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A.R.Yngve DARC AGES _________________________ |
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![]() The guardian of Kap Verita |
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Chapter 15
Outside, the sea breeze proved refreshingly salty; but the dry heat came very hard on a pale city-dweller like Dohan Damon. Thick layers of dried bird-dung crackled under his boots. He rushed as quickly as his load allowed him, to the shadow of a few palm-trees, and paused for breath. He scanned the city ruins in his binoculars... and spotted nothing but ruins, halfway covered with vegetation. No boats were visible anywhere; apparently the harbor belonged to the birds. He looked up toward the nearby hills, rising up to the north -- mostly barren, but with large patches of green, low forests in the valleys. Vegetation meant water, which meant possible habitation. Dohan continued his survey for several minutes, until... A foreign noise caught his attention. Something big and lumbering was crashing down the near hillside, trampling undergrowth and palm-trees in its way. Dohan heard an animal sound, unlike anything he had ever heard before: too loud for a bird, too high-pitched for a domestic animal -- like some twisted trumpet. The sound repeated in short, snorting bursts, closer each time, and soon -- a beast emerged from the undergrowth, stampeding straight toward the ship! Dohan impulsively ran from his hidingplace and intercepted the running animal. Then he saw just how huge it was -- and he suffered a momentary paralysis. The beast was gray-green and covered with coarse, shiny, leathery scales. It towered above him, almost four meters tall, supported on straight legs, like four tree-trunks with stubby, clawed feet. It had a long, drooping, useless tail, two meters long. The creature fixed its yellow reptilian eyes on Dohan and turned its very long, sloping head toward the tiny intruder. It sounded its trumpet-roar again -- the sound came from its huge nostrils, not the long jaws with the rows of sharp front teeth... Dohan's moment of paralysis ended; he backed, but the beast charged forward, as if to scoop him up and bite him in half. Dohan threw himself to one side and fell, as the giant reptile thundered past him. He fired a pulse at the beast's side -- it roared furiously and ran off in a wide circle, stirring up more dust. The pulse had barely penetrated its thick skin, and Dohan knew why -- the dust-clouds were refracting the laser-beam, making it too weak to concentrate heat onto one spot. Dohan dropped the rifle and grabbed the shield in his left hand, the sword in the right one. He beat the sword-hilt against his shield, trying to draw the beast's attention away from the ship -- the monster was large enough to crush the jet tubes under its feet. "Come on then, you overgrown turtle!" the young warrior shouted -- his legs trembling with fear for the first time in months. The beast responded with a loud snort, turned and charged him. When the beast was almost too close, Dohan darted to the side and struck with his sword at a passing hind leg -- the beast's jaws snapped together, but hit thin air. The sword cut deep, drawing dark-red blood. The creature roared again, slowed its onslaught and turned on the spot. Dohan was already running in the other direction around the animal, slashing at the other hind leg. The blade drew blood again. Unexpectedly, the beast kicked backward with a hind leg -- Dohan's shield was hit and tossed away. The handle whipped out of his grip, nearly breaking his hand and arm. Dohan groaned and retreated again -- but he held his sword raised like a short spear now. The scaly thing opened its pink gap wide, tensing itself for another downward snap -- and Dohan hurled the sword up into its gap. The blade pierced the palate and buried itself in the monster's brain. A final dying trumpet roar escaped its nostrils -- and the beast slumped down on its side, dead. The dust settled. Dohan tore off his helmet, panting and coughing. He looked anxiously around the landscape for kindred beasts -- but there were none in sight. Then an insight hit him. He pulled loose the bloody sword, took his equipment, and ran back to the ship. "Darc, there is a witchdoctor on this island! The monster in the story -- I met it and killed it!" Dohan described the beast to Darc, who nodded weakly. "Have you seen... anything like it before?" "Never!" "Then it was man-made... find the creator... quickly..." Dohan hurried to obey his dying friend. Time was running out, and Dohan's mind raced to find a way of attracting the mysterious inhabitants. He could not transmit laser signals, without knowing if and where there was a receiving disk. He shouted, and shouted again: "Help! Come and help!" The echo of Dohan's voice rolled back from the sun-scorched hills, taunting him. He cursed, and fired a few futile pulses up at the green valley ahead; the target was of course too distant to catch fire. Fire! That was it! Dohan aimed the rifle at the nearest grove of trees. He adjusted the pulse rate to get a continuous low-heat beam instead of short, white-hot pulses -- and squeezed the trigger. The bright red beam swept over the grove, which immediately burst into flames. In two seconds he had used up the powercell, but it was enough to start a major fire. The sea wind soon began to blow sparks at the dry bush-covered ruins. If the inhabitants did not show up soon, every blade and leaf on the island would burn down. A few minutes later, the inhabitants showed up -- in a way Dohan had not expected. Hidden motors hummed to life in the hills. A series of telescopic, Y-shaped poles were raised along the nearest ridge, with thick wires connecting them – it was a camouflaged cable-way, a few kilometers long, which had been invisible from the air. From its top, a carriage glided down along the wires -- it turned out to be a platform, carrying two people and a large electric carriage. The carriage was unloaded at the foot of the ridge, and the manned wagon hummed down the hills, into the harbor, on clanking wheels. Dohan retreated to the ship's cargo ramp, and readied himself for a quick escape. But as he had expected, the two people ignored him at first. Instead, they steered the carriage to the burning grove. They attached some kind of pump to the vehicle's engine, and began to shower the fires with water-hoses. Almost like the fire brigade of Damon City, Dohan thought. A few minutes later the fire seemed to be extinguished, and the two figures steered the clanking carriage toward the parked jet craft. When they stepped out of the open seat, Dohan could see that the two persons were both full-grown women. Loose knee-high skirts were draped over their legs. They wore long-sleeved shirts and cloths wrapped around their heads -- and all their of their attire was camouflage-patterned. The red flame-symbol on their costume and carriage indicated that they belonged to the local firewatch. Two dark-skinned, broad-nosed, lively women. And very angry. "Are you crazy?!" the shorter woman barked at him, in a rapid dialect which he could just about understand. "Starting a fire in the middle of summer! We ought to cut off your head and stick it on a pole, as a warning to other idiots!" She wielded a laser rifle, and seemed prepared to shoot. The other, taller woman stepped in front of her, armed with a machete and rifle. She gave the pale-skinned stranger a hard look, measuring him up. Dohan blinked, but did not move or flinch. "I am Sir Dohan Damon from North Castilia," he explained slowly. "I am looking for a witchdoct... a doctor. My friend is very sick; he must get help soon. Do you understand?" The tall woman told her companion: "We will inform the village council first. This is not a matter for us to decide." The short one shook her head and argued for decisive action: "I say we shoot off his kneecaps right now. He's a nut. And..." Her shifting gaze discovered the fresh carcass of the beast that Dohan had killed. Birds were already beginning to flock around it. "Aiiiii!" screamed the shorter woman -- a mixture of horror and carefully staged rage. "He killed one of the master's pets! Meijji will cut off your balls for this, young fool!" "I acted in self-defense," he objected, rubbing the sprained tendons of his sore left arm. But the women had already come to an agreement. The short one aimed her rifle up in the air, and fired three bright signal pulses. Soon, another platform came gliding down the cable-line, loaded with people. The party rapidly marched down the slope, and arrived at the open space before the ship. Most of them were brown-skinned women of varying age, ogling him with curious -- and suspicious -- eyes. A tanned old man with squinting eyes and small eyeglasses emerged from this crowd. Unlike the wrapped heads of the women, he wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, like the one the migrants from Asia brought to Castilia many generations ago. From his decorated white tunic, he produced a tiny metal instrument -- and scanned Dohan and the ship behind him. He smiled and nodded to his company, which seemed to calm down just a little. "You are a Castilian, eh?" the old man asked in a slower, more recognizable dialect. The old man nodded at his own question, and declared to Dohan: "I am Mechao The Eighteenth, elder doctor of the Kap Verita Islands. Now, where is the patient?" Darc fought himself up from a nightmare of vast ice-flats, through which human hands were sticking up, clutching at his legs. He opened his eyes and looked around. The unfamiliar place where he found himself lying was a spacious four-poster bed, in a chamber with tall, open windows. The sun was shining in from outside, but an overhanging roof prevented it from reaching inside the room. It was pleasantly cool indoors, though. Darc struggled to an upright position, and found that his fever was gone. He was tired, but felt strangely healthy -- perhaps healthier than ever before during this his second life in the future. He went over to the window and gazed down at the beautiful, sun-scorched landscape. The long curtains fluttered slightly in the warm sea breeze. Below his window, a cliff face dropped straight down into a lush green valley ten meters below. On both sides, the rows of windows continued to stretch along the cliff face -- the surrounding ridges, and the camouflage roof, hid this natural fortress perfectly from scouting aircraft. The buzz of crickets suffused the salty air. He soon found his clothes -- washed and ironed by someone -- cleaned himself up, dressed, and felt at the door. It was unlocked. He walked outside. Dohan, his arm in bandages, was dozing off on a chair outside Darc's quarters, watched over by quiet servants. He had waited all night for his friend to recover. He flew to his feet as Darc stepped outside. Dohan hugged the confused Darc, and looked at him in astonishment -- while Darc noticed the dark rings under Dohan's eyes, as well as his thickening beard and sunburned face. The young man released Darc, laughed with relief, and babbled rapidly: "You really are better, Darc! I thought it was too late -- but Mechao healed you in no time at all! "As soon as I had told him where you came from, he and his men worked like mad to rescue you! He said something about 're-shaping your bodily defenses' and 'injecting white-cells' -- I don't understand half of it -- but he saved you! Thank the Goddess!" Once again, things were happening too fast for Darc. "Hey, hey, calm down... nice to see you too, but I'm a little dizzy yet. Who is this 'Mechao'? How did he cure me? And --" -- his tongue suddenly felt dry as a desert -- "-- when do we eat? I'm starving to death here." Dohan urged him along, grinning. "The meal is served and waiting," he said. "And perhaps you could explain to the house master, that I killed his pet monster in self-defense -- how was I supposed to know it was tame?" White-clad servants escorted them to a large dining-chamber, built in stone and concrete like the rest of the mansion. Some of its walls were actually part of the volcanic rock which made up the mountain -- polished into shiny black slabs which were marbled with glittering minerals. The all-female staff served Darc a veritable banquet of seafood: lobsters, sardines, codfish, crab, oysters, sea shrimps, and fruits. Robots were completely absent. While sharing the food with Dohan, their host arrived -- Mechao, still dressed in his white robes but bareheaded. He did not talk or eat much, but mostly sat watching Darc -- now and then scribbling in a tiny notebook, then nodded and hummed to himself. Darc took a closer look at his savior: Mechao was tanned, but his skin was paler than that of the other inhabitants. His face was all wrinkles; he wore glasses; the top of his head was bald -- yet he seemed full of vitality, never remaining completely still. His eyes had a vaguely Oriental slant, reinforced by his stripy long moustaches and chin-beard -- or maybe it was just his nearsighted squint that did it. Once finished and relaxing, Darc slowly explained to Mechao: "First of all, I must thank you for your help. My name is Darc now, but before I was frozen I was called David Archibald... it's a long story..." Mechao drummed his palms into the table, happy like a child: "Please, tell me everything!" He turned to his servants, clapped his hands and declared: "Ask my family and all who are not occupied, to come in here and listen! Darc will tell us about the Golden Age, the time he came from!" Minutes later, the wide room was packed with people of all ages. They brought extra chairs and mats, or sat down on the floor, or in each other's laps. Mechao's old wife greeted the visitors welcome, and took a seat next to him. The couple seemed to have about eight children, most of them in their upper teens, others adult. Darc uncertainly assumed that they had been married several times. Mechao's eyes searched the crowd. "Where's Meijji?" he asked. "She ran off again," someone replied. "That girl," he sighed. "The loss of Pipo came hard on her." "Pipo?" Darc asked. "The beast in the harbor," Dohan told him. Mechao hushed the crowd into silence and nodded at Darc, who gave his audience an embarrassed smile. This time, he knew how to serve his story in a more catching manner, and with the help of others to clarify his inexperienced vocabulary. He began: "It was 900 years ago... I was a rich man living in the cold countries north of Juro. This was long before the Eternal Ice came -- the time you call the Golden Age. I was a practitioner of the advanced medical arts, much like Mechao here. This was nothing wrong in my time. I was respected, rich. I made many wonderful medicines to heal the sick. I had a family, a... loving wife and two fine children. Everything seemed perfect. "But then I myself fell ill. A slow, creeping sickness was killing me from inside. The doctors told me that I could not be saved -- yet. But soon, within a few years, there would be a cure. With the disease, I would not last that long. I needed more time. And then one doctor, a brilliant man named Percival Takenaka, came and offered me a way -- a way to wait out those years..." He captured their hearts. The listeners wept at Darc's sorrows, laughed at his adventures. They were awed by the descriptions of a lost past, of terrible wars, incredible struggles, and fantastic progress. He revealed the forgotten ideas called democracy, freedom of speech, and human rights. They listened breathlessly at the retelling of Dohan's courage in battle, of the riches of the northern cities. Darc created a new legend out of his past -- a legend that would one day grow to replace the older myths. When he had finished his tale, hours later, the residents of the island treated him and Dohan like heroes -- except for Meijji... Meanwhile, in Damon City, Bor Damon called off the airborne search for his son and the lost Sunray. He simply could not risk leaving his city completely without air support -- with the looming threat of war between the Damons and the Paskos. He blocked out his grief and alerted the city troops, abandoning hope that Dohan would ever return from the forbidden lands to where he had escaped. Seeking comfort where he could, he rocked his mourning wife to sleep the first two nights. Then Osanna began to grow remote, silently blaming Bor for the loss of her only son. Was it not he who had brought the troublemaker Darc into their city? The people of Damon City were thrown into confusion, and flocked to the cathedral to await an explanation from high-priestess Inu: Had Darc been an impostor all the time? Was he the reincarnated King whose return she had promised, or just an enemy agent? Inu hid in her study, praying for Darc's return. She had expected the King to die again -- but not this way, not so soon, so shrouded in doubt. Eveli Damon did not cease to believe in Darc. She was sure he would return, and bring her brother back safely. As for Bor's sister and husband, no one knew their thoughts -- but Bwynn was more prepared to inherit the city rule than Andon had ever been. She waited, inert but patient, for destiny to set its course. |
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