Leviathan (10 page)

A pause to gather his thoughts and Thor went on,
“But other battles between foreign armies and the leviathans, or heraldic dragons, are recorded in the historical documents of India, En-gland, France, China, Japan, Mesopotamia, Egypt, and Africa as late as the eighth century. They were recorded by dispassionate historians who had virtually no contact with one another and sought only to leave an accurate record of their times. All of the descriptions of heraldic dragons agree in general, but some commentators noted unusual aspects of the creatures that others did not.”

Connor's brow hardened, concentrated.
“Like what?”

Thoughtful, Thor seemed to search his memory.
“In Historia Natural is, written in 1701, it's recorded that a powerful heraldic dragon was killed on Vatican Hill in 1669 during a savage fight with the entire Army of Rome. It was a bloody engagement because the Romans, no matter how hard pressed, could not very well retreat from their own city and retain their pride. They were forced to stand their ground to the last man. It is recorded that the brutal conflict lasted an entire day and reportedly reduced the standing militia of Rome to a skeletal crew. And upon the creature's slow and bloody death, it was examined by the Regulaus-Cassium, prefect of the city. Overall, the surviving description, also recorded by numerous scholars, fits the biblical Leviathan or the heraldic dragon. But the leviathan slain on Vatican Hill was also recorded to have had webbed feet.”

“
Webbed feet?” Connor asked, frowning. “For swimming?” “Many leviathans were said to have had webbed feet,” Thor continued dispassionately. “And many were said to have had wings.”

Connor was expecting that.
“For flying, I suppose.”

With a nod Thor replied,
“In 793 at the monastery of St. Cuthbert, located on the rocky island of Lindisfarne on England's western coast, over a hundred monks witnessed what they said was a flying leviathan. It had large, dark wings like black leather, and soared low over the monastery throughout the entire sunset. Then it was joined by other flying leviathans. Witness accounts say the sky was eventually filled with them. They said the air was alive with their shadows until the sun was finally gone.”

“
I suppose they didn't kill anybody,” Connor commented drily, taking another sip of coffee. “Sounds like they were cruising for food.”

“
I don't believe the cautious monks gave them a chance.” Thor smiled. “But on the French isle of Saint Marguerite a flying leviathan, apparently similar to the Biblical Leviathan, was said to have killed over three thousand villagers and seamen and even English knights throughout the Middle Ages. During that period of history it was known as the Tarasque. Incorrectly, I think. I believe it was confused with another leviathan that was said to have inhabited the Rhone River in France throughout the thirteenth century. Its name was Drac, and it was infamous for the blood it shed. The French town of Draguignan was named after it. But I think that Drac's most vicious attacks were launched against the village of Beaucaire. Many, many people were recorded to have been slain there in its repeated attacks. At least a dozen armies went on campaigns against it, desperate to end its reign of terror. If you doubt me, the specific campaigns are recorded by the French and early Germanic historians Ocino, Ragnarold, and Umberto of Guineve. Thousands of soldiers were killed by Drac in the battles, which lasted over a century.’'

Connor found himself waiting.
“Well, did they kill it?”

“
No.” Thor shook his head. “All the armies were defeated. Eventually, it is speculated, the dragon died of old age. It would have been well over a hundred years old. But long life is characteristic of reptilian creatures. Even today some reptiles are known to live for well over a hundred years. And many leviathans were reported to have lived for centuries.”

Connor's eyes narrowed.
“Could that be accurate history, Thor?” he asked with careful respect. “I mean, it seems . . . fantastic. ‘

“
It is foolish to doubt the integrity of men who were regarded by their peers to be utterly trustworthy,” Thor commented. “People can scoff only so much at accumulated history before they must bow to intelligent debate. Objectivity must have its place. There are far too many incidents of trustworthy persons witnessing similar sights to disbelieve all accounts. It flies in the face of logic and reason to mindlessly classify everything written about Leviathan as myth or superstition or hysterical paranoia. There is a time when we must trust the reliable, well written accounts of those who were recognized to be scholars and wise men of their time and hold those accounts as the best and most accurate window to the past, regardless of our prejudices.”

He chewed a corner of his mustache a moment, adding,
“In the Cathedral of Canterbury there is a contemporary chronicle that speaks of a savage fight between two leviathans. It occurred on Friday, September 26, 1449, between the English county borders of Suffolk and Essex and was witnessed by an entire township. It lasted for an hour and stunned witnesses by the ferocity of the conflict. One leviathan was black, the other red. And at the end of the hour-long battle, the black leviathan, badly wounded, retreated into its lair.

“
Two of the most respected Englishmen of the fifteenth century, John Steel and Christopher Holder, were present at the scene. Afterwards they gave their unemotional endorsement to verify the account.” He paused. “Steel and Holder were known throughout all of England as strong men of superior intelligence and judgment. In all other areas of history, they are revered as such. It is only in this one account that modern men disbelieve them. And why? Because modern men do not wish to believe that leviathans existed. But Steel and Holder were not prone to lie. They would have had no reason to lie. And history repeats itself in this over and over.

“
In 1942 the German U-boat ‘Keichland’ torpedoed a Norwegian trawler near the Scottish coast. Upon the torpedo's impact, the U-boat crew witnessed what they later recorded as a great sea serpent of unknown species violently breaching the surface of the ocean. It was witnessed by the U-boat captain and commanding officers, all intelligent men who also had absolutely no reason to lie. They said it was not a whale or similar to any other known mammal. It was a beast of tremendous size, possibly over sixty feet in length with a long neck and tail and a long, wedged head.

“
And in 1966 two British paratroopers rowing across the Atlantic in a survival test were awakened. John Ridgeway, one of the crewmen, looked out from the boat and clearly saw what he described as a creature of enormous size, like a serpent, poised over them with its head held high above the waves. Then the creature dove deep and was gone.”

Pausing, Thor took another sip of coffee, set the mug down carefully. He focused once more on Connor.
“Ridgeway was an experienced soldier, a trained observer. He was held in the highest esteem by his peers, also hard men who only respected other men of superior strength and judgment. He wrote later that he had seen all manner of creature on the trip. Whales, dolphins, flying fish. But he reluctantly had to admit that there was only one explanation for what this thing could have been. A sea serpent. And he was correct. He could only say what he saw with his own eyes. He also had no reason to lie.”

Connor was silent, staring at the red-bearded face. He had listened a long time, and he was amazed at Thor's command of this branch of history, ancient and modern.

“You seem to know an awful lot about this creature,” Connor said, curiosity coming through. “How come?’'

Thor was still leaning forward. He had not moved.
“The Leviathan is one of the great legends of my people,” he replied.

“
But this thing isn't legend. It was real, wasn't it?”

“
Yes. But there is also much legend. And among my people there is a story told often to me when I was a boy.”

“
What story?”

“
A story told to me by my grandfather,” Thor responded, his eyes focusing distantly. “A story the old man would tell me often, to teach me the meaning of courage and strength.”

Connor said nothing, waiting.

“My grandfather was a good man,” Thor continued, a slow nod. “Though he died when I was only three or four, I remember him well. I remember his heart.” He turned to the window. “He was a strong man, even for my people. Even taller than I am, and heavier. He had never been defeated in cannon throwing at the games until the year of his death. But he was already old when I was a child.”

He hesitated, smiling.
“He was young once, I suppose. But I only remember him with his long white hair and white beard flowing like a snow mound from his head. Always strong. Mythic. A giant who reminded me of the heroes of old. He could appear a hard man, and revealed little to the world. But his heart ... his heart was great.”

A silence passed.

“He would come to me often when I was a child,” Thor said softly. “Or I would crawl onto his lap at night as he sat beside the window, gazing out over the gray sea. It was only then, when we were alone in the gray evening, that he would show me his heart. When there was no one else who might mock his secret words.” The gigantic Norseman paused somberly. “Yes. Then he would talk freely, and speak of heroes of old, of love and honor and strength. He would tell me the old stories of our people. Men who fought great battles and won. Men who saw evil as evil and good as good, and who fought for what they believed. It was his dream, he told me late one night when the sun was low, to die as they had died. Doing battle with evil. Giving angry blow for angry blow to finish the fight, overcoming with his last breath.”

Thor looked down, frowning.

“Often enough, he told me the same story,” he continued. “The story of Ragnarok. Dusk of the gods. And I would listen with a child's wide eyes.”

Connor waited.
“Ragnarok! The last battle between good and evil?'‘

A nod, and Thor continued,
“Yes. It is the story of Asgard and a leviathan named Jormungand who would rise from the sea at the end of time.” He paused. “Jormungand was the Midgard Serpent, the most terrible of all the evil creatures of the deep. It was horrible and strong, and all of Asgard trembled at the sight of it. But there was a single Norse god, the strongest and the one who held the most generous and noble heart, who refused to tremble before it. He was angered that the Serpent dared to threaten the lives of the innocent. So alone he arose from his throne, took up his hammer, and went forth to do battle against it.

“
On the great ice field beside the sea, they met. Never before had the world witnessed such a conflict. Long was the battle, and uncertain. It continued for a day and a night.

“
Asgard’s strongest defender struck the Midgard Serpent again and again, hard blows that would have shattered mountains. But Jormungand would not die. Instead it coiled around the titan and struck with its killing venom, venom that had burned mountains and valleys alike into dust. Eye to eye and shoulder to shoulder, in thunderous blows they struck, grappling to the last, carrying the grim battle to a grim death. On and on it went, seeming to last forever until both were all but dead in the grip of the other, the strongest heart alone destined to overcome. In the long and terrible end the Norse god staggered to his feet, rising up and raising his hammer high. Then he brought it down once more to deliver a last, thunderous blow, finally crushing the head of the beast. And the Serpent died.”

Connor was captured by Thor
’s somber aspect.

“
The god staggered back nine steps,” he whispered, “the battle won. But he was also dying, defeated by the Serpent's venom. His great, heroic strength – strength that many thought had been inexhaustible – was gone forever. It had been the price for his victory. And knowing the fingers of death curling around him, he lifted his hammer high and drove it into a mountain, burying it deep into the earth to leave a testament of his courage. Then, succumbing at last to the Serpent's poison, the titan fell to the ground and died.”

Connor waited, watching the brooding face.
“So it's strength of heart that won the battle,” he said, breaking the strange but comfortable silence. “Strength of heart. Courage.”

“
Yes.” Thor nodded. “Strength of heart. Courage. Love. Honor.” He smiled narrowly. “It's only a story, a myth of my people. But truth does not change, I think.”

Silence.

Thor bent his head, somber. “It is a story that meant much to me when I was a child,” he continued, a light laugh. “And perhaps it still does. Perhaps that's why I believe each man has his own destiny with Ragnarok. A worthy death delivered to him by God only if his life, his courage, and his heart have earned it for him.”

A vague fear settled over Connor.
“What's it like, living your life like that?”

Thor smiled.
“It is a gray, lonely place, my friend. But any place can feel like home ... if you stay long enough.”

Silent, Connor met the resolute gaze.

Thor rose, gazing down a moment. “I will return to the tower tonight by the old riverbed.” He smiled. “It is a long ride, but I feel a need to be alone tonight... in the cold. Beneath the stars. But I will come back later tomorrow and tell Jordan a story.” He smiled. “Perhaps I will tell him the story of Jormungand and Ragnarok.”