmares with fiendish red eyes and claw-like hands. An horrific stench accompanied them from Hell. The monsters paused, squinting in the sunlight.

"By all the gods!" Ja-kui gasped.

He might have fled with his men had it not been for his doughty lieutenant.

"A-yiiii!"

Dan-gri charged, driving the ho-toi back with his club. The creatures recoiled but quickly gathered themselves for a counterattack.

"Come on, you bastards!" Dan-gri shouted.

Then he froze. The club slipped from his hand.

"Mi-den ... is that you?"

One of the creatures stepped from the pack. Recognition lightened its dead eyes for a moment, then a snarl took over its face. It lurched toward Dan-gri, groping with its claws.

"Ahhh!"

Dan-gri fell to his knees before Ja-kui. "Slay him, Great Liberator! Slay him! Free my son from this horror."

The entreaty stabbed through Ja-kui's fear. He pulled Dan-gri away from the creatures and looked toward his men for support. Most of them were gone.

"Weaklings." He turned on the advancing ho-toi. "Back to Hell with you!"

Blam!

The one called Mi-den went down, a bullet hole in its forehead.

Blam! Blam!

Two more ho-toi fell.

"See?" Ja-kui shouted to his men. "They're not immortal!"

The ho-toi milled about their fallen comrades, unable to comprehend the situation. Ja-kui brought down two more. The others broke and lurched off through the forest. Dan-gri was on his feet, charging after the monsters.

"Stay here!" Ja-kui commanded.

Dan-gri came to a reluctant halt. "But they escape."

"Let them, we have a greater enemy."

No sooner were the words out of Ja-kui's mouth, than the "greater enemy" emerged from the cave. Its appearance was so abrupt and so terrible that Ja-kui finally lost his nerve. His knees weakened, and he grabbed at a vine to keep from falling. His remaining troopers took to their heels. Only Dan-gri remained steadfast.

"Welcome, Kyr-bee. Aren't you the devil's piss pot?"

Dan-gri stepped over the body of his fallen son and closed on the dreadful figure with his club. Kyr-bee aimed a spear at him.

With his headdress of feathers and human skulls, Kyr-bee towered eight feet above the ground. Hides of vicious animals swaddled his body. Tattoos covered every inch of skin. Baleful eyes stabbed at the world, freezing all who looked upon them – except Dan-gri, who was beyond all fear.

"Go ahead." Dan-gri spread his arms wide exposing his chest. "Throw it!"

An animal growl rumbled in Kyr-bee's throat. He drew the spear back. The sight of his lieutenant's deadly peril spurred Ja-kui to action.

Blam!

Kyr-bee dropped his weapon and doubled up. Pain and confusion shot across his face, blood trickled from his mouth. The headdress tumbled away amid the rattling of human bones.

"A-yiiii!"

Dan-gri struck a vicious blow on the tattooed head. The ho-toi leader collapsed into a filthy heap.

"Oorah!" Ja-kui cheered.

He ejected the spent shell casings from his revolver and loaded in the final precious bullets. He joined Dan-gri beside the fallen enemy. The old fisherman towered over all like a colossus.

"Good work, my friend," Ja-kui said.

Kyr-bee stared up at them, his eyes bulging with terror and his mouth trembling. "The gods will punish you!"

"Right," Ja-kui said. "So, you're the 'stealer of men's souls,' eh?"

Kyr-bee shrank until he looked scarcely half his previous size. The one accustomed to crushing others resigned himself to being crushed.

Dan-gri spat. "How do you feel, Sacred One?"

A smile covered his face, as if he were honored guest at a birthday celebration. He extended a hand toward Ja-kui.

"May I?"

Ja-kui gave over his carving knife.

"Thank you."

Dan-gri fell upon the stealer of men's souls. The screams continued a long time.

## 59.Tragedy Strikes

Lawton:

Ah, the world as beheld from the palace roof! A magnificent view of the death pyramid looming above, gentle breezes playing about, ample room to stretch my legs – and watchful guards to make sure I don't jump and break my fool neck. Who could ask for more?

Well, I sure as hell could. The biggest thing I yearn for is to see the Alma sailing in to rescue me from this place. I keep my eyes straining to the south, but the bay is too far off to espy beyond the trees and farmland. Could I see it from atop the pyramid?

God spare me from that! Nothing would entice me to scale that unholy edifice. It doesn't bother Eugene, though. He's up there again today in his "god dodge" finery, enacting rituals with Sir-hen amidst a miasma of incense smoke. I can smell the loathsome stuff when the wind blows this direction.

The two men enthrall the crowd with their bunkum. I wish a storm would drive them away, but then I'd also have to go inside, back to my prison cell room.

Just how much of a dodge everything is cannot be determined. I fear Eugene is taking this rubbish seriously. Now that I, the sole dissenting voice, have been exiled, who knows what strange notions have seized his mind?

He is too far away to hit with my little revolver, but don't think I haven't considered taking a pot shot. Would I be so restrained if I still had my rifle? I miss its cold, logical presence the way a lover rues the departure of his lady fair.

So I wait and brood – a corralled, purposeless young man. At least I've plotted an escape route, should the need arise.

I can see a stream running below, shaded by thick tree cover. If I could follow it past the agricultural fields to the forest beyond, I might be able to slip off toward the south and Deliverance Bay, as I've named the locale where the Alma dropped us. It seems decades have passed since the disembarkation with my former friends ... and Jake.

I almost envy Jake for whatever purpose he's got in his life, out there in the forest doing whatever it is he's up to. I doubt he's troubling much with bunko religion.

I've never broached this topic to Eugene, but I strongly suspect it was Jake who killed his Uncle Edward. The 'riding accident' explanation is too convenient, and the incentives for covering things up were considerable. Why upset the apple cart when it's so much easier to just let the sleeping dog lie, or in this case, the dead man?

Ah, it seems Miles isn't the only one with a penchant for cliché.

Well, what of it? Those who thrive by oppressing others cannot expect loving kindness from their victims. I don't blame Jake for knocking off Edward Walton. The guy wasn't my uncle. With Jake, I think we've freed a tiger and set it loose on an unsuspecting world . . .

What's this? One of Lai-koa's men is on the roof, talking with my guards. Everyone is agitated. I keep my hand near my revolver. They come up to me, all shouting and gesturing. I take it I'm supposed to follow them off the roof. We head for the stairs. I've got a bad feeling.

I approach Arjay's room at a run. Loren meets me at the doorway; he's white as a sheet.

"What happened?"

"It's . . . h-he . . ."

I move past Loren and into the room. Arjay is sprawled on his cushions – soaked with sweat, gasping for air, delirious.

"Arjay!"

He glances at me, no recognition, eyes unfocused. He looks off into space, chokes. Loren is at my side now.

"He was fine when I looked in two hours ago," he says. "The mosquito sickness. One of the worst cases I've seen."

Cold sweat explodes from my every pore. I can scarcely breathe. Miles barges in. He, too, is drained of color. His whole body is trembling.

"Can you do anything for him?"

Loren holds out his hands and shakes his head. Tears are rolling down his cheeks.

"Ohhh, Arjay . . ." Miles moves toward the bed.

"Don't get too close," Loren says. "I'm not sure how contagious it is now."

We stand together helplessly in the middle of the room, all of us are stunned. Lai-koa bursts in and flings herself to the floor beside Arjay. She is quiet, but a shock wave of grief roils from her, echoing around the room.

"How long has he got?" Miles whispers.

"I don't know, maybe just a few minutes." Loren turns to the guards standing in the doorway. "Please get her out of here."

Miles translates. Two guards lift Lai-koa gently to her feet. She does not resist as they lead her off, but when they get to the corridor, she lets out a horrific scream.

"Aiiiiiii!" A sound of absolute despair, as if from the depths of Hell.

I rush after her. She's at the main doorway looking across the plaza toward the cenote pond on the far side. The guards are holding her back. Lai-koa struggles fiercely, then goes limp. They lead her away.

Loren and Miles are as I left them in the death chamber – and Arjay, gasping out the remainder of his life.

"You sent word to Eugene?" Loren asks.

"Yes, he should be here soon," Miles says.

Eugene – the architect of all our woes. Damned if I ever want to set eyes on him again! I bolt from the room and charge up to my own quarters. I fling myself onto the floor and give way to my grief.

Eugene:

I came as quickly as possible, but it was too late. My cousin had died only minutes before. Miles said it was a mercy I did not see him at the end. I can't believe it . . . Arjay, gone. He was almost recovered from his wounds. And now this.

I'll never hear his bright, cheery voice again: "I'm with you, Cousin," he'd say, "lead on!"

Just look where I have led him. I want to see Lawton, but it's clear he doesn't want to see me. That's a cruel cut on this already vicious day. Guilt and grief are my companions.

# Eight: Reckoning

## 60.Aftershock

Lawton:

Arjay's death has cast a pall over everything. A sense of doom pervades our world, turning my palace cell into a morgue chamber. My frivolous 'it can't happen to me' attitude has disappeared, and I now feel the cold exhalations of mortality blowing on my neck. If a tough, vigorous youth like Arjay can succumb so quickly, what chance have we others got?

Worst of it is my fear the Alma might not return, that I will live out my remaining days on this island. And how many days would that be with all that's happening? These people didn't invite us here, sooner than later they'll turn on us.

I have a haunting certainty the Easterners are poised to tear our country apart. We need to be home preparing for the storm. What on earth are we doing here?

Two months have passed since the Alma left. I doubt Venner would fail to come if it's within his capabilities. He has a legal document promising an exorbitant fare for his troubles. I can't imagine him passing up such a windfall.

But what good is a legal document at the bottom of the ocean? The Alma cannot be impervious to disaster, despite the symbolism of its figurehead. I overheard crewmen talking about pirates. Maybe the threat of buccaneer activity will dissuade Venner from coming back.

The Alma is our last hope. If we had any sense, we'd pack up and head for the bay, set up a fortified position there and wait for the ship's return. I wish I had some scientific endeavor to occupy my mind, as Loren does. He brought a mosquito illness "vaccine powder" to my room and bade me to inhale it like snuff.

"I didn't think it was quite ready to use," he said, "but now that Arjay ..."

The yellowish concoction looked dubious. "What's in that?"

"You don't want to know. Just take it, please."

Loren doubtless had the best intentions, but where have good intentions taken us so far? We're on the bullseye of disaster, and forces we cannot understand are taking aim.

I had a strong inclination to send Loren packing, but then an image of Arjay appeared in my mind – not the cheery, rambunctious lad, but the suffering hulk dying on the cushions amid a pool of sweat and delirium. An image that will haunt me forever.

So, I snorted the vile substance. The effect was indescribable – like inhaling the fumes of Hell while getting kicked in the head by a mule. Soon afterwards, I became very sick and spend the rest of the day confined to my room, certain I would be next to depart this world. But I gradually recovered.

Loren was ecstatic on his next visit.

"It works!" he cried. "Now I've got to produce more."

"So, I was the Guinea pig, huh? That's reassuring."

"I wouldn't put it that way," Loren said.

"How would you put it, then?"

"Well ... a member of the control group," Loren said. "We have different biological traits from the natives. I had to find out if the same vaccine would work for everyone."

I chose to be magnanimous. It cost me nothing. "That's fine, somebody had to go first in the crap shoot. Why not me?"

"Yes, well ... I'd better get back to work now."

Loren beat a hasty retreat. I stretched out on the floor to sleep off the vaccine's remaining ill effects. A malicious smile crinkled my face. I enjoyed the assurance that Eugene would soon be undergoing the same trial.

When Loren next visited, I was on the roof observing events in the plaza through my spyglass. Miles was with him. They both looked rather washed-out, so I assumed they've taken the vaccine. I restrained any expressions of sympathy.

"Arjay's funeral procession will be leaving soon," Miles said. "We thought you'd want to go with us."

I gestured toward the crowd gathering in the square. "So, that's what's going on, eh?"

"Yes," Loren said, "we're taking him to the hill where Montgomery is."

"That's a fine place," I said, "but the ceremony appears to be quite different. Not just a group of friends paying respects and reading from the Good Book."

"No ..." Miles said, "we have to make more of it than that."

"Let me guess," I said, "Eugene will be there in his god outfit, right?"

Miles turned a bit paler. "I don't like it either, but we're in a delicate position."

"Think I'll keep to my 'delicate position' up here," I said. "You go have your rituals, and I'll pay respects after my own fashion."

That brought some color to Miles' face, all right.

"Besides, you forgot the leg irons," I said. "Wouldn't want me running off, would you?"

Loren grasped Miles' arm. "We'd better go."

They began walking away, but I wasn't finished yet.

"You know what?" I called after them. "Should we ever make it back home, I won't be seeing much of you two."

As they disappeared down the stairs, I got the chill feeling that I'll come to regret my words.

The funeral procession soon departed. Sir-hen led the way – a statuesque, impressive figure – along with Eugene in his fantastic getup. They will provide spiritual enlightenment for the occasion. Lai-koa walked near the front with Miles and Loren. Many others wearing ornate outfits were in the crowd, members of the nobility – the elite of our "Great Republic."

I raised my hand in salute. "Farewell, Arjay! You were the best."

And so I bid good-bye to my friend who was ripped out of existence by a loathsome disease. I regret he was denied a hero's death in battle. That's the only way for a brave young man to depart this world. I cannot grasp such injustice.

## 61.Procession

_Such a beautiful day, and for such grim purpose,_ Lai-koa thought. _It cannot last._

Her sense of time running down fit the occasion well as she walked in the funeral procession's vanguard between two foreigners – the gentle healer. and the stern-looking tall one.

How far these men have come, just to turn our world upside down.

Her guards trailed behind, and farther back, noblemen bore the beautiful Ar-jay on his final earthly trek. Warriors brought up the rear. No high priest ever went to the tomb with greater solemnity.

Funeral chants accompanied their progress through the forest. Delicate incense smoke graced the air. Ahead of everything strode the dignified and stately Sir-hen accompanied by the earthly manifestation of Ungh-Ka in his awesome finery.

The symbols woven into the gold fabric defied interpretation. One portrayed a fierce being, within its head wound a spiral of power. This spiral was bursting out of the figure's mouth, seeking to destroy the world. Lai-koa dared not look at it overlong.

Ungh-Ka and Sir-hen were inseparable, like the sun and the moon appearing in the sky together throwing dark, mysterious illumination. Who could fathom the thoughts or actions of Ungh-Ka? Mere mortals could not judge a god; it was blasphemous to try.

Sir-hen was a mortal man, though, and a very hard one on the outside. His unyielding strength and commanding personality inspired fear, but Lai-koa sensed true nobility residing in him. He was the great leader this island needed.

It had long been governed by corrupt nobles fighting for power, seeking favor from the gods and the high priest. Her own father had played this unscrupulous game. He marched in the procession today but would not acknowledge her.

Why is Sir-hen so concerned about me? I'm just an ordinary girl who is pledged to another. He could have any maiden he desired.

This was the first time in weeks she'd left the palace vicinity, but Lai-koa had an accurate picture of events on the wider island. Her guards brought a constant round of news and rumor. She'd heard of growing desperation among the people, the food shortages, the baffling maladies which stalked the land sickening and killing.

And she only had to look out her window to behold the constant rainfall. The guards told her of flooded fields and water-logged crops, snakes and crocodiles running amok, and rafts of stinging ants floating around to scourge the population.

"This is a sad day for all of us, my lady," the tall foreigner said. "Ar-jay was a stalwart youth and loyal friend. We shall miss him dearly."

Lai-koa bowed her head in acknowledgement. The remark was easy enough to understand, but the accent and nuances were peculiar. The language was not suited to outsiders. Nor was anything else on this island. Her thoughts turned to Ja-kui. He was another hard man with nobility buried inside and an untoward concern for her welfare. Why?

She kept questioning everything while she already knew the underlying reason for their woes. The gods, especially the affronted rain god, were angry. They were bringing suffering to the people as a result.

The world is out of balance and needs to be righted.

Was there any greater proof than the death of Ar-jay? The gods allowed him to recover from his grievous wounds only to strike him down with a disease many others had survived. The Loren healer had now developed a potent medicine. But what of it? The mosquito sickness was only a weapon of the rain god. Once it was blunted, he would choose another.

The procession labored uphill to the burial site. The sun vanished behind roiling clouds. Heavy rain began, and thunder rumbled in the distance. She'd been right, the beautiful day could not last.

Eugene:

I am getting more accustomed to my outfit. It requires a certain bearing and pace to show its best effects. Rather hot, though. Maybe it's my cross to bear.

What a superb day. Is the period of rain and darkness finally ending? I'm so gratified to lead my people in honor of Arjay, my great friend and cousin. Yes ... I've come to consider these simple island folk as my people. They look to me for guidance and security. I only hope I am able to continue providing it.

This island is in dire need of salvation. I shall proclaim it as my Great Republic, dedicated to peace and the advancement of mankind. Ah, but the cost has been so high. Arjay, Montgomery – who knows how many others will fall? I must ensure their sacrifices are not in vain.

Where is Alma sailing now upon the vast ocean? When will she arrive? I have mixed feelings about that, though it would be the best thing for Lawton, who wants nothing of my enterprise here. I shall miss him. I wish he were with us today so we could try to mend fences . . .

What's this? Rain!

## 62.The Faltering Rebellion

Dan-gri reposed on a bed of fronds under the sailcloth lean-to. He seemed at peace, and his symptoms of mosquito illness were not particularly severe.

Ja-kui had seen others with worse cases recover their health. The old fisherman did not seem of a mind to recover, though.

"Such a fine day!" Dan-gri exclaimed. "I never thought the world could be so beautiful away from the sea."

Ja-kui looked askance at the gloomy surroundings – the overcast sky, the rain dripping off the tree branches. He smelled the dank, rotting leaves. Nobody in their proper mind would consider this a fine day.

"Rest a while, old friend, and get your strength back," he said. "Then you can return to the sea."

Dan-gri waved an indifferent hand. "No matter. I have a lifetime of memories about the ocean. They will suffice."

He coughed heavily. Ja-kui pressed a bottle of fermented juice upon him.

"Drink, my friend."

Dan-gri took a long swallow, then stretched himself out.

"Both my sons are avenged," he said, "and my youngest has been freed from the ho-toi. He rests in clean ground, with prayers sung by his father."

"All excellent achievements," Ja-kui said.

Dan-gri withdrew the bag of gold nuggets from under his clothes and handed it to Ja-kui. "Keep this with you. It will always be your friend, even when men are not."

Ja-kui's mouth clamped into a quivering line. Dan-gri squeezed his hand.

"You would have made an excellent son. Bless the woman who bore you."

Ja-kui turned away to hide his tears. Dan-gri's face brightened.

"It was a fine thing chopping Kyr-bee into fish bait, wasn't it?" he said. "I only regret I did not have more time with the high priest."

Ja-kui forced himself to smile, though the tortures inflicted by Dan-gri upon the ho-toi leader were not the stuff of fond memory.

"Ah ... I'm too old to face what's coming," Dan-gri said. "May the gods be with you, Great Liberator."

Before Ja-kui could reply, one of his scouts appeared in the clearing. Ja-kui gazed up him.

"Well?"

"I bring urgent news," the scout replied.

Ja-kui looked toward Dan-gri. "Excuse me, friend. I will return soon."

He rose from the old man's side and accompanied the scout to an spot on the riverbank.

"Report," Ja-kui ordered.

"Another alien has died," the scout said. "The one called Ar-jay."

Ja-kui became instantly wary. "From what cause?"

"The mosquito sickness."

"I see ..."

Ja-kui maintained an impassive expression, but he was rocked by the news.

A minion of Ungh-Ka has died!

The great healing power of Ungh-Ka had been heralded throughout the island. It was the basis of the awe in which the people held him. The miraculous recovery of Arjay from his battle wounds was proof of it. But now the lad was struck down.

"You're sure of this?"

"Yes, Great Liberator, I observed his funeral procession myself."

"Who was in this procession?"

"Ungh-Ka, Sir-hen, the lady Lai-koa – "

"How did she look?" Ja-kui said. "Did the lady walk on her own or was she borne in a sedan chair?"

"She appeared greatly saddened but walked without difficulty, even up a steep hill."

He rattled off a list of other notables in attendance, but Ja-kui was no longer listening.

Lai-koa is safe and well.

The scout finished his report and withdrew, leaving Ja-kui much to consider.

Things had been going badly of late, although the victory over Kyr-bee had reverberated throughout the island, bringing fresh recruits to Ja-kui's cause. Even some of those who'd fled earlier came creeping back. But these, to use the foreign phrase, "Johnny-come-lately" types would not have major impact.

Sir-hen's pursuing warriors were a constant threat, and the big plantations were too well guarded to attack. If things didn't change, Ja-kui's rebellion would fizzle out. His men would drift away, and he'd be hunted down like a dog.

They'll never take me alive!

Ja-kui stroked the revolver tucked into his belt. He still had bullets left and was saving the last one for himself, should the need arise.

But now something unforeseen had occurred. A rent had appeared in the façade of Ungh-Ka. People might be coming to doubt his omnipotence. If he couldn't protect one of his closest acolytes, how could he protect them?

Ja-kui re-examined an idea which had been brewing in his mind for quite a while: abandon the forests and slip into the capital city, blend in with the crowd. Sir-hen would not expect such a bold maneuver.

Once inside the city, Ja-kui could keep a close watch on things, wait for the enemy to make a false move, be ready to strike. And he'd be in place to rescue Lai-koa from Sir-hen's 'protection.' What was the alternative – keep moving through the forest until Sir-hen's warriors caught up with him?

He returned to the small clearing. Dan-gri was lying in the same spot – dead now, a smile gracing his face.

He willed himself to die ... as Nata-Mara did.

Ja-kui sat beside his fallen lieutenant and gave vent to his sorrow.

## 63.Getting Near

Captain Jon Venner and career criminal Thompson Bennett conversed at the stern of the Alma, away from prying ears.

Not that anyone cared to approach the two men, especially Bennett, whose reek of violence and death floated up the nostrils of any bystander. The crewmen busied themselves with their tasks. Bennett's bully boys kept to their accommodations, and all seemed as right with the world as could be expected.

"If this wind keeps up," Venner said, "we should reach the island in three days time."

Bennett spat into the ocean. "That's three days too long for my stomach!"

Venner nodded with bogus sympathy. One of the few pleasures of this voyage had been watching Bennett vomit at the gunwales. The man had visibly lost weight due to constant sea sickness, but he was no less intimidating – more so, actually. The gaunt face staring out of a copious black beard was a fright to behold.

Serves you right, you old scoundrel!

"Why play around with this Eugene Walton fellow?" Bennett said. "Why not get rid of him and his ilk, permanently?"

Venner cleared his throat. "Walton is too well connected to get rid of. Didn't I explain that – his uncle and all?"

"I still don't like it. Why leave witnesses? It ain't exactly a tea party we're planning."

"No ... "

Just what am I planning?

Everything had been so clear before. Venner would breeze into the island and loot the place, using Bennett's hired muscle. Then back home to a life of prosperity. He'd reenter the shipbuilding trade – buy an interest in a shipyard, design military vessels. War was coming, and big money could be earned from Navy contracts. It had all seemed so neat and pretty, but that was before sharing a voyage with Bennett.

Treacherous killing wasn't part of Venner's makeup. Defeating an enemy in battle was one thing, especially if he was a foreign pagan. But the cold-blooded murder of a countryman – a civilized person to whom he'd given his word – was a very different matter.

Bennett would kill me if he saw some gain.

Had Bennett struck a secret deal with Tipton at his expense? It was not outside the realm of possibility. Venner cast a wary look across the deck to where Tipton supervised the crew. The first mate avoided eye contact. Was he up to something?

"I've had enough of ships," Bennett said. "Once this is over, I'll ply my trade inland."

Yes, the cut throat trade. Venner's earlier dealings with Bennett had not been above board, but they did not involve killing innocent people. How would Bennett and his gang treat the natives? Venner held no ill will toward the locals, he just wanted their treasure. But setting these thugs loose on the island – especially among the women!

Chin up, lad. Bennett ain't the only one who can stick a knife into somebody's back.

He glanced toward Tipton, with more confidence this time. No, he didn't expect treachery. Tipton already knew he was in for a full share of the loot, and Venner had never crossed him. But you could never be sure what was in another man's heart, could you?

The ocean was turning choppy.

Good. Maybe Bennett will get seasick.

## 64.In the City

Ja-kui sat among the other beggars outside the market, observing the crowds.

Nobody knew who he was under the disguise. To them, he was just another bumpkin who'd wandered in from the sticks, as had so many others lately. Somebody dropped a coin into his bowl.

"Thank you, kind sir," Ja-kui said in a tremulous voice, bowing his head.

Ja-kui's hair and beard, grown shaggy from his time in the forest, were grayed with bleach. Loose clothing and a floppy hat covered his features. His stooped, limping gait looked authentic. The ruse had held for two days now.

At times, he assumed the semi-idiot face he'd used during his deceptions with 'uncle' Dan-gri.

Ah, my dear old friend. I fear there will be many more losses soon.

If Ja-kui fell, he wished to emulate Dan-gri's smiling departure from this world. Dignity and poise in the face of death – what could be more noble?

Ja-kui chose to believe his own encounter with death was far in the future. First would come his assumption of power, his marriage to Lai-koa, and the establishment of their dynasty – the overthrow of Sir-hen and the foreigners.

Squatting in the dust amid the lowest rank of society, it was difficult to hold such visions of grandeur, but Ja-kui kept them close to his heart. Sometimes he felt the soothing presences of Nata-Mara and Dan-gri flanking him. They stroked him gently and uttered words just below the level of hearing.

Elsewhere around the capital, his men had insinuated themselves into the popular flow. They observed the pyramid ceremonies and listened in on the gossip – keeping their "eyes and ears open with mouths shut," per Ja-kui's directive.

The current buzz was all about Ungh-Ka. A mythology was building around him, a combination of Nata-Mara's old stories and the god's achievements since returning to the island. Bass reliefs were being added to the pyramid temple to document his activities. His beneficent face adorned the upper platform.

He's done well for a failed card sharp, but he's playing a dangerous game now.

Others of Ja-kui's men hung about the cafes or joined in idle games of chance. One man attended the religious study class of the alien Miles. Ja-kui rather pitied this last one.

Things would come to a head soon. Tension hovered in the air like a kettle of vultures. Beneath people's reverence when they spoke of Ungh-Ka lurked profound discontent – about the food shortages, the weather, the epidemics, even the dearth of human sacrifices. There was much sentiment for a return to the priestly rites.

What next? Would foreigners take over the island?

Not if I can stop it!

The weather heralded change. Fierce, dry heat had displaced the rain, turning streets and fields into dust. People said the rain god had tired of one plague and was selecting another to inflict upon them.

Curse the rain god! Back to hell with all your kind.

Ja-kui harbored a powerful desire for change, a break from the stultifying present. Aspire to more life! And if that was not possible, then death. Suicides of whole peoples and nations. He touched the hard reassurance of the pistol under his clothing and smiled.

The beggars' chatter around him concerned Ungh-Ka. How would the god deal with this latest turn in the climate? What would he and his minion, Sir-hen, convey to the people this afternoon from the pyramid? Ja-kui recalled his own religious instructions.

Sir-hen is like John the Baptist, heralding a new messiah.

* * *

Miles entered his classroom in the old barracks building. A dozen faces gazed up at him from the benches, ready to receive enlightenment.

We have a newcomer.

Ordinarily, he was delighted when anyone new showed up, but today held a vague uneasiness – a sense that all was not right with the world. The pagan rituals taking place on the pyramid outside had much to do with it. Miles had considered cancelling today's session but had decided the Lord's work had to go on regardless of any distractions.

Some female faces would brighten things.

No woman had yet attended, though. Women were kept to a subordinate place in this society and were exiles from the word of God. Miles was himself an exile – a stranger in a strange land, a modern day Gershom. He looked out the door, toward the great pyramid across the square.

Are we doing the right thing here?

The god dodge had been going on too long. It threatened to corrupt Biblical truths. For weeks, Miles had skirted the Ungh-Ka issue, trying to blend him into the scriptural teachings as a kind of local prophet. But such gymnastics bordered on blasphemy. Other foreign missionaries used dodges to accommodate local beliefs, but they didn't have a pyramid in the background with an actual pagan 'god' looming over their shoulders.

I should have discouraged this from the beginning. The road to perdition is paved with good intentions.

He glanced at his pocket watch, which was set to the world mean time. Who knew what the precise hour was in this place?

"We'll start in two minutes, class."

Making such announcements was beneficial. It gave structure to the relaxed sense of time here. The virtue of punctuality was an important part of his teachings.

Miles cracked his Bible open to a random page. He'd done this before while seeking insight on troubling questions. His eyes fell upon verse 4 of Psalm 137.

How shall we sing the LORD'S song in a strange land?

" _How, indeed?"_

His eyes dropped to the final verse of the psalm:

Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth

thy little ones against the stones.

"Ugh!"

## 65. Between Two Worlds

Lawton Elder:

My goodness, the heat! At least I've something else to fret about besides the constant rain, and our mosquito friends are greatly reduced. If only they'd disappeared earlier, before Arjay was stricken.

I've grown so accustomed to rainy overcast that I don't know what to make of things now. Here on my palace roof redoubt, I've had to construct a canopy to protect myself from the blazing sun – or rather the guards constructed it for me. I enjoyed giving them orders.

It's a simple wooden framework covered in sailcloth. So, I can sit under it and pretend I'm sailing off somewhere ... anywhere. Home.

The guards have built an identical shelter for themselves, lest they pass out from heat prostration while watching the crazy foreigner. Wouldn't that be too bad?

Now that the construction projects are over, I've nothing to do. So, I just brood up here, thrashing over old resentments and hoping fervently for the Alma's return. My diary is my sole companion, and it's cold comfort.

Another big ceremony is gearing up on the temple pyramid. Sir-hen is already out on the platform working the crowd, preparing them for the big appearance of Ungh-Ka. I am suspended between two worlds – the bizarre, alien one around me and the rational one struggling to endure within my mind. This is no life for a vigorous young man – I've got to get out of here!

Today, I'm rehashing a conversation I had with Eugene shortly after our arrival:

"We've opened a can of worms," I said. "Did you catch the look on Venner's face when he saw Lai-koa?"

"Actually, I was too busy slicing up my hand to notice, but I'd expect his expression betrayed certain carnal thoughts."

"More than that," I said. "He was practically salivating over her jewelry. That man has plunder on his mind."

"All the more reason for us to seek a government charter to manage this island properly," Eugene said.

Lai-koa is ever in my thoughts. Why is that, do you suppose? Anybody who can't figure it out is truly a cold-blooded slug.

And then, as if she's stepped out of my daydreams, there is Lai-koa herself! She's advancing toward me. Heat shimmering off the roof obscures her figure. I adjust my clothing and smooth back my hair.

"Greetings, my lady," I say with a courtly bow as she arrives at my little refuge. "How good of you to visit."

She seems amused at my display of manners. Her face wears a genuine smile, and it brightens the shade under my canopy. She says something which sounds friendly and welcoming. I bask within it.

Lai-koa produces a pencil and notebook which I recognize as belonging to Loren. She begins to sketch. The motions of her hand over the paper are hypnotic. Her sensual power is astonishing, her smile subtle and playful. I no longer notice the granite-faced guard standing behind her.

She shows me her work – it's a sketch of myself, surprisingly accurate, with a beaming smile on my face. I haven't smiled like that for quite a while.

"This is excellent!"

She draws a second figure standing beside me – a woman, holding my hand. I don't suppose she's ever seen a female of my race, but the depiction is accurate. The girl on the paper is very attractive, but I'm disappointed she's not Lai-koa.

Then she produces a silken purse. She withdraws a large, dazzling emerald from it and dangles it on a gold chain. My eyes practically pop out of my head. That jewel must be worth a fortune!

Using the emerald and picture, along with various gestures and utterances, Lai-koa tells a story. Translation:

Someday, when you have found your special lady, give her this token of your love. It will gladden her heart forever.

She drops the emerald into the purse and hands it to me. She is positively glowing. My mind sweeps away as I fall into her radiance.

Then the light vanishes. Lai-koa reverts to the sober, ethereal figure I've seen so often roaming the palace halls. Her face is waxy pale. She turns and walks off with her guard, leaving me floundering in unrequited love.

* * *

Lai-koa stood motionless before her bedroom mirror as her most loyal guard clasped the gem-studded chain around her neck. Such a heavy, grim thing it was, nothing like the joyous pendant she had given Law-ton. That emerald came from a different time and a different life than this adornment.

Lai-koa sighed, and all thoughts of her previous existence blew away. She turned toward her remaining guards.

"You have served me well." She pointed toward a purse full of gold nuggets laying on her bed. "Please divide those among yourselves."

"Thank you, my gracious lady," one of them said.

He and the others wept freely, sorrow twisting their harsh warrior faces.

Lai-koa turned to the remaining guard. "Let us go."

They exited the palace and maneuvered through the crowd gathered in the square before the temple pyramid. People shied away from them.

I was foolish to delay so long. The gods cannot be mocked.

She headed for the cenote at the far end of the square.

## 66.Startling Events

Eugene:

From atop my pyramid, I can view all creation – my people gathered below, my island sprawling in languid beauty, the profound blue sky! At this elevation, my path from foolishness and obscurity to a place of high honor is visible.

Thank heaven there's a cool wind up here; otherwise, my robe would be too hot. The golden fabric wavers amid the breeze, caressing my body. What would Kyle Walton say if he beheld his nephew now?

Sir-hen is performing his introductory rituals. His voice booming from the incense cloud has quite an effect. I bask within the sonorous tones hailing my virtues . . .

It's my turn. The incense has disbursed, leaving the way open for my appearance. The crowd below is hushed and reverent, waiting to hear my pronouncements. I step toward the platform edge. At one time I would have feared such a move, now it enhances my oneness with the universe.

I raise my arms high above my head. I have only two arms, but my strength comes from what I mean to my people. I have a deep, mystical bond with them. We are one. Their love radiates up to me, ascending the once bloodied steps which have been purged of all contamination.

I prepare to give my address. Sir-hen will provide the translation to the multitude at the proper times. Where would I be without Sir-hen, my loyal attendant? Many have helped bring me to this pinnacle, including my dear lost comrades.

"My people!" My voice projects across the sea of upturned faces. The acoustics up here greatly magnify my voice, or perhaps it's my own strength propelling the words. "We are gathered in celebration of our great renewal!"

The echoes of my voice disappear. I wait for Sir-hen to call out the translation, but he is silent. I look toward my acolyte. His mouth gapes open and his eyes bulge. The tattoos blaze. Shock and horror twist his features.

What the hell is going on?

A gleam catches my attention from the edge of the crowd. Lai-koa is emerging from the multitude with her guard, and the sun bounces off her jeweled adornments. For a moment, I am offended by the interruption, then I understand Sir-hen's horror. Lai-koa is headed for the cenote pond!

She walks stately and controlled, her guard following like an evil shadow. More flashes from her jewels assault my eyes.

Sir-hen bellows something. Warriors move toward Lai-koa, but her guard threatens them with his spear. They retreat, though they could have overpowered him had they wished.

Sir-hen raves, but cannot influence the terrible drama. Lai-koa is at the cenote edge, extending her arms. The guard places a heavy stone in her hands. She leaps with it into the water and disappears. Sir-hen's scream nearly shatters my eardrums.

"Ahhhhhhhh!"

He collapses beside me on the platform. The square below is silent death. The guard turns away from the cenote and stares toward our position. A blast of sorrow comes at us. Then he brandishes a dagger and plunges it into his breast. He falls backward into the water.

Sir-hen is on his feet, howling like a banshee. I shrink away from the fearsome spectacle. He withdraws a steel knife from under his raiment. Before I can think to curtail him, he stabs the blade into his heart. Blood spurts over my golden robe.

Sir-hen tumbles from the platform and bounces down the stairs, leaving a bloody trail. Horror freezes me in place. The crowd finds it voice:

Ooooo-Aooooo! Ooooo-Aooooo!

The sound whips around the square like a cyclone. It shrieks up the pyramid stairs ... coming for me! I retreat from the platform, back toward the enclosure. I clap my hands over my ears, but the hellish din continues.

* * *

Miles rushed to the door of his classroom and peered into the square.

"My God! What's happening?"

From his angle, he could not view the cenote, but he witnessed the bloody spectacle of Sir-hen's corpse tumbling down the pyramid.

"Eugene!"

He stepped outside. All but one of his students fled the room to join the chaos. This last pupil, Ja-kui's spy, withdrew a small throwing club from under his clothes. Miles never saw the missile coming.

## 67.Hell Breaks Through

Lawton:

Hell has cracked open and vomits its evil into the world! I watch with paralyzed horror as first Lai-koa, then Sir-hen destroy themselves. Then Miles treacherously struck down. A great, inhuman howl issues from the mob. It attempts to tear away my mind . . .

I must have blacked out . . . I'm lying on my face, close to the roof edge. Another foot and I'd have tumbled to my death. Then I am on my feet, pistol in hand. A guard blocks my path.

"Out of my way!"

I fire a shot past his head. He stumbles back, clutching his ear. The second guard gives way, and I am past them both, clattering down the steps.

Cries thrust up the staircase. On the second level, Lai-koa's guards are gashing themselves and rolling on the floor screaming. Another scenario from Hell.

I'm on the ground floor. Its small, high windows don't allow a view of the mayhem outside, but the noise of it surges through. The aristocrat and his women folk cringe in the hallway. I brush past them. Loren is standing at the main entrance observing the pandemonium in the square.

"Get your weapons!" I shout. "Let's go!"

Loren turns a face pale as death my direction. He waves a trembling hand toward his laboratory room. "I... can't go ... my researches ..."

"Damn your researches!"

I storm into the workroom. A table is loaded with bottles and equipment. Other concoctions occupy shelves along the wall. Crash! I upend the table, spilling wreckage all over the room. With a few sweeps of my arms, I've cleared the shelves.

"Ohhh," Loren moans.

I draw back my fist. "Get your weapons, or I'll smash you!"

Loren slumps like a rag doll, I fear he's about to collapse.

"Move it!"

Loren stumbles toward a closet. I beat him there and wrench the door open on the weapons cache. I seize the rifle and the backpack of ammo. They are heavy and solid in my hands – righteous, sane. I thrust the revolver belt at Loren.

"Put this on, and don't shoot yourself."

He fumbles on the gun belt. I shoulder the ammo pack.

"Where're the other weapons?"

"I-I don't know," Loren says.

"You don't know!"

For a moment, I truly want to slug him, but there's no time for that. No time to search the myriad chambers above and below ground.

"Come on!"

We're out in the square – me leading, Loren skulking behind. The mob swirls like a hurricane, their infernal shriek is unending. I struggle to keep my sanity.

Ooooo-Aooooo! Ooooo-Aooooo!

Everyone seems to be fighting everyone else. Miles' body is tossed about and abused. I avert my eyes from the sacrilege.

The mob has not noticed us, yet. We must hug the palace wall, round the corner, and dash for the wooded stream. If we get that far, then run until we reach the forest, and –

The pyramid grabs my attention. Eugene must still be up there. A bolt of pure hatred shoots through me.

"Damn you to Hell, Eugene!"

I shake my fist at the obscene structure. If nothing else, the architect of all our sorrows will die today. May that demonic crowd tear him to pieces!

Then a more powerful emotion shoves the rage from my heart. An overwhelming sorrow for my fallen comrades, for myself, Eugene, and every other fool whose good intentions have wrecked the world. A desperate love for all things decent assails me.

I cannot abandon Eugene, or peace will be stranger the rest of my life – however brief that might be. I turn toward Loren. He's regained his mettle, his face is hard and determined.

"To the pyramid!" I shout over the din.

"Lead on."

As we push our way through the insanity, a loud BOOM! shakes the earth. The mob ceases its infernal racket momentarily, baffled by the noise. I know what it is, though. It's the Great Republic exploding to smithereens.

We're on the steep, treacherous stairs mounting the pyramid – the roaring of the mob abates somewhat with distance but still threatens to explode my skull.

Others are around us, weapons in their hands and hatred scourging their faces. We club them aside and send them tumbling back whence they came. Two others ahead of us are just about to reach the summit.

Crack! Crack!

I shoot them both. The thunder of the rifle, the kick of the recoil are heralds from the real world within this nightmare. One of the cascading bodies almost strikes me on its deathward journey. I am forced to look downhill.

The way back is like a sheer wall. I've always feared heights . . . I'm giving way.

Loren grips my arm. "Keep going!"

We're at the top. The view below is infernal – the crazed mob, the howls and killing. Fires rage across the town. I look off toward the ribbon of water with its tree cover, our impossible haven. We enter the enclosure behind the platform.

"Eugene!" our voices echo.

We find him standing in back, still wearing his ungodly robe and crown. He's pressed so tightly against the wall he seems carved into it.

"Game's up," I say. "We've got to leave."

"M-my people ..." Eugene replies in a quavering voice. "I must console them."

"To hell with 'your people!' They're coming to kill you."

"But – "

I slap Eugene hard. He slides down the wall, his crown tumbling away. I seize him by the collar and yank him upright.

"Give me a hand, Loren."

Together, we strip off the golden robe. It's smeared with blood. As I turn to discard the thing, a snarling man with a knife is entering the enclosure. I fling the robe over his face, then add a blow from my rifle butt.

I dash out to the platform. Men are climbing all the stairways, and they don't look friendly. I reenter the enclosure. Eugene is standing on his own. Loren examines his bruised face.

"Is there another way off this dung heap?" I say. "Company's coming."

Eugene points to an area of the floor. One of the blocks offers us purchase. With our combined strength, we pull it up to reveal a narrow passage. We descend into darkness and drag the stone back in place.

## 68.The Unraveling

Ja-kui lay prostrate at the cenote's edge. His tattered beggar's outfit matched his mood of total dejection.

Within the devilish water hole, his true love swirled in the clutches of the rain god, or whatever evil force resided there. He longed to join her in death, as Sir-hen had done.

Why not? Only pain exists in this world.

Violence raged everywhere. The sudden demise of Sir-hen had broken the dam holding back generations of hatred. Chaos reigned over the capital while old scores were settled, old resentments played out.

The security forces melted away, and anyone became fair game. No woman was safe as every vile lust roared across the city. The stench of arson fires polluted the air.

Why didn't I rescue her?

But in his heart, Ja-kui knew it was impossible. Too many barriers blocked the way, and the otherworld held her mind captive. Sir-hen was a fool to attempt winning her love, and Ja-kui shared the same failing.

He peered into the lethal waters, saw his own tragic face gaping at him. Then a man strode into view carrying a rifle and knapsack. Ja-kui turned from the reflection and looked up at him.

"We have scoured the palace and barracks, Great Liberator," the man said. "We have found a supply of alien weapons."

Ja-kui rolled onto his back, then sat up painfully. He buried his face in his hands. He felt old ... worn out. Things were at a crossroads. If he couldn't rally himself, his men would break from him and join the mob – looting, raping, killing. He would likely be their first victim.

Twenty-six fighters gathered about Ja-kui, some brandishing guns and ammo packs. Never had he missed Dan-gri so much. Yet, if he could pull himself together and get through this crushing grief, then . . . He rose to his feet.

"Good work, men. I am proud of you all."

The words nearly caught in his throat, but he managed to get them out with a semblance of his old authority. Ja-kui buckled a gun belt around his waist and seized a rifle. Renewed strength flowed into him from the weapons. He thrust the rifle over his head.

"The day is ours! Freedom!"

_Freedom!_ the men cheered.

They ran off together. The cenote stood abandoned and still. The spirit of Lai-koa pulled no longer at Ja-kui's heart.

## 69.Trek Through Hades

Lawton:

We're descending into the nether regions, though we must still be some distance above the Earth. Absolute darkness assails us. Eugene leads the way as we squeeze down a steep, narrow tunnel.

It's barely wide enough to allow our transit, which is good. Otherwise, we'd be free falling. I point the rifle ahead of me, my trailing arm grips the ammo pack. We drop into a wider, more level passageway.

"Anybody have a light?" The calmness of my voice conceals my rising panic.

"I do," Eugene says.

An evil rumbling issues from above, back up the way we've just slithered. Rocks tumble, throwing a choking dust over us. A stone hits my shoulder.

"Ow!"

Claustrophobic terror reaches for me as I cough and gag. Loren's voice issues from the darkness.

"You alright?"

"Y-yes ... wonderful."

A match flickers, pushing the madness away a bit. Eugene lights a candle, then another. He hands one to Loren.

"Sir-hen gave me these," he says, "for just such an eventuality."

Eugene's voice sounds distant, though he is only a pace or two away. It's the saddest voice I've ever heard. Understandable. He's had quite a journey from god to entombed rat.

My bitterness is seeping through, even in this dreadful situation. Well ... at least it helps keep me from going totally mad. We continue on, me bringing up the rear, as before.

I feel diminished by this pecking order. Even in this hell hole I chaff at the lack of propriety. Didn't I get us this far? Without me, they'd be dead already. Where's my candle? I think to protest, but what good would that do?

Eugene says nothing further, which adds to the suffocating horror, although his far-off, ghostly voice holds no charm. He leads us ever downward. Does he know where he's taking us? Is this a death trip?

We descend a crude stairway. The passage is so narrow my shoulders brush the edges. Death chambers flank us. Spirits of the evil men who ran this murder factory gather about.

God protect us!

Does the Almighty exist in this wicked place? I recite every prayer and scripture passage I can think of to summon His presence. Are my companions doing the same?

We are sidling down the edge of another pyramid – a smaller temple of horror inside the other one. It is the throbbing heart of this death cathedral. And another pyramid is within this one, and another, all the way down to the depths of Hell.

I can only see a short distance ahead by the dancing goblins of candle flames. The air becomes increasingly unbreathable. A foul miasma is seeping through the rubble.

Whoosh! The air ignites in a powerful flash.

The dead walls absorb our screams. We lie heaped together amid the darkness . . .

"We'd better dispense with any flames," Eugene says in his otherworldly voice.

I run my hands over my face. The skin is raw, as if sunburned. White dots bounce before my eyes. I can only hope I'll be able to see again once we reach daylight – if we reach daylight.

We move in total, pitch blackness, groping our way along the walls. Beneath my fingers, I feel the beating heart of this monstrosity.

God, please lead us out of here!

A spectral presence creeps behind me. Its dead exhalations tingle my neck. Why didn't we stay outside and fight? At least we could have died in God's sunshine.

We keep going and going. Each downward step takes an eternity. If we dare halt, the thing coming behind will devour us. I know it!

Then we are on level ground. We smack into a wall, and my heart stops cold. We're trapped! A whimper of cold terror issues from Loren ahead. Or is it me who's starting to break?

"Well ... there's nothing for it but to light a match," Eugene says.

His voice has lost its ethereal tone. It's calm, as if he's at home in these devilish environs. A tiny flame appears. No explosion this time, just dim, putrid light playing along the stones. A dark open area appears at the base – the opening of a tunnel. If I have to enter it, I'll go mad.

"Come on," Eugene says.

My mind blanks out. When it flickers back to awareness, I find myself on all fours creeping through a damp, foul tunnel. Then I am crawling on my belly, shoving the knapsack ahead of me. I can barely move. Absolute terror stabs at me. We are trapped in an unhallowed grave.

"I ... I can't ..." It's Loren's voice, laden with despair.

An unearthly booming echoes through the ground, as if the Devil is pounding his war drum. My heart leaps into my mouth. We are moving again, crawling, crawling . . .

We burst free! I throw myself onto the open ground.

Thank you, God, for our deliverance.

Daylight blinds me, but I can soon behold my comrades sprawled nearby. We are filthy beyond recognition. Any skin showing through is blistery red.

"Everybody all right?" I croak.

"Quite so," Eugene says.

Loren mutters something unintelligible.

We've emerged from a small hillock. A short distance before us is the wooded creek. I crawl to it and roll down the bank into the water. Blessed coolness bathes my skin, rinsing away the muck. My comrades tumble in after me.

I realize I am without my repeater. "Did either of you grab the rifle?"

Loren and Eugene shake their heads.

Bloody fool!

I poke my head over the bank so as to see the narrow tunnel mouth. Nothing on heaven or earth could compel me to enter there again. About 75 meters behind it, the monster pyramid looms.

My nerves are shot, and my eyes are not recovered, but I could swear the pyramid is moving, vibrating, like an animate being – a predatory beast robbed of prey. More booms rumble through the ground.

"Let's get out of here."

# Nine: The Trail

## 70.Triumph and Retreat

The capital lay in ruins, its market district burned to the ground. The more prosperous dwellings were looted, their owners killed or run off. Countless women and young girls had been violated, and many had died – some by their own hands.

But things were under control now. Ja-kui towered above all, master of the city. He viewed the destruction, smelled the charred air, heard the groans of disemboweled rapists. The long-sought victory was his at last, but he felt no sense of triumph.

"Stan-kre!" he called.

"Yes, Great Liberator," replied his chief lieutenant, former guard of Lai-koa.

"Round up such healers as can be found and tend to the injured. See to the women folk."

Stan-kre thumped his right fist over his heart. "As ordered."

"And one other thing."

"Yes, Great Liberator?"

"Put the condemned rapists out of their suffering. I weary of their cries."

Stan-kre trotted off to fulfill his orders.

As the first step of his takeover, Ja-kui had led his troops into the palace for hasty firearms training. When they emerged, they could barely handle the thunder weapons, but at close ranges, their slaughter of the rioters and looters was prodigious.

Stalwart men flocked to Ja-kui's leadership and helped quell the disturbances. Warriors who once answered to Sir-hen now obeyed his commands. Most prized among them were the former guards of Lai-koa who bore mourning wounds upon their bodies as proof of their fealty.

The din of battle echoed in Ja-kui's mind. Conflicting desires raged within his heart – kill / save – destroy / build. His moral compass was knocked askew. He'd become an embittered loose cannon, seeking to find himself through violence. And through it all raged grief for Lai-koa.

_Calm yourself,_ a voice inside his head admonished, _remember the past._

The voice sounded like Nata-Mara's, and Ja-kui could not ignore its reproach. Yes, he remembered the past quite well – his trail of bitter tears, the loss of everyone he loved, his descent into bondage. Yet he'd avenged mightily himself upon his oppressors. It was time to build anew, but the task of destruction must be completed first . . .

"Great Liberator."

Ja-kui turned to another of his lieutenants. "Yes?"

"We have located an escape passage from the Temple Pyramid." The lieutenant held up a rifle. "We found this within."

Ja-kui took the weapon into his hands. His eyes blazed at this powerful addition to his armory.

So, the foreigners have fled. Maybe our paths will cross again soon, my friends.

Lawton:

Eugene's clothes stink of that godawful incense. The horrid smell has followed me all the way from my prison rooftop to this creek bed. At first, Eugene sought to lead our retreat, claiming familiarity with the land, but I soon pushed him to the tail of our procession.

He fits there. Besides, he's no longer in my view, so I have less temptation to put a bullet in him. Of course, he could always shoot me in the back, but on a day like this I really wouldn't mind too much.

Eugene Walton saves the world! He went from playboy gambler to holy visionary, with no gradations between. He was far beyond his depth, so he turned mystical and arrogant.

The results are obvious. This whole island is erupting like a volcano, and God knows how many will die in the disaster. We are hapless men in an unenviable situation – to state things mildly.

When I was a boy, I played in such a creek as this. We'd pretend to be robbers eluding the police, pioneers fleeing enemy tribes. Such adventure! Now we're playing this game for real, and it isn't fun at all. Our rush down the stream is a waking nightmare, on and on, soaked over our knees. Leaches clinging to us. Real enemies lurk all around – any moment they might be upon us.

At last, we stagger out of the creek and enter a forested area. I call a brief halt.

"You take the watch, Loren. I've got to rest a few minutes."

I sprawl upon my back and close my eyes. God, if I could only open them again on a whole different world! I instantly doze off . . .

Soon, I am fluttering back to wakefulness. Eugene is sitting nearby.

"Can you forgive me, Lawton?" he says.

I catch a glance at his morose face and shut my eyes again. Eugene's in a contrite mood, and no one is more insufferable than a reformed strumpet.

"If I had a mirror, I'd slash my throat in front of it," he says, "just for the moment of pleasure it would give me."

I've a mind to suggest he return to the stream and use his watery reflection for the purpose. What he says next really gets my goat.

"Why, with all my hopes and good intentions has this situation become so out of hand?"

"Oh, come off it!" I practically shout.

Break time is over. I lead us into the woods, headed for Deliverance Bay.

## 71.Perils on the Trail

We're camping out tonight, and I'm damned hungry!

Eugene and Dr. Loren sprawl in the underbrush, asleep. I have first watch and am counting the minutes before I can enjoy my own period of oblivion. Blazing moonlight assaults the world, poking into our little clearing.

Under normal circumstances, we could have reached Deliverance Bay in a single long trek, but we've had to deviate from the trail, hide for long periods of time and skirt all settlements. We passed near the village headman's compound where we spent our first night on this cursed island. The place was in flames.

Fire and mayhem were all about. We heard the sounds of fighting, stumbled across mangled corpses lying in the forest. Pray God the Alma is near! In my mind, the rough visage of Captain Venner has taken on the aspect of a divine savior.

Our plan – or rather my plan – is to set up a hiding place on Deliverance Bay until Alma arrives. If we can secure a boat to take us out to the island, all the better. Otherwise, we can swim for it. Pray God there are no man-eating creatures lurking about the depths.

I'm so exhausted my senses seem to be playing tricks. Small nocturnal creatures slink about the underbrush, and night birds flutter through the trees. Each rustle seems to herald the approach of some hellish fiend, but I know this to be nonsense conjured up by my overwrought mind.

At least I'm able to consider the idea I might be going crazy. Perhaps that's an indication of lingering saneness. I can hardly keep my eyes open . . .

A sharp Snap! jerks me fully awake. What the hell is that?

My companions stir in their sleep, so I know I'm not just hearing things. I grip my revolver in a hand moist with sweat. My eyes scan the moonlit forest.

Snap!

A heavy presence is trampling the underbrush. I grip Loren's shoulder and jar him awake.

"Something's out there!"

Loren is on his feet, gun at the ready. Eugene joins us.

"Can you see anything?" Loren whispers.

I shake my head. The three of us form a triangle, back to back. Our gun barrels present a lethal welcome. I hold a grenado in my free hand.

The crunching is coming from different directions now.

"Should we run for it?" Loren says.

"No!" I say. "Whatever's coming must know the area better than us."

So, what's out there – bandits, Ja-kui's men, wild beasts? What emerges from the trees is so horrible we nearly collapse from fright. I bump against my companions. We brace each other up like rifles stacked in a cone.

"Good God!"

Something is advancing slowly toward us. It seems to be a man, but only in outward form . . . it's more like a wraith enclosed in putrefaction. The eyes blaze red, its arms slither about like enraged serpents. An unbearable stench of corruption attends it. I find my voice at last.

"Avoid shooting, if possible."

We draw tightly together. More creatures emerge from the trees. They circle us cautiously, as if aware of our firearms' power. Seven pairs of unspeakable eyes fasten upon us, boring into my soul. The effect is hypnotic. I avert my gaze.

"Ho-toi," Eugene whispers, "the walking dead."

"They're living men, alright," Loren says. "Their minds were destroyed by psychotropic toxins."

"Yes," I agree hastily, "whatever that means."

"I was researching such drugs, until my lab got destroyed," Loren says.

There's a note of reproach in his voice. Damn him! Would he rather be back in his lab pinioned to the wall?

"What should we do?" I say.

"Stay calm," Loren says, "don't move. Maybe they'll bugger off."

I'm trembling so much I can hardly obey the 'don't move' dictate. An unearthly howl issues from the things. My heart nearly stops dead.

Wahoooo! O-uoo!

They rush us en masse. I'm paralyzed, my gun weighs useless in my grasp.

Move dammit!

A clawed hand reaches for my throat, a howling face looms behind it, eyes bulging with hate. I can't look away.

Blam!

Eugene fires pointblank. The blast recoils off my skull. The unholy visage before me disappears in a bloody spray. Then we are all shooting . . .

I'm standing amid a pile of corpses. The stench is horrific, as if every graveyard in the world has ripped open. Eugene is talking, but I can't hear him through the ringing in my ears. All the monsters are destroyed, but we've alerted the whole island of our position.

"Let's go," I say.

* * *

It's hours later. I don't know where we are. We ran like madmen through the woods, down a stream, through the forest again, down another creek. We are soaked and chilled in the night air. At last we come to an exhausted halt in a clearing.

I throw myself down. An ox is treading on my spine, my head pounds. The moon has declined in the heavens, and it's much darker now. What I wouldn't give for dry clothes!

"I'll take the first watch," Eugene says.

Dr. Loren sprawls on the ground beside me. "I'm too tired to sleep."

My various miseries keep sweet repose at bay. I lie on my back, eyes shut, awaiting the sleep that will not come. Many minutes pass.

Eugene knows I'm awake, however much I try to convey otherwise. He wishes to talk, but I do not share the desire. Until today, I'd not spoken to him in weeks and want to keep the silent streak going. Eugene ignores my indifference. His voice penetrates my unwilling ears.

"It was like my dream."

I don't reply.

"The dream I had on the Alma," Eugene continues, "and the vision I saw in the flames."

I still do not reply, but Loren shifts position attentively.

"What about it?" he says.

A long pause.

"I know you fellows must hate me for the way I've botched things," Eugene says, "but I've wanted to tell this story for a long time."

Then why don't you bloody well talk to the man in the moon!

I'm angry, though I must admit my curiosity has been aroused. Eugene begins his tale.

"An incident which occurred some years ago seems to be the catalyst for both of my visions . . ."

## 72.Nocturnal Confrontation

"I was back home after getting kicked out of some university," Eugene says, "waiting for my enrollment at another to be finalized.

"During this interim, I came across my Cousin Ellery. He'd just completed his studies at the local agricultural college and was preparing a return to Dun Hollow to take up his 'crown prince' role, as he called it.

"'Let's go out for a good time, before you leave,' I suggested.

"He was my cousin, yet I hardly knew him. Uncle Edward moved East before we were born, and when Ellery came back for his studies, I was off on my own illustrious college career.

"The night was a blur of drinking, gaming, and bravado. It started out to be fun, but as things wore on, I came to realize Ellery Walton was not a man I cared to associate with.

"His crass and violent actions characterized somebody who could not be deemed a gentleman – his lascivious behavior toward the player girls, the altercations he provoked, his harsh and braying laughter. It was a jarring contrast to the congenial socializing you and I have enjoyed over the years."

A twinge of nostalgia creeps over me. I push it aside, with only partial success. Eugene's voice drones on through the dark.

"Now that I've seen the horrors at Dun Hollow, I know Ellery would have been an ideal crown prince. He had the requisite cruelty, but without Uncle Edward's sophisticated exterior. Then again, I never saw Uncle Edward drunk. Who knows what deviltry resided in his soul, just waiting for alcohol to free it?

"Come the early hours, I took us back in my carriage. I was too inebriated to drive and should have handed the reins to Ellery who seemed better able to function. But the thought of being under his control, even for a carriage ride, was unbearable. I'd determined this would be the last time I'd ever be in his company.

"On a particularly dreary stretch of road, some animal appeared in the headlamps – an opossum, maybe. In my state of semi-stupefaction, all I could make out was a big, rat-like creature with a ghostly face.

"'Pull over,' Ellery said.

"I did so, not without some relief, as I was starting to see double. Ellery jumped down and strode to the animal. It remained where it was, giving off the most dreadful chatters and hisses.

"'Careful there, Ellery!' I called. 'That thing might be rabid.'

"He answered me with a harsh laugh and continued his advance on the creature which was now warning him off with fierce, high-pitched screeches.

"He aimed a kick at it. The creature bit, seizing a mouthful of trouser leg.

"'Lego, godammit!' Ellery howled.

"He danced about in headlamp beams, shaking his leg fiercely to dislodge the creature. The effect was horrid and comical at the same time.

"Then my perceptions took a mystical turn. The animal was no longer an independent being, but something conjured up from inside Ellery. It was like a piece of his soul come out to affront the world.

"As Ellery gyrated about, an atmosphere of evil pressed in. Dark forces lurked behind the trees which flanked the road. I could almost see them, but things turned blurry. When something like normal vision returned, Ellery was climbing into the carriage. He rolled up his torn trouser leg and struck a match.

"'Not a mark on me!' he said.

"A burst of fiendish laughter came out of him. Rationality departed from the situation. As we drove on, I saw the crushed body of the animal lying in a splatter of blood."

"I've tried to forget that incident, but it's been motivating me over the years. The awareness of evil ever lurking in the background has impelled me to seek a better path through life. I thought I'd found it on this island . . .

"I've seen the evil things skulking in the wood – first in my dream and later, much more graphically, in the brazier flames."

Loren hoists himself onto an elbow. "What were they?"

I sense, rather than see, a melancholy little smile on Eugene's face.

"They were like the ho-toi," he says. "Created from the evil in men's hearts. People blame supernatural force out there, but it's really just an echo chamber of their own wickedness."

He finishes on a note of self-pity.

"Ah! What I intended as a noble contribution to mankind has become another cancer in an already diseased world."

Silence returns to our encampment. I feel a certain pity for Eugene, but thoughts of my own perilous situation cancel this out. I twist the knife.

"Best you face up to the real world, Eugene, and forget all this dream nonsense."

I roll over and am quickly asleep. The bedtime story worked.

## 73.Purging the Land

Ja-kui stood alone on the beautiful hill beside the final resting place of Sir-hen, a short distance from the three foreigners' graves.

Farewell, Brother. It was regrettable we could not be friends.

In his heart, Ja-kui knew this was impossible. Any offspring of E-zui were bound to be like vipers, intent on destroying each other.

At least you did not die at my hand.

To end one's life for a lost love, how poetic! Ja-kui would have a storyteller compose a tribute to Sir-hen's extravagance – after more important things were settled.

Now that the capital was under control, it was time to head south and destroy the bandit gangs infesting the region. Then finish off the nobility and what remained of the priests. All these men needed to be swept away before rebuilding could start.

So much to be done.

The island must be readied for war. Captain Venner would soon return leading the first invasion. Ja-kui knew well the piggishness of these foreigners. They would steal everything they could – gold, jewels, women, labor. They'd suck out the marrow from the people's bones.

The old, corrupt society could have never stood up to a foreign attack. Look how easily they'd succumbed to 'Ungh-Ka' and his cronies. And the intentions of that bunch were fairly benign. How would Captain Venner and his ilk behave?

The people needed a leader with first-hand knowledge of the outside, a man who could be as ruthless as the aliens. Only strength counted for that enemy, and Ja-kui meant to build it.

A higher power must be responsible for my return. I truly have a divine mandate. Ja-kui snorted with disdain at his own conceit. Keep thinking like that, boy, and you'll be the next false god running for your life.

He departed Si-hen's grave and paused at those of the foreigners. Such brave men, all. He rather missed them, even the insufferable Mr. Miles.

## 74.Voice from the Past

Eugene:

Our third night on the trail. It took us all yesterday to get back on course. Today we spent dodging armed gangs while circumventing farmsteads and villages. Fortunately, I have some knowledge of the area from the peace tour with Sir-hen.

Hard to believe only a few days have passed since the demise of that strange and formidable man. My stomach can believe it, though. Since our departure, we have eaten only berries and other wild plants approved by Loren.

"Weed salad" makes an unsatisfying luncheon, but it does keep our strength up. We've passed tantalizingly near cultivated fields but have lacked the nerve to filch any crops. I have never felt so naked nor exposed – like a babe lifted from the bath.

This is a not inaccurate analogy. My slithering departure from the temple pyramid was a great cleansing, of sorts. I was scrubbed down from a god to a vulnerable human being on the run. I'd imagine few men have endured such demotion.

Thank God Lawton came to my rescue. I know he hates me and don't blame him for it, but if I could just talk to him a few minutes. How can I say that I admire and respect him above all others? I've been such an idiot!

I have almost nothing by way of personal possessions, except for a modest bag of gold coins I kept about my person and the letter from Uncle Edward:

Open one year after the first communication

I've kept this missive in my waistcoat pocket, close to my heart, like some holy talisman. Maybe that's an appropriate metaphor. In a sort of mystical way, I've considered myself the redeemer of Edward Walton's soul – the one who turned his sins into good works.

Well, it's not been a year since the first letter, but as my survival for even another day is in dispute, it does not seem unreasonable to read the thing. With a flick of my finger, I break the envelope seal. With another flick, the lone sheet of ivory parchment is in my hands. Fading sunshine illuminates the contents.

First thing to catch my eye is the penmanship. Uncle Edward's already jagged hand looks psychotic now, as if he was in the throes of a mental breakdown. The letter is dated two days before his death.

Eugene!

Why do you still walk the earth while all whom I cared for lie buried within it? Why was I such a fool to designate you my heir?

I've a mind to tear up my will and testament immediately, but what would be the point? I sense I am not long for this world, and my wealth will devolve to one jackal or other. It may as well be you.

I only wish I were around to see the botch you will make of things – unworthy young man!

Your Uncle,

Edward J. Walton

I sigh. The letter's venom accents our woeful circumstances perfectly, and the final sentence has the ring of truth.

So, my inheritance was a poison pill meant to bring disaster upon the son of Edward's scolding brother. I tear the letter into bits and bury them in a shallow grave scooped from the muck.

"Farewell, Uncle, and screw you, too!"

"What's that?" Loren asks.

"Oh, nothing. Just getting rid of some trash."

I recall a remark my father once made: "Edward Walton is a man who enjoys watching others fail."

I was very young and didn't understand, but now I do.

## 75.Other Voices from the Past

They catch us unawares, just as we're settling in for sleep. Loren has the watch.

"Over there!" he cries.

He fires two shots.

Blam!

An answering bullet strikes him in the chest. He tumbles over.

"Loren!"

Men jump on me, pinning me down. A blow silences me.

When I return to consciousness, the world is radically altered. Our little clearing is full of armed natives, some with guns. Subdued light from candle lanterns illuminate the scene.

Loren is on his back, clearly dead, hands folded over his chest as if he's lying in state. Lawton sits propped against a tree, hatred blazing from his eyes. And standing above it all, somebody we know.

"Jake!"

He steps towards me and stares down into my face. He's an emotional blank, anything might come slashing out of him.

"You look poorly, Mr. Eugene," he says. "Our island not agree with you?"

"Bloody ingrate!" Lawton says. "Without him you'd still be in chains! Everything you've got it due to him."

Jake turns toward Lawton.

"You wrong. Everything he has due to me."

"How do you figure that?"

"Had I not kill worthless uncle, Mr. Eugene still play cards in whorehouse."

Lawton seethes with rage. Only the spears aimed at his chest restrain him from leaping out.

"Just you and me, Jake," he says. "Man to man – let everyone see what you're made of."

A mocking grin spreads over Jake's face. "Such bravery! Fear not, Mr. Lawton, I wish no harm."

"And what of Dr. Loren? What harm has he ever done you?"

"He should not shoot!" Jake stabs a finger towards Lawton. "When will foreigners learn – things happen here to our desire, not yours."

He tosses a revolver on the ground.

"Be on your way. Save last bullets for yourselves. Those you next meet may not be so ... charitable as I." He offers me a stiff bow. "We even now, Mr. Eugene. Life for life."

Then they're gone, as quickly as they appeared, taking our weapons and ammo supply with them. I look toward the piteous figure of Loren Michele sprawled in the underbrush.

"Look was they did! Loren only ever wanted to help them."

We should flee, as we did the last time gunfire betrayed our position, but the starch has gone out of us. We sit numbly, struggling with our grief and staring into the semi-dark. The moon is on the wane but still throws a fair amount of light.

I mention the ceremonial positioning of Loren's body.

"Jake did that," Lawton says. "The bastard seemed to regret killing him."

We hear men advancing along the trail. Compared to the stealthy movements of Jake's crew, they are like a caravan of pack mules. Words spoken in our language drift on the night air. This can mean only one thing.

"Over here!" I call. "Eugene Walton and Lawton Elder."

The men pause. Then a voice I recognize as Captain Venner's speaks.

"You all right, Mr. Walton?"

"Yes, but Mr. Michele is slain."

Captain Venner emerges from the dark. My joy quickly dissipates at the sight of the large, brutal-looking man with him. Numerous armed louts accompany the pair. I instantly grasp the situation.

They are on a treasure raid. This makes us inconvenient witnesses.

Venner holds up a candle lantern and glances about our clearing. I do not detect hostility from him – yet. The other man is a void of darkness and ill will.

"We heard gunshots," Venner says. "There's just the two of you now?"

"Yes," Lawton says, "we got jumped by Jake and his crew."

"And you drove him off?"

"Hardly. They killed Loren and pushed on."

Venner and the other man consult in low voices. They are close by, but I cannot make out a word. Then Venner speaks directly to us.

"We'll do for your friend. This clearing seems a good grave site, if you've no objection."

Lawton and I nod approval. Men appear with shovels and begin digging up the ground. I was right, they are equipped for a treasure hunt. We repair to the trail with Captain Venner. A large group of men waits in the gloom, all armed to the teeth.

"Tell me what happened," Venner says in a low voice.

I offer a nuanced version. "The local ruler's been killed. There's fighting in the capital – we were driven out. The others died."

"Jake's behind this?"

"I don't know who's behind what," I say, "it was total chaos back there. Jake's the one who found us, though."

"Mmm." Venner strokes his chin. "Where is the capital?"

"North of here, along this trail," Lawton says, "less than a day's march. If you've a mind to fight those bloody savages, I'll take you there."

I seize Lawton's arm. "If you'll excuse us a moment, Captain, I'd like a private word with my friend."

"Go ahead," Venner says.

I draw Lawton aside. "Haven't we done enough harm already?"

"Not as much as I'm bound to do now. Don't you want vengeance for Loren and Miles?"

"How would that help?" I say.

"It would help me a great deal!"

I shake my head.

"Can't you can see what manner of men these are? The last thing they want is a witness, or someone they think will demand a share of the spoils. If you go with them, you just might have an 'accident.'"

"We'll see who has accidents!"

His mind is made up, but I've got a final card to play.

"I should have listened to you before, Lawton. If I had, we wouldn't be in this mess. Don't make the mistake I did."

This finally gets through. He relaxes a bit in my grasp.

"I'm talking sense ... for a change," I say. "You know I am."

Lawton lowers his head. "All right."

We return to Captain Venner.

"My friend and I are in no condition for further exertions," I say. "If we could return to the Alma now, we'd be much obliged."

"What of this Jake bloke?" Venner asks. "He might still be kicking about."

"If he wanted to kill us, he would have done so already," I say. "Unless I'm mistaken, the bay is only a moderate distance down this trail, right?"

"Aye."

Venner ponders for several moments. His companion glowers at us – were it up to him, we'd be jackal bait, I suspect.

"Very well," Venner says. "I'll call for a volunteer to see you back."

He approaches the group of men waiting in the darkness.

"Anyone interested in escorting these gentlemen to the ship? It will mean forfeiting your major share, though."

"Aye, Captain!" a voice replies.

A young man walks up and tips his cap.

"Able Seaman Newberry at your service, gentlemen."

Later that night, after we have paid respects to our slain comrade, Lawton and I head south with our escort toward Liberation Bay.

"I'm so pleased you gentlemen is well and able to offer me this opportunity of escape," Newberry says. "There's devil's work brewing with that crowd, and I was a fool to join them."

## 76.Disaster Approaches

Ja-kui brooded upon his pinnacle of leadership. He was completely alone, despite his men assembling about him as they prepared for the foe marching their direction.

His best troops were here, along with all the guns and bombs they'd captured – plus spears, clubs, and stone-tipped arrows. A rather piteous force, if the truth were told.

We'll need a miracle to prevail, and what god will send us one?

The approaching enemy force had 48 men, heavily armed with thunder weapons and steel swords. They far out-gunned Ja-kui's army. His spies had gotten a good look at them. The foreign devils were coarse, hard-bitten men with nothing to lose but their lives. And leading them was the hated Captain Venner.

How would Ja-kui's men react when facing the anger of massed firearms – would they panic and flee, leaving the way open to the capital? Would the slaughter and destruction of recent days be repeated on a far greater scale?

Stan-kre approached. "Everything is in readiness, Great Liberator. The men await your inspection."

"Very well, lead on."

Ja-kui followed his chief lieutenant out to examine the dispositions of his troops. As he watched the broad, powerful figure of Stan-kre striding before him, his spirits began to lift somewhat. For the moment, he was able to quell his doubts.

We still have one advantage ... surprise. With that and a nudge from some benevolent god, we might prevail.

Bad luck had to turn sooner or later, and the events of last night had been the worst kind of misfortune. Ja-kui had thought they were closing in on a bandit lair, not the foreigners' encampment. If he'd known who they were, he could have called out, approached peacefully.

Why did the healer have to die – why didn't that Mr. Lawton hothead stop the bullet? His death would be no great loss. Ja-kui had wanted the healer to remain and continue his researches. He'd have provided Dr. Loren with all manner of luxury, his pick of beautiful maidens, anything. For the people of this island had to change or die. They needed to get stronger, better armed, better educated.

Above all, they needed a religious faith to replace the monstrous rites which had corrupted them for so long, which they had come to crave like a poisonous drug. The old religion was a dance of death leading to obliteration. Nata-Mara had seen this, and Ja-kui also understood it now.

Perhaps a toned-down version of the faith preached by Mr. Miles would do. Dr. Loren might have served as a religious teacher, as well as a healer. He might have taught the people to speak the power language of the foreigners. He might have . . .

The words of Mr. Eugene played through Ja-kui's mind: "Let's be careful. Shouldn't want to become what we hate, now, would we?"

Ja-kui had never been a man of words, but he felt compelled to address his men now. He waved them forward from their positions and bade them gather round.

He began to speak, yet it didn't seem to be himself talking. It was as if somebody from a distant time was communicating through him.

"My dear brothers and comrades! Soon a powerful enemy with approach along that trail. Cruel death stalks beside him.

"Should we prove unable to stop him, everything we have will be stripped away from us – our homes, our freedom, our loved ones. The farms we fought so hard to win will once again be places of anguish and slavery . . ."

The men listened in rapt attention. Their faces turned hard and determined, fear left their minds. When Ja-kui finished speaking, they bowed reverently, hands over their hearts.

Who will write the history of this day?

* * *

Captain Venner glanced back along the trail at the column of raiders following him. Most were Bennett's men, not the sort you were comfortable turning your back on. A small buffer of Alma crew marched between him and the more sinister host.

"Tipton!" he called.

"Aye, sir."

"Stay close."

Tipton drew alongside his captain. They exchanged a meaningful look, both pondering similar thoughts. They were the only two capable of piloting the Alma away from this island. Should they be lost, everyone else would be, too. Bennett would have no line of retreat if he engineered treachery against them. So, as long as captain and first mate remained loyal to each other, they had the upper hand.

Unfortunately, Bennett's services could not be dispensed with. Few of the Alma's crew were real fighting men. Hadn't Newberry gotten cold feet already – how many others might follow?

Bennett knew how to command killers. Hopefully, many of them would die in the campaign ahead. Maybe Bennett himself would buy the farm, but that would be expecting a lot. A man like him didn't survive so long without being uncommonly tough and lucky.

* * *

Thompson Bennett marched farther back in the column, a dark presence punching a hole in the daylight. All about him was cold and lifeless, especially the thoughts in his vicious mind.

Why'd we spare them two lily livers back there?

It wasn't worth the risk keeping them alive. What if Walton got a mind to shoot off his mouth – let his big wheel connections know what went on here? Well, it would be a long voyage, and all sorts of accidents could happen along the way.

Up ahead, Captain Venner signaled a rest break. Bennett grunted approval. It had been a hard march, and he wasn't so young nor fit a man as he once was. He made himself a spot in the underbrush and stretched out his legs.

BOOM!

Grenado bombs exploded among them. Gunfire. The screams of wounded men. A shower of arrows, howls of enemies emerging from the depths of Hell . . .

## 77.To the Alma

Eugene Walton:

We trudge toward the coast and Deliverance Bay. Our progress is slow in the semi-dark.

I've never noticed before how alien this place is. Every smell and insect whir is different from back home. The air feels strange on my skin, the moon looks inverted. I once believed myself at home here, but now I'm an outcast.

Newberry leads our procession with the point of his rifle bayonet. Lawton and I bring up the rear with the pistol and its measly six bullets. It's the same one Lawton has carried since our escape, a pocket revolver sporting ivory handle grips. I recognize the gun as having once belonged to Miles.

So, how did Lawton end up with it? I reckon Miles must have slipped it to him during his confinement at the palace. What a knuckle-headed fool I was to lock him up like that! Well ... hindsight is always perfect, and the decision to jail Lawton was the nadir of imperfection.

Maybe it's just my exhausted brain, but I seem to detect the presence of others lurking in the forest alongside the trail. Then my companions hear it, too.

"Get down!" Lawton whispers.

We dive to the underbrush. Newberry pokes his rifle out of our little redoubt, presenting a sharp welcome for anyone who might intrude. Lawton has the revolver. I grasp a rock for a weapon. A slimy little creature moves across my hand from it. I almost cry out.

There! Somebody steps onto the trail – more than one, they're toting weapons. Newberry tenses beside me. Lawton eases back the pistol hammer. The slimy creature drops off my hand with a muffled plop! and glides away.

Voices in the native dialect... figures creeping our direction. What I wouldn't give for my revolvers! Then other figures exit the woods, and a battle erupts between the two groups.

"Damn!" Lawton says. "Who's who?"

We never find out. The fight ends quickly as one group tears down the trail pursued by the other. Two inert forms remain behind on the ground. Uneasy quiet returns to our world.

"If it's all the same with you two," Newberry says, "I suggest we wait here until daylight."

Nobody disagrees. We settle in and grab what sleep we are able. During my watch, some hyena-type animals appear to feast on the two corpses. I could have done without seeing that.

* * *

We're on our way early. Thank God, the bodies are gone, so I won't have to see their mangled visages, though the bloody smears on the trail are not pleasant to behold. I don't fancy myself departing like that, dragged off by wild animals.

Our spirits are on the uptick with every step toward our destination. Newberry becomes talkative.

"Seems you gentlemen have had a rough time of it," he observes at one point.

"I daresay that's true," I reply, "but I think it's in nobody's interest to discuss these matters among ourselves."

"I quite understand, sir. Suffice it to say, this will be my last time shipping with the Alma. Too much devilment going on with that bunch."

"You're a good man, Newberry. I hope we shall be friends on the voyage, and perhaps I can assist you in finding new employment when we get home."

Newberry tips his cap. "Thank you kindly."

"Best we not speak of this again until the solid ground of home is under our feet."

"Yes, sir."

We are in sore need of friends. If Newberry can aid our safe voyage back, I shall reward him handsomely. Gunfire and explosions sound in the distance, back from whence we came.

"Sounds like the welcoming committee is out," Lawton says.

# Ten: Alma Refuge

## 78.Back Onboard

Lawton:

We arrive at Deliverance Bay early afternoon.

A breeze carrying the fragrance of salt water cools our sweaty faces. The Alma rests at anchor near the islet, as it did when we last saw her. For months, I have dreamed of this moment, yearned and prayed for it. Now that it's here, I am curiously empty.

Why is that? Because the excitement and danger are over? Maybe they're just beginning. And consider the price of this round trip – four dear comrades lost.

"There she is, gentlemen," Newberry says, "all prim and proper waiting for you."

He signals to the Alma, and one of the ship's boats lowers away and begins rowing toward us.

"A lot's happened ..." Eugene says.

I should say a lot's happened! I'm not the same man who first stood upon this beach. A whole lifetime has been wrung through the past few months.

The men in the boat are quiet and sullen when they arrive, clearly not overjoyed to see us. They exchange glances among themselves and with Newberry, but no one says a thing. Whatever scuttlebutt gets told will be out of our earshot.

"Nice to see you men," Eugene says, but gets no reply.

Our journey across the bay proceeds in silence. Even the extraordinary beauty of this place cannot fully lift the melancholy, but I must admit to a certain relief that I'm no longer standing on that cursed island.

The second mate hails us when we board the ship, a man named Gelston.

"Is that the lot of you?"

He's a large, rough-looking fellow, in the mold of Venner and Tipton, though without their intelligence.

"That it is," I say. "Glad to be back."

"Mmm."

Gelston returns to his duties without further discussion.

"That was brief and to the point," Eugene comments.

We settle into the Alma. We'll be sharing the cabin Eugene occupied on the original voyage. It's cramped accommodation, but neither of us considers alternatives. For all the time we travel upon this ship, we must stick together, along with our pistol.

Eugene unlocks his sea trunk and withdraws a little purse of gold coin.

"Well, I'm pleased to see this is still here," he says. "Jon Venner isn't quite the thief I'd feared. He's an honorable sort, after his fashion."

"Best keep that about your person," I say. "No telling what sort of larceny will take place here now."

"Quite so."

Eugene withdraws a larger money bag from under his jacket and adds the coins to it.

"We are not entirely without means," he says. "Perhaps this will come in handy."

Some minutes later, Newberry pokes in his head.

"Are you gentlemen comfortable? Can I get you anything?"

"We're well, thank you," Eugene says, "please come in."

Newberry enters and pushes the door partially closed. The place is quite crowded now. Eugene offers him two of the coins.

"Please accept these, for your services."

Newberry's face brightens with astonishment. "W-why, I was just doing my duty, sir."

"Nonsense, you've earned it."

Newberry glances behind him and pushes the door further closed. He speaks in a subdued voice.

"If it's all the same, sir, I don't think it'd be wise for me to possess such things among this lot. Might not be healthy, if you catch my meaning."

"I quite understand." Eugene returns the coins to his purse. "Expect to receive them after we gain port."

"Yes, sir – thank you, sir."

Newberry makes a rather fumbling exit. I daresay the lad's never rubbed two coins like those together. It pays to be generous to one's friends.

After we've cleaned ourselves up, we take a turn about the deck. The crewmen eye us suspiciously as we walk past. I detect no overt hostility, though. We are objects of curiosity, like men returned from the grave. The midday meal is coming soon, and I'm ready to eat half the ship, sails and all.

We look down the anchor chain where it disappears into the shallows beside the islet. The water here is an attractive green. On the other side of the ship, it becomes dark blue.

"I wonder how deep the water is out that way?" Eugene says.

"Some crewmen told me it drops off to 70 fathoms."

"I see."

Above, the sky is a burning, cloudless azure. The water is placid, and the island looks inviting in its green repose. No din of conflict assaults our ears. Things are about as agreeable as they are likely to get.

## 79.Spoils of War

Ja-kui strode through the wreckage of battle, lord of all he surveyed. Around him sprawled a scene of triumph far beyond all imagining, laden with booty and enemy corpses.

"Welcome to our island, gentlemen!"

He allowed himself a brief period of gloating, then turned serious. The bulk of the enemy force lay here – most of them dead with their weapons littering the ground. Ja-kui's men gathered up the priceless guns and steel blades, scoured the area for ammunition. Others examined the wounded.

Ja-kui paused above a rough, brutal-looking man whom he did not recognize from the Alma crew.

"What's your name?" Ja-kui demanded in the power language. "Where do you hale?"

The man looked up silently, uncomprehending.

"This one does not speak like the others, Great Liberator," a trooper said.

"So it would seem," Ja-kui said.

He drew his fingers along his throat in the universal gesture.

Whump!

A trooper dispatched the man with a club. Ja-kui moved to a second wounded enemy and prescribed the same treatment. Then he came upon another survivor, this one an Alma crewman – a young man with bloody clothing and fear-stricken eyes.

"What's your name?"

"Able seaman Dow, Mr. Jake... sir."

"Ah, you show proper respect. You are good boy."

Ja-kui turned to his lieutenant. "Have the healers tend to this one."

"Yes, Great Liberator."

Troopers hauled seaman Dow away. He looked back, terrified. Clearly he did not know if he would be killed or tortured. Ja-kui chose not to enlighten him.

Let the young pup worry a little.

A pile-up of corpses ahead caught his eye. It was squirming grotesquely, as if somebody still lived beneath it.

"Remove those bodies," Ja-kui ordered.

Troopers dragged away the untidy dead, revealing a lone survivor pressed into the mud. A broad grin spread across Ja-kui's face. He dropped to his haunches beside the stricken man.

"My old friend, Captain Venner!"

Jon Venner turned his face from the muck toward the voice. Triumphant, glistening eyes bored into him. He shrank from the avenging horror.

## 80.Spite from the Heavens

Lawton:

It's already my watch. In fact, Eugene let me sleep an extra quarter hour before waking me.

"All quiet," Eugene says, "nothing to report."

I shove myself out of the little bunk, he hands me the revolver.

"Starting tomorrow night, let's both stay awake," I say. "We can sleep in shifts during the daytime."

"Good idea."

Eugene strips my bedroll off the bunk, then tosses on his own. The operation takes a couple minutes, but I'm still not fully awake. He climbs aboard.

"Sleep fast," I say.

I exit the cabin under a glorious, starry sky. For a moment, the world is perfect and I forget all my troubles. The deck has an enchanted glow, a beautiful mist hugs the water. Everything is as it appeared a few months back when we rowed the Alma to her mooring. What a fine adventure that was. How young I'd been.

A promenade around the deck would be just the thing – take in the full view – but I'm on sentry duty. I post myself at a vantage point where I can cover the approaches to our cabin. The revolver sets in my hand, ready for instant use.

The peaceful atmosphere doesn't last long. The first hint of trouble starts as a low and ominous rumbling in the distance. Soon it becomes louder and closer.

"That's got quite a temper."

The wind starts kicking up, mussing my hair. The ship's timbers groan. Time to go wake Eugene. I return to the cabin.

He fairly leaps off the bunk at my touch. "Wha . . . who's there!"

"It's Lawton. Nasty weather's coming."

Another rumble underpins my statement. Eugene scrambles off the bunk just as a much louder roar shakes the hull.

"Sounds like we're in for it," he says.

We creep outside to the deck. A magnificent display of lightning is shooting across the sky with an eerie hissing sound.

Crackkkk-ssss! Crackkkk-ssss!

Crewmen hustle among the flashes securing the deck, preparing the pumps, installing electrical conductors.

"I hope the lightning rods are up to snuff," Eugene says. "I don't fancy getting broiled – after all we've been through."

The lightning is closer now, crackling all around us. Thunder roars nonstop like an artillery barrage. A mighty deluge drives us back to our cabin doorway. A fiendish wind roars about the deck, and the ship rocks.

This state of affairs lasts for some time before the rain and wind start to abate. Then:

"Dear God!"

The mainmast is aglow like some otherworldly Christmas tree. We wander out to the deck again. The sight is impossible to resist. Electric fluid is skirting about the ship and down the anchor chain. The Alma is surrounded with a blaze of fire, but is unharmed within.

"Incredible!"

God bless the conductor system. It's pulling the lightning harmlessly away from the ship. The deck is bright as day. Crewmen stand about transfixed, as we are.

The astonishing spectacle fades, and all becomes darkness again. We let out a collective sigh. Then – and I swear this is the truth – a ball of lightning skips across the water at us.

BOOM!

It strikes the bowsprit and blasts it to smithereens. A corresponding white explosion goes off in my brain, knocking me to the planks . . .

When I come back to my senses, Eugene is sprawled on the deck nearby. A moment of panic seizes me, but he looks uninjured and still breathes, thank God. I struggle up on wobbly legs.

"You alright, Eugene?"

"Y-yes ... I think so."

I assist him to his feet. Around us, the night air is torn with the cries of injured crewmen.

"Let us render such aid as we can," Eugene says.

We spend the hours until daylight treating the injured. Fortunately, Loren left behind some medical supplies, and we put them to good effect, along with the training we received from our friend. Just thinking about his gentle kindness makes my heart ache.

A number of crewmen have suffered burns. Others were hit with shards from the ruined bowsprit or from the Miriam figurehead which was likewise obliterated.

"A pity she'll not be guiding us back," Eugene says. "I hope this is not an omen of impending evil."

"Best leave superstition behind on that cursed island."

I almost add the words "Mr. Ungh-Ka," but I bite my tongue.

The fool of a ship's doctor also tends the wounded, but they much prefer our ministrations. Eugene presents a bottle of whiskey from his trunk to the doctor and bids him "take a rest." The fellow retires without argument.

There are, fortunately, no broken limbs nor other serious injuries. In our amateur opinion, the wounded should all recover. At least we've made some friends among them, I hope.

## 81.Return of the Heroes

The ship's carpenter and his men get to work replacing the bowsprit. They'd been carrying spare lumber in the hold, thank heaven.

It's great watching a skilled craftsman at work. The carpenter with his bristling gray beard and rough hands looks the very picture of competence. I've half a mind to pitch in myself.

The atmosphere aboard is upbeat, as is often the case when disaster has been narrowly avoided. The men are still subdued, however, and few beside Newberry will say much.

Eugene and I see to our patients and try to pretend all is well between us. It isn't, though. Too many ghosts stand in our way now, too much unspoken blame.

Come afternoon, matters take a negative turn when the raiding party survivors appear on the shore. Crewmen pause in their work to stare, conversations halt, and the atmosphere cools. My mouth is suddenly dry and evil tasting.

"It would appear our colleagues have experienced some difficulty," Eugene observes.

"Yes, and they've brought slaves with them."

The expedition has clearly come to grief. Through my spyglass, I count only twenty men awaiting transport on the beach, and this number includes two natives. Eugene repairs to our cabin. When I check on him a few minutes later, he's writing furiously on sheets of parchment.

I return to the gunwale to watch the longboats returning from the shore. I cannot make out Captain Venner among the passengers. The dark bulk of Thompson Bennett is easy to discern, however. My gut tightens at the sight of him.

1st mate Tipton occupies the lead boat, and he appears to be unharmed. I'm actually glad to see him, as I doubt anyone else can get this ship back to civilization. The boats are almost up to the Alma now. Prudence dictates a return to our cabin.

Eugene is still writing at the desk, so I take a seat on the bunk. A few minutes later, Tipton storms through our door without bothering to knock.

Eugene looks up. "Good afternoon."

Tipton's eyes blaze with fury. "They jumped us! Caught us unawares. Killed Venner and most of our men."

"Please accept my condolences," Eugene says.

Tipton is enraged. I fear he might launch a physical attack. My hand glides toward the pistol under my jacket.

"They had guns, even grenados," Tipton says. "Where did they get those?"

He's looking for scapegoats, and we are handy. I cannot allow this abuse to continue.

"That should be no surprise," I say, "we went in with plenty of firepower and came out practically disarmed. Those weapons you encountered were stolen from us."

I bring the pocket revolver into view.

"I still have this, however."

Tipton's face hardens.

"Please, Mr. Tipton," Eugene says, "or is it Captain Tipton now? I am truly sorry about your troubles. I regret any unintended part we may have had in them."

Eugene has this oily way of inserting bits of innuendo. By saying "Captain" he reminds the man that misfortune has also brought rewards. The demise of a friend is not always an unwelcome occurrence.

Tipton calms a bit. "Well... it was a near thing. We're damned lucky any made it back."

Eugene transitions smoothly to the next order of business. I am in awe of his confident poise.

"You have brought some native men aboard," he says. "You plan to sell them as slaves when we return?"

"Aye," Tipton snaps, "not that it's any business of yours."

"But it is my business," Eugene says. "I should like to purchase them from you. I'm prepared to offer a good price."

He picks up some papers, revealing a layer of gold coins on the desk. Tipton's eyes widen. Then he glances at my pistol and moderates his expression.

Eugene presents Tipton with a paper.

"I've drawn up two copies of the purchase contract. After the bargain is concluded, you may show your copy to ... your partner, should he desire a share."

"Leave my 'partner' out of this," Tipton says.

"Of course. Please consider my offer, Captain. It's a fair amount, plus it saves you the expense and inconvenience of transporting the natives."

Tipton fixes a suspicious eye on Eugene. "Leave 'em here, you mean?"

Eugene nods.

"Just sign and date both copies in the indicated spaces. I shall also sign, and Mr. Elder will witness it."

I give a little start at the mention of my name. So, I'm to play a role in this masterful performance?

"Once the native men are safely ashore, you shall write 'Paid in Full' and initial both documents," Eugene says. "And I will render payment. Nothing could be simpler."

With another suspicious glance around the cabin, Tipton seizes the pen and signs the documents. Eugene and I follow suit.

* * *

We exit the cabin together and repair to the deck. Eugene carries his notebook and a kerchief wrapped around the gold. Tipton barks some orders. The natives are hustled aboard one of the boats under armed escort. They look toward us, fear and confusion in their eyes.

You're a couple of lucky bastards.

The boat casts off and makes its way toward shore. When it gets there, the natives leap out and run. Soon, they disappear into the forest. The crew turns their craft back toward the Alma and begins rowing.

"Satisfied, Mr. Walton?" Tipton asks.

"Quite so."

Tipton makes the final notations on the contracts, and Eugene hands over the kerchief of gold. I stand by observing – Eugene's sidekick, as usual. Amazing how things have resumed the old pattern.

"I was wondering if we could transact one more item of business," Eugene says.

"What's that?" Tipton says.

"Please come with me."

Eugene leads the way to the opposite side of the ship, by the deep-water. He withdraws the bag of gold from under his jacket and empties the remaining coins into his hands.

Tipton's eyes flash greedily, then fill with astonishment as Eugene flings the coins over the water. They glisten in the sun, then disappear amid little splashes.

"Bloody fool!"

"Am I?" Eugene says. "No one has an incentive to slit my throat now, do they?"

Tipton's mouth works, like that of a fish out of water, but he cannot make a sound.

"I am without resources now," Eugene says. "You may search my person and my baggage to verify that."

Tipton is still unable to reply. He looks like he's been gut shot. Eugene takes control over the lesser man.

"You'll find a signed agreement among Captain Venner's papers committing me to pay him the amount of 3,500 credits for our transport home. I have a copy, also."

He produces two sheets from inside his notebook.

"I've a new contract here, promising the amount of 4,000 credits to you, personally, upon our safe return. After we destroy the old contracts, we can sign these."

Tipton looks dubious.

"You know of my wealth, Captain, and the contract is binding in any court of law. You will be paid as soon as we get back."

Tipton's eyes are narrow slits. "You've got brass, Mr. Walton."

"All I've done is make us more valuable to you alive than dead."

An ominous silence follows. Then Tipton blinks.

"Very well, Mr. Walton, we'll do it your way."

Eugene's victory seems complete, but he twists the knife a bit more.

"You know who my uncle is, don't you, Captain?"

"Aye, that big shot in Parliament."

"He knows full details of our excursion. Should anything happen to me or my friend, rest assured there will be serious consequences."

"Don't threaten me, Mr. Walton."

Eugene holds out his hands.

"I have no wish to threaten. I merely point out certain facts. My uncle has already lost a son. If I'm not available to tell him the actual circumstances, he'll look for somebody else to blame – you most likely."

Volcanic rage seethes below Tipton's surface. Eugene steps the heat down.

"Please be assured, we'll say nothing of your activities on the island, Captain. We know very little, actually, and we have sufficient activities of our own to keep quiet."

Tipton thrusts a finger into Eugene's face. "Aye, and I'll keep you to that, best believe!"

He stalks off toward his cabin.

"The poor chap looks upset," I say.

"Let's hope our understanding lasts until we get home," Eugene says.

I reach into my jacket pocket and withdraw a little silken bag.

"Well... it's time to dispose of my own valuables, it seems."

I pull the magnificent emerald into the daylight.

"My, that must be the Gem of the World!" Eugene says. "Might I touch it a moment?"

"Go ahead."

Eugene strokes his fingers over the sparkling surface. Then, I press the emerald to my lips.

Farewell, my lady.

I fling it over the water. Green radiance fires the day, the golden chain trails behind like a comet tail. A splash. My final connection to the island severs.

## 82.Departure

Eugene:

Repairs to the Alma are soon completed, and enough men to crew the ship recover their vitality. We depart this strange and sinister island at last.

Farewell my youth!

The voyage is a tense affair, laden with anxiety and foul weather. The arrangement with Tipton could unravel any moment. He's a volatile man, lacking the shrewd and calculating nature of Captain Venner. I could do business with Venner, I'm not so sure about the present chief.

Even if Tipton honors his word, there's no telling what Bennett and the dregs of his gang will do. They are the vilest group of cut-throats anyone could wish to meet. They keep to their quarters or to a designated area of deck, but it is impossible to avoid them altogether. Who knows what they're saying in that rough foreign language? There is little love lost between them and the crew.

Lawton and I look only to ourselves for protection. The pistol is never outside our grasp, its bullets are precious jewels. We've added a hunting knife to our arsenal, smuggled to us by Newberry. The captain is not pleased with our display of weapons. He sent Gelston around to fetch them once, but a glower from Lawton dissuaded him from pursuing the issue.

If there's anybody on this ship with "brass," it is certainly Lawton. I'm not at all sure I could have faced Gelston down like that.

When we receive our rations, only one of us eats at a time, taking food from both portions. Then, if this person has not succumbed to poison after an hour, the second man finishes the repast. This is, hopefully, a needless precaution, as the crew maintains the kitchen and we have no reason to suspect treachery from them. Bennett's gang, though... when in their presence, one can almost feel a blade slipping into one's back.

Night time is worst. I grip the revolver like a holy talisman, alert for any sign of approaching enemies. The creaking, groaning ship closes in around me. Unwholesome scents carry on the wind.

The faint wails of ghosts can be heard in that wind. There are plenty of them – Montgomery, Arjay, Miles, Loren – all of whom would be alive were it not for my foolishness.

I try to gain solace from Lawton's testy rejoinder: "We all came of our own free will. You didn't force anyone."

Still . . .

For all my misguided idealism, I truly felt myself to be doing great things on that island, rather than engineering disasters. I resent losing all that. It's human nature to blame others for one's own failings, and I am not immune.

What if Jake hadn't been such a schemer? Why did Lawton provoke me so much? I'm angry at him for speaking truth and for being unable to convince me – all at the same time.

Why was Montgomery so bold and persevering? He'd be alive today if he'd stayed home with his intended. I gave him his manhood back, yet I am angry because he dared assert it.

But I know where the true fault lies. It's reflected to me in the shaving mirror. What must Lawton be thinking? I feel silent condemnation, though he is too gentlemanly to say much outright. All I know for sure is he's the best friend I am ever likely to have.

So, Jake admits killing Uncle Edward. This gives me a peculiar twinge, though I'd suspected the truth for some time.

## 83.Death Pays a Visit

Lawton:

We're three weeks into the voyage. The scuttlebutt is Bennett and his thugs will be getting off soon. Good riddance!

The awful storm that devastated the Alma in Deliverance Bay is following us. In the distance – lightning flashes, threatening skies, downpours. Sometimes it lashes the ship itself. Then we have a day or two of clear sailing before the storm reappears in our wake, like some demon stalking us. Always the same storm.

I am grateful for this, as it keeps the crew busy and the Bennett boys occupied with thoughts other than murder. Bennett is often at the gunwale throwing up, which is a source of amusement.

Eugene is in a deep melancholy. Can't say as I'm joyous these days myself. We scarcely talk. The farther we get into the voyage, the higher the wall between us rises. I've never even thanked him for saving me from the ho-toi. The ear beside which he fired his revolver has only recently stopped ringing.

The last meal of the day arrives.

"So... is it my turn to go first?" Eugene asks, without enthusiasm.

I'm not sure, as the meals all blend together. But the thought of digging into beans and salt pork again is dismal. I can put off the experience for a while.

"Yes," I say.

Eugene sighs and hefts a fork. We must be thinking the same thing. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Montgomery were here with some decent food? Eugene shovels in a mouthful and readies another.

The door bursts open and somebody rushes in. I fling myself back on the cot, brandishing the revolver. It's Newberry.

"Don't touch that!"

He slaps the fork out of Eugene's hand.

"What the hell?"

Newberry glances about the cabin, then back over his shoulder toward the deck. His face is hard and worried.

"There's something about," he says.

Then he departs, as quickly as he came in. Eugene and I stare at each other with alarm. I seize the fork and jam the handle down his throat. He gags up the food he's just swallowed.

"Lay down. I'll look for antidotes."

Eugene gets on the bunk. Soon, he is sweating and moaning, pale as death. I ransack the medical supplies for poison remedies and administer such as I am able.

I stroke the brow and its sweaty red curls. Eugene looks up with feverish eyes. Why didn't I eat first? Wasn't it actually my turn?

"Hang on, friend. I'm here."

If only Loren were here instead!

A hole is ripped in the universe, and I am tumbling through it. Life is unthinkable without Eugene. How can I survive if he isn't around to safeguard me? He's been such a wonderful friend over the years, and I've been a callous ingrate.

The night drags past with agonizing slowness. I stand guard through the hours. My course of action is set, should Eugene die. I will hunt down and shoot Bennett, then kill such others as I can.

Then what? Save the last bullet for myself – leap into the ocean's embrace? God spare us from these things. Absurdly, my thoughts turn toward Jake.

What he's up to on that dreadful island?

## 84.Settling the Score

_What are Mr. Eugene and his friend up to on that dreadful ship?_ Ja-kui wondered.

He knew they'd made it to the Alma, as some of his men had trailed them to the beach. These soldiers had even fought off a bandit gang to protect the foreigners. So, the life debt was truly repaid, and things were in balance. The peculiar Mr. Eugene's fate was in his own hands.

Ja-kui returned his attention to Captain Venner. The captain was seated at a small table working on ship drawings. His injured limb rested upon a stool off to the side.

"How is your leg today?" Ja-kui inquired.

"Still hurts like hell, but it's mending."

Venner had suffered a grievous injury to his leg during the battle. The healers proposed amputating the limb, lest the captain die. But Ja-kui felt the effort to spare it was worth the risk.

Captain Venner had lost a great deal – his ship, his position, dreams of plunder, freedom. These were bitter setbacks, but if he also lost his leg, it would poison his soul forever. He would then be of little use to Ja-kui and his great plans. So, the healers did their utmost, and their efforts succeeded.

Besides, Ja-kui had no wish to torment the captain further. How many men had wreaked as much vengeance upon his enemies as Ja-kui had? He was sick of vengeance. It was time to build, and Venner had a major role to play.

The country needed ships for reaching out to the world, before the world forced its way in again. Captain Venner's shipbuilding experience was a gift from the gods. Soon the first vessel designed by him would be laid down.

I should speak frankly with the captain now.

Ja-kui seized the long hair on the back of Venner's head and tilted the face upwards.

"Hear me, Captain Venner, for I will tell you this only once."

Alarm shot over Venner's face. He nodded as much as possible within the iron grip.

Ja-kui composed himself to speak. He'd practiced the remarks long and hard, studying the books Mr. Eugene left behind, so that his use of the power language would be correct.

"You sought to make me a slave. For that, I would tear your guts out and hang them from the trees, if I did not require your aid. Perform useful service, and I will be a liberal master. You shall have a house, good food, even a wife – perhaps more than one, as there are many widows seeking mates to care for them. There might even be riches in your future.

"But should you harm our women, should you act like Beast Slater, there is no mercy for you. I will, myself, crush your manhood under my heel and rip out your teeth one by one. I will tear an eye from your skull and leave you the other to gaze upon your ruin."

Both of Venner's eyes gaped with fear. All color had drained from his face.

"Is there something you do not understand?" Ja-kui asked.

"No ... sir. You explained yourself quite well."

"Good." Ja-kui released the hair. "Please continue with your work, Captain."

## 85.The Storm Breaks

Thank God, Eugene is improving! By the time the first rays of dawn creep over the ship, his terrible fever and tremors have abated. He is lucid again. I am much the worse for wear, though, having fretted myself into a state of near collapse.

"What's the matter?" Eugene says in a subdued voice. "You look a bit green about the gills."

"I've got a pain in my derrière. He's tormenting me again."

We manage a quiet laugh.

"Glad to know I'm not the only one with problems," Eugene says. "Can't say as I recommend the cuisine on this pleasure cruise."

An iron band around my skull loosens, and not just because Eugene is out of danger. The old camaraderie has returned. All resentment and anger have departed with the rest of the poison.

I am grateful for this. There's nothing like near death to put things in perspective.

"What should we do next," I say, "tell the captain?"

"Maybe he already knows. You don't think he was behind this, do you?"

I lean back in the desk chair and stretch. My whole skeleton snaps into alignment.

"Unlikely, not with 4,000 credits at stake. It was Bennett, all right."

Eugene nods. "I'd agree."

"So, back to the original question. What do we do next?"

We mull the problem over in our exhausted brains. If only I could sleep! I can hardly think straight anymore. Events soon unburden us of the need for thought, however. The early morning is giving way to darkness, and the ship is starting to rock. I poke my head outside the cabin.

The storm which has been haunting our progress for so long is finally catching up. The sky is a dark, roiling black. Lightning bolts flash behind the clouds, and a fierce wind starts to blow across the deck. I reenter the cabin and secure the door.

"Looks like we're in for it," I say. "We need to batten down."

I lurch over to the bunk and secure the restraining ropes around Eugene. Then I wedge into a corner and tie myself down. We're in for one hell of a ride as the Alma starts bucking like a crazed stallion. At least we're not throwing up, since we've eaten nothing . . .

I like to think of myself as brave. When on dry ground facing an enemy I can understand, this might be true. But out here, with the whole world pitching and heaving? I feel unmanned. Eugene is even paler than before. The end approaches. After all we've been through, to go out like this!

We remain in our cabin counting the minutes, the hours, saying nothing. The wind speaks for us, howling like the voice of damnation. The thunder roars, and lightning flashes through every chink.

The storm carries me back to every horror I witnessed on the island. In my mind, I am slithering down the death pyramid again, pursued by ghostly presences. I'm facing the ho-toi, running through the night forest, fighting in the plaza. I see again the crazed, demonic faces of the baby killers coming for me. Montgomery's fall, Arjay's death agonies.

Alma is flung completely out of the water and hovers mid-air like a grotesque bird. The end is upon us!

Then we slam onto the ocean with a resounding Crash! My head slams against the hull, almost knocking me senseless. The ship miraculously stays together. God, if only I had some whiskey.

At last, the storm begins to subside. The violent rocking moderates, and I can once more envision myself surviving the next ten minutes. But, just as we begin to breathe more easily, a panicked shout penetrates our door.

"To starboard!"

Moments later, a massive wave strikes us, nearly inverting our cabin. We hang from the ropes screaming our mortal terror. The ship's timbers shriek toward the breaking point.

Then the rogue wave moves on, and the Alma rights herself. Sanity creeps back into the world.

"Well ... " Eugene says, "that was noteworthy."

## 86.Aftermath

The calm after the storm is brief. Shouts, threats, and all manner of vile language penetrate our door.

"What the hell's going on out there?" Eugene says.

"Nothing good, but I'm damned if I'll stay in here another minute." I pull myself out of my corner refuge and limber up the revolver. "Are you fit to walk?"

"One way to find out, give me hand."

I assist Eugene up. He stands unsteadily, gripping the desk.

"I'll manage, as long as I can hold onto something," he says.

"Hold onto this." I press the hunting knife into his hands. "Watch my back."

We venture onto the deck. Eugene carries the hunting knife concealed up his sleeve, ready for instant use. I grasp the revolver in my jacket pocket. Crewmen are rushing around in high agitation. I buttonhole one.

"What's about?"

"It's Newberry! He's disappeared, gone overboard."

We slip back into our cabin, badly shaken.

"Why does everyone I try to benefit suffer misfortune?" Eugene moans.

"It has to be Bennett's doing," I say. "Why would the only man who helped us be the one who gets pitched overboard?"

"Right, overboard with a knife in his back."

"Dammit!" I make to slug the wall, think better of it. "Let's get back out there."

We creep once more onto the deck, being as inconspicuous as possible. A confrontation between Tipton and Bennett is playing out. The two men are toe to toe. Bennett is the larger, but Tipton is younger and more fit. They look ready to tear each other apart. The full company of Bennett's cutthroats is backing him up. Tipton is supported by armed crew.

"I've nothing to do with the loss of your man," Bennett snarls. "I'll gut anyone who calls me a liar!"

The big knife in his hand adds credence to his words. A pistol in his other hand does likewise. His voice is dull and murderous, as if distilled from the roar of the storm. Tipton's teeth are bared; he's not giving an inch.

"Prepare to intervene," Eugene whispers.

I crouch behind some cover and ready the pistol, though from this distance I've little hope of striking anyone. Then . . .

"Ugghh!" Bennett groans suddenly.

His color turns a greenish hue. He slaps a hand over his mouth and rushes to a gunwale where he projects a load of vomit into the ocean. Then he sinks to his knees, gripping his belly. This breaks the tension. The men disburse amidst a cloud of grumbles, and the blighted voyage continues.

Tipton looks in on us later. His face is grim and angry. He seems dying to throttle somebody.

"You two all right?"

"Quite well, thank you," Eugene replies, "except for a little misunderstanding at dinner last night."

"Misunderstanding?"

"Somebody tried to poison us," I say. "Newberry warned us off. You can figure out what happened."

Tipton strokes his chin. He's clearly not pleased, but I doubt he'll confront Bennett. Can't say as I blame him.

"Just stay here and mind your business," Tipton says. "I'll see to the victuals."

Then he's gone.

* * *

Despite the captain's assurances, we spend the last of our silver and copper coins, and even barter some clothes, to secure a cache of food – hardtack, tins of bully beef and bacon, unopened casks of water and lime juice. Our cabin overflows, and we have to move our luggage.

We hire a man to sample the food before we eat it ourselves. We have no more money, but he accepts my beautiful new boots as payment. I give one over and will leave the other behind when ... if we leave this ship.

I'd pictured myself striding through foreign lands in those boots, an exotic woman on my arm – someone on the order of Lai-koa. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and my boots must be sacrificed for a higher good.

The strain is almost unbearable. Violence between the crew and Bennet's gang seems about to erupt any moment. The thugs keep to themselves, only coming out to guard Bennett when he throws up over the gunwales. They are truly wicked men with hardened faces and murder in their eyes.

God knows from whence they hail. They'll be going to the devil sooner or later. Too bad Ja-kui didn't send them off already.

* * *

A few days later, Bennett and his thugs disembark at some hellhole little port. The Alma lies in the harbor as longboats come from shore to embark their filthy cargo. Tipton and his crew stand by clutching every available weapon.

We loiter about the deck, adding our tacit support to the crewmen. By way of parting, Bennett favors us with a contemptuous sneer. My finger itches on the revolver trigger. I tremble to think of what villainy he will commit next.

Eugene and I breathe sighs of relief, but we do not lessen our vigilance. Tipton is a volatile fellow, and there's no telling when he might fly off the handle. Even if he regretted his actions later, we wouldn't be any less dead.

Gelston bears watching, too. I get the impression from his surly demeanor that he'd as soon feed us to the sharks as not. Without Newberry around, everyone looks like an enemy.

# Eleven: Home

## 87.Turbulent Welcome

Eugene:

I've finally got to sleep after an extended period of tossing and turning, when Lawton jostles me awake.

"Land ho!" he shouts in my ear. "We're home!"

I tumble out of bed, nearly impaling myself on the hunting knife I'd been sleeping with. I follow Lawton onto the deck. He shoves a spyglass into my hands.

"See for yourself, Eugene."

I peer through it to a broad expanse looming on the horizon. No ethereal island shore this time, but the solid coast of home – just as it was when we left it all those months ago.

"We made it," Lawton grasps my hand. "God, don't let anything screw up now."

"Amen to that."

I, too, am joyous, but a strange melancholy has also taken hold of my spirit. Our great adventure is coming to an end, and the everyday world approaches. The ambivalence must show in my bearing, for Lawton gives me a rather peculiar look.

"I'll never figure you out, Eugene."

In addition to the gradually nearing coastline, a ship is making its way toward us. Through the spyglass, Lawton identifies it as one of our navy frigates.

"Am I glad to see them," he says. "Bravo Navy!"

We remain at the rail so that anyone observing from the frigate can spot us. The crewmen are unappreciative and treat us to various jibes and jostlings. We don't give up our position, though, until a launch arrives from the military ship. Its occupants clamber aboard.

We rush across the deck and approach the officer in charge before Tipton can get in a word. Lawton takes the lead.

"I'm Lawton Elder, and this is Eugene Walton, nephew of Kyle Walton, Parliament majority leader and deputy prime minister," he rattles off.

The officer looks at us with some astonishment. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen."

"We have arrived home safely, thanks to the efforts of Captain Tipton and his crew," I say. "Please include this in your dispatches."

"I daresay we shall," the officer replies.

The glance Tipton throws our way is a real classic – a combination of surprise, annoyance, and begrudging respect.

"Is that all, gentlemen?" he asks. "Might I get in a word now?"

"Certainly," I say.

We withdraw, but not so far away that we can't listen in. The naval officer gets down to business.

"We're from the Navy frigate Pioneer," he says. "How long have you been away from port?"

"Over three months," Tipton replies.

"Then it's unlikely you've heard the news."

Tipton strokes his chin suspiciously. "What news might that be?"

"War's been declared against the rebel Eastern Provinces," the officer says. "My orders are to seize any contraband slaves or goods bound for the enemy."

Lawton turns so pale I fear he might tumble over. Then a bellicose look overtakes his features, color rushes into his face. I've not seen him so worked up since the Battle of the Babes. I, too, am stunned. Tipton handles the news with much more aplomb.

"You'll be wanting to examine the ship's cargo and manifests then?" he says.

"Those are my orders," the officer replies.

Armed marines are backing him up, not to mention the guns of the Pioneer, which are aimed directly at us. Tipton might be many things, but he's no fool.

"Right this way, sir," he says.

Sometime later, the inspection is completed to the apparent satisfaction of the officer. The frigate sails off, having left a party of marines to see us into port. They are fresh-faced types who seem to have just emerged from behind their mothers' skirts. To me, they are like angels plopped direct from heaven.

Two of them, George and Roberts, are particularly genial. We stay close to them and their carbines. Lawton pumps them for information.

"When did the war break out?"

"Nearly a month ago, it's been," George says. "Them rebels in the Eastern Provinces announced they was leaving our country and forming their own."

"Yes," Roberts adds, "their members all walked out of Parliament in a bunch. It didn't take the remaining MPs long to issue a war declaration."

George turns to me. "Begging your pardon, sir, but your uncle is very much out of favor. He and the rest of the 'peace party' have been forced out of office."

"Thank you for sharing that," I reply.

This is another bit of astonishing news. Well ... at least I'll no longer be waving Uncle Kyle around like a boogeyman to scare off potential enemies.

Tipton requests a private word with me. I feel confident enough to follow him across the deck, but still within view of Lawton and our new friends.

"You've saved me a heap of trouble, Mr. Walton" the captain says. "If I'd had slaves aboard, they'd have been confiscated. Them Navy boys could have hauled me off in chains and impounded the Alma."

"They were purchased in good faith," I say. "Keep the money."

Tipton waves a hand. "No, I'll deduct my half from your fare. I'm no thief – at least not from my own kind."

I'm not particularly flattered to be included among Tipton's "kind," but it seems impolitic to say as much.

"The less said about our arrangement or about other ... events, the better, don't you think?" Tipton says.

"I quite agree."

"In that case..." Tipton withdraws a paper from inside his jacket and unfolds it. "This is my copy of the purchase agreement."

"It seems to be in order," I say.

He tears it into strips.

"Might I have yours, as well, Mr. Walton?"

I withdraw my copy from my jacket pocket and tear it up. Tipton ignites the combined scraps with his cigar and tosses them into the water.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Walton. Let me know should you require transport to some other ass end of the world."

"Not much chance of that, I reckon, but thanks for the offer."

## 88.In the Rebel Land

William Beale looked out his boarding room window at the troop of horse soldiers wheeling about the square below.

Pack of crazy fools.

His right arm itched fiercely, but he tried to ignore it. With his left hand, he grasped the whiskey bottle and took a heavy drink. The liquid burned its way through his depression and anger.

Like Edward Walton, Beale was a Western man. He had tired of laboring in the vast mills and foundries there, so he'd come East to seek his fortune through dominating other men. And it had been a good life... until Eugene Walton came.

Again, a powerful itching assailed his right arm. Beale reached for it reflexively, felt only an empty sleeve.

Damn you to hell, Walton – both of you!

He drank again from the bottle, but the contents could not assuage the agony from the loss of his arm nor stop the phantom itches. The wound Eugene Walton inflicted on his hand had became host to a virulent infection which raged up his limb until only amputation could spare his life. Such a terrible result from a small beginning, as if an evil spirit had resided in that bullet.

"Dismount!" the troop leader in the square commanded.

Twenty-five men lined their horses in a neat row and dismounted.

"Form up!"

The troopers moved in front of their mounts and stood at rigid attention.

From his past experience, Beale knew the West was a powerhouse. The Eastern provinces had nothing to match such industrial might. The men strutting about in the square were so much cannon fodder, yet he longed to be with them. Some had been in the posse he'd led to the train station that fateful night.

There was no room for a crippled man in the war effort, though, and failure did not beget confidence. Adding insult to grave injury, Colonel James had refused to sell him discounted land for his services.

"Ready sabers!"

A metallic, swishing noise as twenty-five blades left their scabbards.

"Present arms!"

The men whipped the swords upright before their faces. The crowd of onlookers ringing the square stood silent. Even the many children among them kept still. A brutal insight drifted along the void and struck William Beale hard.

Jake avenged himself upon us all.

Edward Walton lay dead in his family plot back West, and the arm Beale had used to flog the slaves was no more. The hand he'd lifted at auction to bid on Jake and the crazy woman had been shot away, on Jake's behalf. A chuckle emerged from Beale's devastated soul.

From the far end of the square, a lone horseman approached – Colonel James, financial backer of the troop. His lean, gray-haired figure sat ramrod straight in the saddle of the magnificent charger. For a moment, Beale almost thought Edward Walton had returned to life to ride his son's horse again.

All eyes turned to follow James' stately progress. A red sash festooned his waist. The great horse's hoof beats hung in the air. James came to halt before the line of dismounted cavalrymen.

"Huzzah!" the troopers cheered. "Huzzah!"

Beale looked toward the revolver lying on the desk.

Could I hit him from this distance?

Not likely, even if he still had his proper gun hand. Beale picked up the weapon and aimed at a different target.

Bang!

All eyes turned to an upper story window of the boarding house.

"Troop commander!" James snapped.

The man rushed to the colonel's horse and saluted.

"Yes, sir."

James pointed toward the window. "Go see what happened there."

## 89.Ascent

Ja-kui observed the shipbuilding work with great satisfaction. The keel and several ribs of the Dan-gri were in place. As each day passed, the workers gained experience and skill under Captain Venner's supervision.

Venner strode about with his cane giving orders, and a force of native men carried them out. Lieutenant Dow served as work crew foreman. Behind them sparkled the waters of Lai-koa bay, and above all loomed the former death mountain, now quiet and serene, scoured of its past horrors.

The Dan-gri was first of the ships that would venture out to obtain foreign weapons and other power goods, paid for with the island's extraordinary wealth. Ongoing searches were locating treasure hoards of the nobility and priesthood, secret gold and gem mines – more than enough riches to buy a gigantic arsenal, including cannon guns.

The island's forests were full of excellent shipbuilding timber. Ja-kui envisioned a fleet of constantly larger and better ships emerging from these shores to return laden with power and knowledge.

Sharp trading would be required for these transactions. Captain Venner might handle them, if he could be trusted. Venner might even come to love this island, decide he could attain wealth and influence here denied him in his home country.

Who could say? The extraordinary twists and turns of his own life had left Ja-kui open to all possibilities. He turned from the labors of the shipbuilders to look upon the cliff which had been the locale of so many ritual murders. Now it called to him with promises of insight.

I desire to climb.

He began to scale the great cliff, following the route he'd taken so many years before with Nata-Mara and the priest savage – and his brother, Sir-hen. With every step, he tried to discard more of the hostile and enraged personality he'd developed over those years.

I have experienced far more than most men have during whole lifetimes. I must turn these bitter lessons into wisdom.

So much had to be done, and he alone possessed the knowledge to make critical changes. Already, he'd turned the island upside down in his haste to strengthen it. The old nobility was overthrown, and its former members now labored on the pyramid, along with the captured bandits. They were tearing down the evil structure to make paving materials for a new road network.

Former slaves were transitioning to independent farmers. Scribes were hard at work creating a new writing system based upon the foreign letters. Everyone must learn to read and write their own tongue, and as many as possible must be taught the foreign power language, as well. For how could they resist the next invasion if they had no understanding of the enemy?

Every man must be well-armed and trained, ready to repel an attack. Even the more robust women could be taught to wield thunder weapons. Horses were needed to transport strength along the new roads. The island must be turned into a toxic fruit to poison all who might seek to devour it.

Above all, the people had to be rehabilitated after their long night of oppression and religious madness. New ways of thinking had to be quickly developed. To look backward was to die.

Ja-kui was half way up the cliff now. The heat was becoming unbearable. Sweat poured from him, and noxious insects buzzed around his face. In his memory, he could see the stooped, yet proud figure of Nata-Mara preceding him on the trail. She seemed to embody the suffering of all women.

In the old days, widows were considered useless burdens and were often sacrificed. Now they were a valuable resource. Mates must be found for the over supply of fertile women. Monogamy had to be put aside for a time, and the best men must be encouraged, compelled if necessary, to take extra wives. Even Captain Venner and Lieutenant Dow must contribute to the repopulation effort.

Once the dark-hued beauties of the island blended their features with the ghastly pale outsiders, what would be the result? Would the offspring be hated, as Ja-kui himself had been hated in the slave country?

No!

Ja-kui was at the summit now. Refreshing breezes swept the heat and fatigue from his body. The caws of sea birds and the roar of surf filled his ears.

We must abandon all hatreds. Strength is what matters.

With enough strength, a people could afford to be magnanimous. They could regard the world with a smiling face, while keeping a powerful fist ready for immediate use.

He looked out toward the horizon from which so much woe had come into his life. Form up here, one could imagine almost anything happening. Maybe there really was a single, beneficent god watching over all. Why should Ja-kui deny His existence just because he'd never felt it before?

Then, abruptly, Ja-kui was viewing the cliff from a high distance, as if he were floating among the birds. He saw his solitary figure standing below, only in his 21st year, full of young man passion and rage – having never known the tender embrace of a woman and unready for it until he'd finished mourning precious Lai-koa.

How long would this man rule if not struck down while still a youth – half a century ... more? How would he change things, and how would they change him?

Ja-kui saw his teachers assembling below – first the kind and gentle ones, Nata-Mara and Lai-koa, followed by Dan-gri. Then came the sinister ones lurking in the darkness behind: E-zui, Beast Slater, Old Master, and others.

Was that Mr. Eugene standing beside him? Were the other foreigners wavering translucent in the sunlight?

Am I so different from Mr. Eugene – am I becoming what I once hated?

All anger and resentment toward his benefactor vanished, and a surge of filial love took its place. He saluted Mr. Eugene as the spiritual father of his rebirth and the liberator foretold by Nata-Mara.

Thank you, kind sir! May your future bring much joy.

Ja-kui's consciousness returned to the cliff's solid rock. He stood renewed, his soul cleansed of all poisons.

"Do your worst!" He shouted at whatever threats might be looming on the distant horizon. "We will never again be slaves!"

## 90.Parting of the Ways

From the diary of Lawton Elder:

And so I complete this journal, closing the book, as it were, on these strange adventures. Soon I shall begin another diary – The War Years.

Make no mistake. The struggle against the Eastern traitors will be long and bitter. Despite our material advantages, the outcome is far from certain. Our Marine friends' optimism about "licking the rebels by Christmas" is badly misplaced. We are up against a tough, determined foe who will give us all kinds of hell.

Will we have the mettle to see things through? Above all, will I be equal to the task?

I have known the terror and exhilaration of fighting for a righteous cause. For if slaughtering infants is not evil, then nothing is evil, and anyone opposing it must surely do so with the Almighty's blessing. Yet how will I hold up when battling those who were lately my own countrymen?

However warped their cause, these men are little different from myself – just ordinary fellows. The wealthy scum who own the slaves and are clamoring for their 'rights' will not be on the battlefield risking their necks. Well ... the resolution of these concerns lurks in the unknowable future.

So, what is the message of this present work, the overriding theme? Perhaps I can sum it up with one sentence:

The world is what it is, at heart we are all fools.

We knew just enough of the world, of great thoughts, to be dangerous. Were we older and wiser, we might have been able to discern the consequences of our actions more clearly. If we were less intellectually endowed, we might have just bumbled along, unaware of the harm we were causing – and we'd have probably harmed things much less.

"It's hard to imagine how we could have screwed things up worse," Eugene says.

He's sitting at the desk in his study, while I am standing near the door, anxious to leave but also hoping to resolve some final matters.

"True," I say, "but I keep thinking of the babes we rescued. What will their lives be like, I wonder?"

"Perhaps we did them no favor," Eugene says, "with things going to hell like they did."

"Saving innocent life is always a good thing, Eugene. Hold onto that."

This seems to get through to him. He smiles morosely and relaxes in his chair a bit. I must add a final observation, though.

"Your oar just wasn't long enough to row against the tide of history on that island," I say.

The little smile disappears, and Eugene begins another descent toward melancholy. I decide it's time to drop my defenses and speak directly from the heart. I walk back toward his desk.

"You're the finest man I know or am ever likely to meet," I say. "It's time to move on, get our minds off the past."

Eugene gives me an odd look. "I was about to say the same thing ... about you."

An awkward silence follows during which we don our male emotional armor again. I venture a jest.

"Hey, we're still young. We've got plenty of time to screw things up further."

"That's reassuring," Eugene says.

"We both need a good rest," I say. "I'm going home and sleep for a week ... make that two weeks. Then I'm joining the army."

"The war will still be going on by then, I reckon," Eugene says.

I hesitate. This does not seem the optimal time to broach this subject, but I plunge ahead. Diplomacy was never my strong suit.

"Let's form our own cavalry unit, like we discussed, and show these Easterners our mettle," I say.

"As I recall, you were the only one discussing it."

"Yes ... well. It's still a good idea," I say. "Why take orders from some bone-headed officer when we can lead our own troop?"

"Be our own 'bone heads' you mean?"

"Yes, something like that."

Eugene sags back into his chair. He looks tired, tired.

"Won't the best men have already joined up?" he says.

"Then we can 'unjoin' them and bring them into our troop. The military has always favored private units, as long as they follow orders from the top brass. It saves the government money."

Eugene sighs heavily, as if all the burdens of the world are on his shoulders.

"I'll take it under advisement," he says. "Let us speak further in two weeks."

We shake hands, and I leave Eugene's house. This chapter of our adventures together draws to a close.

## Epilog

Was I just some fraud operating outside my depth?

Well ... I was out of my depth, in any case. Within a bewilderingly short time I've been a gambler, a liberator, a god, and a fugitive. Some of these transformations could give a man unrealistic ideas about himself.

Lawton entertains no such uncertainties. He is hot for war. The slave provinces represent a foe he can understand – not like the shadowy and elusive enemies surrounding us in the Republic.

So, what's next for me? Do I become a cavalry officer and head off to war? I'm not certain what I'll be next, but I am dead sure of what I'm not. I'm no god!

Yet I do believe the people on that island brought a divine judgement upon themselves. How many centuries did that evil, murderous religion persist in their society? It had to enjoy some degree of popular support during that time. The stain of it polluted everything. A culture with such rottenness at its core will eventually summon avengers, in my belief. I seem to have been maneuvered into playing that role.

And what of the rottenness at the core of our own nation?

Slavery – the word sends a wicked vibration through one's mind. And think of all the vile injustices that attend it – kidnapping, torture, murder, rape. Should I endanger my life to oppose these evils, or have I done enough to set the world right?

Our side is much the stronger, so I'm confident we will prevail whether I participate or not. Besides, the elimination of slavery is not even an official war aim, yet.

This all smacks of rationalization, though.

I'm too weary to think about these things now. Other tasks must be completed first – the death letters to Uncle Kyle as well as to the families of Miles and Loren. After that, I will visit a serving woman at Claire's estate to say her intended will not be coming home.

Then we'll see.

THE END

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# Brian's Other Books

Here are brief descriptions of my other adult books. They are available at all major online retailers in e-book format. To find the relevant links, please visit my website at "The B2"

Return to Mech City

Book one of the _Robot Horizon_ series

The end of the world as you've never seen it before. Life goes on in Mech City, but it is no longer human.

As mankind succumbs to its follies and exits the stage, scholar model robot, Winston Horvath, makes a perilous journey to Mech City where he was manufactured. He meets Star Power, the world's only functional female robot.

Things unravel when a Roboto Fascist dictatorship seizes power. Its leader has designs on Star. Winston flees with her to gather forces for a counter-coup and, perhaps, get himself upgraded so as to bring Star true satisfaction.

Science Fiction / Humor / Dystopian

Expedition Westward

Book two of the _Robot Horizon_ series

What is the cost of rediscovering true love in a shattered world? Whatever it might be, Star is willing to pay, or not survive the outcome. A trek along dangerous roads provides the answer. The dystopian adventure continues.

Science Fiction / Humor / Dystopian

Battle for Mech City

Book three of the _Robot Horizon_ series

Winston Horvath regains control of Mech City, but his success is soon threatened. Violent religious fanatics are approaching with a robotic army. A disgruntled Dr. Che is also coming to kidnap Star. Meanwhile, Star's out of control sexuality is causing difficulties with various robotic and human partners. The fun continues!

Science Fiction / Humor / Dystopian

Raptor Aces

The terrifying Zone of Destruction – ZOD, the absence of God. It has taken over the Raptor Aces, an elite Youth League air squadron.

Its leader, Dytran, is the cream of his totalitarian country. His world unravels when a poor decision goes horribly wrong, resulting in death and destruction. He grabs at a chance to volunteer for support aviation duty in the war. At the front, he and his comrades are swept up in violence and revenge until escape seems beyond reach.

New Adult / Action-Adventure / War

Strange Tales for Cozy Nights – 1

Nine offbeat tales to disturb your cozy nights. From strange voyages and baffling powers to dystopian athletic competitions and the in-laws from Hell, these stories are for you if you enjoy burning the midnight oil with a good yarn.

Horror-ish / Mystery / Whatever

4th Musketelle

Trophy wife Laila Armstrong chafes under the domination of husband Frank. When she learns her adult "step children" are plotting to cut her out of their dad's lucrative business affairs, she must act fast to avoid being thrown back into the poverty she escaped years earlier. Murder seems to be a reasonable solution – much better than a messy divorce.

Laila plots to use Frank's infamous temper against him and make his death seem like an "accident." Things don't work out as planned, though, and it's not certain who will survive the final cut.

Dark Humor / Romantic Homicide

DAS ROAD

A road novel with fascinating turns through exotic Asia, workaday America, and Iran caught up in revolution. Travel realms where anything is possible, wonderful, or horrible. And always on the road ahead, the mythical figure of Jon Glass who haunts the entire journey. A story imbued with meaning just below the level of articulating. A siren call to your wanderlust.

Travel / Mystery

Career Moves for Burnt Out Personifications

Santa, the Grim Reaper, and others scramble to find new careers and identities. Outrageous political and social satire. "A smorgasbord of paranoid ramblings ideally suited to today's sensibilities."

Humor / Political Satire

