Dark Tales Of Lost Civilizations (48 page)

Resh shut his eyes and spoke aloud to his son in a language that was harsh, laborious and older than the trees or the sky or the waters.

“It will not be long. Soon, the moon-skins will arrive to steal what is ours. Moon-skins always more dangerous than the time before. Always more of Trovar’s children die. But Resh grows more dangerous, too. Resh learns from mistakes. Watch. Learn. Trovar not happy when His children die, so we must be stronger and smarter. Trovar demands it.” His eyes snapped open, and he ran a red tongue over cracked lips. “Tonight, we offer Trovar a bone-sacrifice. Tomorrow, Trovar will smile on us.”

Resh locked with his son’s obedient eyes and hefted a scepter made of bone that represented Trovar’s power. “One day, Trovar will choose you to replace me. On that day, you must be ready to ensure wayward souls don’t spoil this land.”

Resh’s son nodded with the cold dispassion of a warrior.

They remained in the tree until the vessel stopped in Trovar’s sacred bay, and the men aboard split into smaller ships.

“The rain comes. Good. Better for hunting.”

=[]=

We dropped anchor in an emerald cove lined with black beaches. My stomach churned as our raft splashed down, and something hidden within urged me to dive in the water and swim away; swim fast and far, never looking back, never slowing down. But something else, something wiser, told me that there wasn’t enough distance in the world to save me from Trovar. The island had seen me, and no matter where I went, it would
always
see me.

I looked to Herb, but his face was masked by his silver flask. When he was done, a ruddy face appeared. “What say you?” he asked.

“My appreciation for Schmeck is fading.”

“Ah, toss that old fool,” he burst. The liquor had set in. “We simply keep our heads down for the time being, then we can take some time in Australia or those Hawaiian Islands the government mules are always naying about. With three-hundred pounds we could even find us some top-shelf women and not those washbasins we get back on Gilbert, either. So toss Schmeck. Toss him right to the sharks.”

“I still don’t like it. A man should have a choice in what he does.”

“I don’t know about you,” he said as he began to row. “But I
choose
to bury my face in the bosom of a Hawaiian woman.”

The wind gusted in strong bursts as we approached the shore. We unloaded our provisions and set about searching for a place to make camp. A few feet into the jungle, we discovered a clearing. The sands from the beach extended there, creating a soft, ebony floor. Schmeck declared the spot perfect and gave the order to settle in. The crew was split into two groups. The first to pitch tents, build fires, and prepare meals, while the second explored the surrounding area for sources of water and any landmarks of note. Herb and I ignored Schmeck’s orders and focused our attention on security. From what, we did not know.

Due to the bizarre stories of the island, Schmeck had brought a rifle for each man—oiled and clean—a pair of dueling revolvers, and enough ammunition to put a hole in every leaf on the island. Herb discovered a crate containing a long bore rifle with a dark wood finish. He inspected the sights, the muzzle, and grunted his approval.

“Any experience with guns?” he asked.

“A bit. Somewhere between Pennsylvania and California I worked for a corn husker who paid a half-cent for every crow I shot. But the deal ended when he said my poor aim cost more in bullets than it was worth.”

“I guess I’ll take this slender lady, then. A gun like this deserves a keen eye.”

“No argument there. I’ll do fine with a repeater.”

I scanned the jungle. We were losing light, and soon the green walls would become enigmas in the dark. Death’s cold breath filled my body. Herb opened the mahogany box containing the revolvers and handed me one.

“In case the rumors prove true,” he said while shoving the second gun into the back of his pants.

=[]=

The night came on fast and thick. A gift from Trovar.

Four children, each covered in black mud, crept into the canopy where Resh waited. The tallest child, a girl with fine bones hewn into her hair and no real trace of adolescence other than her size, reported that the moon-skins were in the clearing. Yes, the same clearing as always. Resh smiled. The moon-skins were predictable. There were twenty-three men. They were scared, but they also had weapons. Yes, the kind that fire smoke and metal.

Resh pondered the report. He had watched the bigger ship ever since the smaller ones separated from it. In that time, he hadn’t seen any movement on board. But the moon-skins never leave the big ship unattended, so he assumed they were hiding. He’d have to send his best swimmers to handle them.

A stone-faced man approached. His skin was also covered in black mud. All that separated him from the night were the whites of his eyes and the sharpened length of bone he carried. “Resh,” he said and kneeled.

“Are Trovar’s children ready?” Resh replied in a voice that scratched the air.

“Yes.”

“Good. Strike when sky weeps. Trovar only requires four. Kill the rest.”

The man stood, turned, and exited, quickly melding into the shadows. Resh bent by a stream and scooped mud into a large mound. He then dumped black sand from a pouch onto the mud, kneaded until the mixture became a thick paste, and applied it to his skin.

He clicked his tongue, and a woman approached with her eyes to the ground, holding his communing ornaments. She helped him dress, and when she was done, Resh proceeded to the altar. He had much to prepare for Trovar’s offering.

=[]=

Our camp consisted of three fires, eleven tents, twenty-three souls, and forty-six watchful eyes. On the surface, our mood was light and jovial. The sailors told stories of past employment and discussed which captains were fair and which trading companies paid the best. They were Dutch and English and American and islander, and although they laughed together, not one left their rifle more than a few feet away.

I sat with Herb near the biggest fire, and we talked of our lives. A man born from Poseidon’s own lineage, rough and humble, Herb lived a nomadic life, skipping from one South Seas rock to another. As he spoke of the world, one got the sense that beneath his carefree mannerisms hid a man who understood the world around him on an intimate level. And as he discussed the varied peoples of his travels, his voice became smooth and wise, coaxing my fears away.

Schmeck waddled over and sat across from us. The storm had wiped the smirk off his face, revealing a rawness one rarely saw in the stubborn man.

“Good evening,” he said, humbled. “Before we get off to bickery, let me express my gratitude for your general acceptance of the situation. I made assumptions concerning your involvement, and I deserve nothing less than to have the two of you tie me to the anchor. I apologize.”

I studied him for a long while and knew him for the shrewd negotiator that he was. His apology was a ruse. If making money required a heart of gold, Schmeck would cast his in twenty-four karats. But the second that heart lost its utility, you’d find him smelting it for profit. “That’s not a bad idea,” I finally said.

“What?”

“Tying you to the anchor.”

We chuckled, and the air lightened.

“So when are we doing this note taking?” I asked.

“Don’t forget the sample gathering and map making,” Herb added.

“First light. I hope you gents have some proper names in mind, because I expect to fill the map with our legacies. Think of all the times you’ve carved your initials in decking. How many ships brandish the name Felix in some secret location? We, my fine friends, are doing just that, but on a much grander scale. Also, keep an eye for local flora and fauna. Imagine if we returned with a black tiger or a slower burning tobacco.”

Herb perked. “Folks state-side would shell out a week’s pay for a look at a black tiger.”

“My thoughts exactly, Mr. Flenderson.”

“You know,” Herb said, “I think I might remember bringing a bottle along after all.”

“Really?” Schmeck asked.

“Perhaps. Let me—”

A scream in the distance cut him off, followed by three quick rifle shots. The camp collectively froze, then roared to life. Men grabbed rifles, taking sight at the tree line. Others shouted orders. Two more shots rang out, followed by a gangly man running into the camp. Flecks of blood covered half his face.

We ran to him.

“Drew, who’s shooting?” Schmeck yelled.

The man—Drew—appeared bewildered. His lips moved without words.

“Drew. Say something, man.”

Drew broke from his daze. “I saw ’em,” he said in a cracking voice. “Four of ’em.”

“Who?”

“Sk-Skeletons.” Drew whispered the word as if he were cursing in church. “Me and Faulk w-was out patrolling when we came across ’em. They stood in the distance watching us. Their bones cleaved the dark, clear as day, but they didn’t move. We figured they were made up that way, you know, just old sets of bones that someone stood up instead of burying. But when we got closer, the four of ’em took a step toward us like they was attached at the hip. I know it sounds crazy, but . . . but I swear it. The sight hit us something awful. The four skeletons never made another move. They just stared without eyes. I fired, but they didn’t even flinch. And why would they? They got nothing to shoot. Nothing. And . . . and then I heard Faulk screaming. I looked over, and this black figure was on him, ripping him to shreds right there next to me. Oh, God, the blood.” He looked around the camp, and we saw the truth in his face. “It was like his own shadow had come to life and started killing him.”

Panic rippled through the collected men.

“Let us return to the ship,” one man said, and soon everyone was in agreement. Everyone except Schmeck.

“No. The thought of bones walking about is preposterous. And demon shadows? Where’s your marrow? I refuse to cow to such fantasy.”

Just then, the laden clouds decided to release their burden, and fat, warm drops of rain fell. The fires singed and drowned. Commotion broke out and shouts erupted behind us. Small black demons, maybe ten, maybe fifty in total, slithered from the dark in all directions. They moved like blurs. Shots rang out, followed by shouts for assistance. Then shouts of terror. Then pain. Agonizing pain.

My mind clouded with indecision. I couldn’t process the chaos. I watched as two sailors fired into the thicket. A child-sized demon ran up behind them and struck the backs of their knees. Thin lines of blood sprayed, and both men crumpled backwards. With a fluid motion the demon was at their throats. The two men kicked and convulsed in the mud next to each other, and the demon quickly moved on.

Drew’s high-pitched screams caught my attention. Ivory skeletons stood among the trees, watching. Drew raised his rifle and fired twice before the gun clicked dry. He dropped the useless weapon and fled toward the beach. Schmeck followed, his limp pronounced by fear, but stopped when faced with more of the ghastly skeletons cutting off his retreat.

I found the courage to act when Herb’s rifle exploded with a plume of white smoke. One of the skeletons dropped away. In reaction, the encircling line began to move. They cinched in closer, holding a perfect band around the clearing as demons darted among us. We were routed. Men were dead or dying and those who weren’t were in wild disarray.

Schmeck bellowed inanely for everyone to rally around him, but those who stood, wouldn’t for long. Already the desperate cries outweighed the gunfire.

Herb fired again, hitting a skeleton next to the first one he had shot, and aimed at the next. He was creating a gap. I tried to help, but my shots went wide. I didn’t know where to aim. At the bone? The head? The heart? Did they have hearts? For that matter, would they even stay down if hit?

When it came time to reload, Herb grabbed my shirt, and yanked. We made for the gap. As we punched through undergrowth, Schmeck’s voice rose behind us like a terrible wind.

I had no concept of direction as we ran, but I sensed we had set ourselves inland. We tore through all manner of brambles until we came upon a mass of broad-leaved vines and hid. My chest burned. We could no longer smell the sea or hear the brutalized screams.

Struggling to control my breath, I listened for followers, and heard only the soothing patter of rain on plant. Everything was happening too rapidly. I couldn’t move or think. I needed to reload, but couldn’t find the will to do so. Herb spoke, but I couldn’t understand the words. They were foreign and odd. He pointed toward the camp, toward the slaughter. I looked, comprehending on a primal level that he needed me to aim my weapon in that direction. I wanted to tell him that I couldn’t, but he was already firing.

My name penetrated Herb’s incoherent words. “ . . . Felix . . . ”

Dozens of dark souls scurried forth, spread across the entirety of my vision. They leapt over deadfalls and passed through wilderness with ease. Herb cursed when his gun jammed. He howled, raised the rifle over his head, and greeted the onslaught. As they descended on him with white clubs and red rage, I noticed the black on several of the demons melting in the rain. Beneath was
flesh
. The inhuman was human.

My mind made connections it was previously incapable of making. I yanked the dueling pistol from the back of my trousers and pulled the trigger. Red splashed as one body spun with contact. I kneeled for better accuracy, emboldened, and fired again. A black demon spewed blood from its chest, but the swarm came on. I had time for two more shots before I was forced to swing the pistol like a hammer. I connected, but the impact slowed my next swing and then they were on me, clawing, punching, biting. I saw a cold dispassion in their young faces and not the savageness I had expected. They were calm in their brutality. And then I saw no more.

=[]=

“Trovar happy,” Resh declared to the congregated tribe. He stood on the stone altar, gazing over them with pride. A few of Trovar’s children were lost, but only half as many as the last time. Resh attributed this to Trovar’s gift of rain. And now that the tribe had gathered and the offerings were ready, Resh would ensure Trovar gave them many more gifts in the time to come. “The moon-skins are defeated. Now we offer Trovar their bones.”