Into Eden: Pangaea - Book 1 (35 page)

As they walked along Jesse’s mind tried to replay every conversation that he had with Perez since they met in that jail in Mountain Shadows. Somewhere there had to be a clue. He just knew it. Perez always talked too much for his own good. Especially when he had been drinking or was really angry—like the time that they nearly had a sword-fight on the mountain. One thing that Perez had said had struck him as odd at the time, “IT WAS YOUR IDEA TO HEAD FOR EDEN IN THE FIRST PLACE!” Perez had yelled at him in anger. Jesse’s idea? Hadn’t Perez struck out a full two weeks ahead of Jesse? Perez had said something quite similar just a few days before when he wanted to turn back to Atlantis, “This was your stupid idea in the first place!” My stupid idea? thought Jesse. Hadn’t Perez found himself in the same jail on his way to Eden to kill Anubis? But Perez hadn’t been headed to Eden, had he? No! Jesse just assumed that he was because he said that he was there for the same reason…but…Perez had told him in the jail that he was headed to Mountain Shadows to find the guy responsible for their father’s death. Why did Perez think that he would find Anubis in Mountain Shadows? It didn’t make any sense.

Jesse tried to make sense of it all day. All day he had pondered the implications of Perez’s words. He
was
hiding something. Perez was hunting for someone in Mountain Shadows that he believed was responsible for their father’s death. Then another thought occurred to Jesse: that someone was
not
Anubis. Anubis was no “guy.” He was a blood-thirsty, foaming at the mouth, sharp-toothed jackal-head an-nef. A cold-blooded killer with a five-hundred-year-old grudge against their father. He was no, “guy” and Perez would never speak of him in that manner. But if not Anubis, then who? Who was Perez hunting when Sheriff Tubal locked him up in the Mountain Shadows jail?

All of these things were running over and over in Jesse’s mind late that afternoon as the three of them walked along looking for a place to spend the night, and Jesse was willing to bet after last night the subject was on Perez’s mind as well. Just something about a guilty conscience. Enoch was up ahead and almost out of sight, keeping a watchful eye out for oncoming an-nef. Perez was perhaps ten paces in front of Jesse, who was lagging behind, deep in his investigative thought, and coming up dry. Then, without warning, Jesse drew his sword and yelled at Perez, “WHY ‘CHA DO IT, PEREZ?!”

Perez whirled around and saw Jesse with his drawn sword. Without hesitation he drew his own and yelled back, “I DIDN’T MEAN TO, JESSE! I SWEAR IT!”

Jesse dropped his pack, bow and quiver, and took a step towards Perez, “Then why did you?”

Perez stood his ground and took a defensive stance, with his sword in both hands in front of him. He had also dropped his pack and tossed his cloak to one side. He was ready to fight.

“Don’t come any closer, Jesse! I WILL defend myself. You know I will!”

Jesse ignored Perez and continued to slowly walk toward Perez, his sword held straight out in his right hand. He stopped five paces from Perez then said, “I asked you why you did it.” Jesse had absolutely no idea what the “it” was, and he was hoping that fact did not show on his face. But with any luck, he thought, Perez would spill the corn.

“What’d think? You know me. I’d been drinking. I always talk too much when I drink.”

“But this time you said something that you couldn’t take back.”

“Yeah. I didn’t just tell him where we lived. I drew him a map! For half a denarius! Can you believe it?”

For a brief moment Jesse just stood there with a blank look on his face. What was Perez talking about? Who did he tell where we lived? Who did he draw a map? And why would Perez be afraid that Jesse would want to kill him if he found out? Then the realization struck him as if a curtain had parted and for the first time the ugly portrait behind it had been revealed. Perez had told Anubis or one of his men how to find their father. Had gone so far as to draw him a map and he had taken money to do it! In a moment Jesse’s countenance went from bewilderment to shock and anger.

“Murderer!” Jesse yelled. He charged Perez at a full run, swinging his sword in an arc to take off his brother’s head. Perez sidestepped the attack, and blocked the blow with his sword. There was a clanging of metal and Jesse swung again. This time his blade glanced off his brother’s sword and raked his arm, drawing blood. Jesse pivoted and came back at Perez a third time, but as he brought his hand back to strike he felt his arm yanked backward as something grabbed his wrist and gave it a terrible jerk.

Jesse spun around to find Enoch’s teeth clamped on his wrist with tremendous force. The pain was enormous and he could see his blood on Enoch’s teeth. In fear he glanced back but Perez was not advancing. He just stood in the road with his sword raised, blood dripping from his wounded arm.

“Let go, Enoch!” he yelled, but Enoch just bit down all the harder and pulled Jesse to the ground. Jesse started to pummel Enoch with his left fist, but Enoch held fast, tightening his grip and growling as he did so.

“Pleeease, Enoch!” Jesse yelled. “You’re hurting me!”

“Release the sword, Jesse,” said Perez, “and see what he does.”

Jesse let the sword fall to the stone pavement. Immediately Enoch released his grip and began to yell, “You want to kill somebody Jesse?! Why don’t you stick with Anubis? He’s the enemy, not Perez! Remember that! If you ever draw a sword on your brother again—either one of you—I’ll go for the neck next time! Now, bandage each other up. There’s too many creatures in this jungle that are drawn by the smell of blood. We’ll have lizards, panthers and dogs swarming all around us in no time just to finish what you two boys started!”

Perez sheathed his sword and sat down in the road with Enoch between him and Jesse. Out of necessity—but grudgingly—the two boys bandaged each other up, ripping strips of cloth from a blanket. When they were done, Enoch said, “The Prophet told me that when the fight started that I would have just seconds to stop it or one of you would die. I’ve done my part, now would one of you mind telling me what’s going on?”

“He helped the an-nef kill Father!” Jesse yelled, pointing at Perez.

“That’s a lie!” Perez shot back. “I didn’t know!”

“Let’s get off the road,” Enoch counseled, “and find a place to spend the night. Then you can catch me up. Perez first.”

The three of them walked up the road about quarter of a mile and then sat down under a tree some feet from the road. As Perez told his story, Jesse and Enoch listened intently. At first Jesse kept interrupting with, “Why didn’t you…How could you…You should have…,” but Enoch had enough. “Shut up, Jesse,” he said, “and let him talk.”

Nearly two years before Perez had decided that at age ninety-four that he was old enough to see the world on his own. He traveled to Mountain Shadows without permission of either his father or mother, and spent several months supporting himself by washing dishes at any one of a number of inns in the city. What he earned in one inn, he spent in another. He always had enough money for another stein of beer, although many a night he spent sleeping in Mountain Shadows alleys. One night he was sitting at a table in an inn, drinking beer and attempting to impress a cute barmaid with how rich his family was and how they owned so much land in Atlantis and how it would all be his someday when a dark man came and sat down beside him.

“Saaay,” the man began, “did I hear you tell the girl that you’re from the house of Nashon?”

“Yeah…” Perez said, disappointed that the girl had taken the interruption as an opportunity to leave.

“The great general Nashon?” the man inquired.

“Why yes. He’s my father. Although he hasn’t been in the legions for many years. He’s a farmer. We have a huge estate in the Foothills in Atlantis—right outside Albion.”

“The Foothills? Right outside of Albion? Why, I lived there when I was a boy!”

“No way!”

“It’s true! That was before the An-nef War, of course. No dark people live there these days. Tell me more about your father. Is he living? Where is your estate, exactly? Can you draw me a map? I’d be happy to pay you. I’d like to pay your father a visit. We were friends in the old days. I’m sure he’d recognize me if he saw me. I know that I’d recognize him!”

The dark man had many questions for Perez, and he paid for all of Perez’s drink for the remainder of that evening, and gave Perez half a denarius for the map as well. Not a bad evening, all in all. Perez never saw the man again. But on the morning after his father’s murder, when he had been told of the events of the night before, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who the hooded man was that led the an-nef to their estate and identified his father to Anubis. What he didn’t know, however, was what had happened to him. So he struck out for Mountain Shadows to search for the man that he knew had sent his father to his death. He never found the man, and a few weeks later he met Sheriff Tubal in an inn while he bragged about what he was going to do to the man when he caught him. Perez would never know that two demon-possessed lions had come across the dark man as he fled his an-nef accomplices, for fate has a way of working its will without our assistance. As the Prophet had written, “It is mine to repay.”

Tamar walked out on the balcony at night. She was having trouble sleeping again. It had been over a year since the death of her husband and eldest son. Over a year since her youngest son, Jesse had disappeared on an ill-conceived quest for revenge. That much she had been able to pry from his friend, Abijah. But where was he tonight? Was he warm? Was he safe? Was he…she dared not think it…dead? Hopefully his uncle Enoch would take care of him. Having a spirit-host as a companion had certain advantages. Enoch had many years of experience to draw from. Not only that, he had keen eyesight, keen hearing, and a keen sense of smell. Those things should all serve them well on the road. And what of Jesse’s half-brother Perez? Tamar liked to think that the two of them had found each other. They were such good friends. She liked to think it, yes, but she knew that it was probably just wishful thinking.

The balcony off her bedroom faced southward toward the Territories. That was where Jesse had gone. Somewhere out there beneath the same moon her son would be sleeping tonight. She prayed that the gods would bring him back to her alive. Jesse had to be alive—that was all there was to it. As her sole surviving son, if he were to die then she would be cast away—banished to some pitiful farm in the Territories by one of Jesse’s half-brothers who would be named Master of the house of Nashon in his stead. She shuddered at the thought. Yes, Jesse had to be alive—that was all there was too it. But she had been able to buy herself a little time. Time was always important to a proper plan, and Tamar was good at making plans and seeing them through. She had known from the time that she had come of age that she wanted to marry Nashon. Oh, the old general already had six wives by that time, but she knew that if she conducted herself in the right way around him—oh, might as well be honest with oneself—if she threw herself at him she would be wife number seven. And it worked, didn’t it? Now her son was Master of the house of Nashon. And if he were dead, well, she would find another way to wrest control of the estate from any would-be usurper. There was always another way. It just took a keen mind to find it, and a willing man to get it done. And Tamar knew men.

Tamar walked back into the bedroom and lit the lamp on her vanity. She leaned close to the mirror. At two-hundred and seventy-five she was still a beautiful woman. And yet, there were tiny crow’s feet that were starting to form at the corner of her eyes. She wrinkled her nose and frowned at the discovery, but that just made the lines deeper. Had to maintain a cheerful appearance to keep a good complexion. She needed a good complexion. That face and that smile had brought her this far, and they would keep her here if needed. Why, it was just three months since Hezron had returned from Atlantis. He was no longer a general, but at least he kept his head—literally. The emperor had permitted him to stay on indefinitely as Governor of the Foothills, but had given military command of the Albion Legion Detachment to a young centurion after the debacle at Horse-head Rock. Tamar had sought an audience with Hezron the day that he had returned. She couldn’t afford to have the son of another of Nashon’s wives talk with him first. He seemed agitated that she demanded to see him so soon upon his return, but he had granted the audience anyway.

Her petition had been a delicate one. She requested that Hezron appoint her trustee of Nashon’s estate until Jesse’s return. Hezron said that it was “unheard of.” A woman could not own property—much less be appointed as trustee of a huge estate such as Nashon’s. Tamar then told him that she was “afraid” she said, that one of Jesse’s brothers might “do something” before he came back. She placed her hand on his arm and said that she “needed protection.” With that simple gesture she could just see the old giant melt. Men were such suckers, sometimes. She looked directly in his eyes, “Please, Hezron, I have no one else to turn to.”

Hezron had cupped his hand over his mouth and thought for a moment. “Okay,” he said at last. “Until your son returns.” He then ordered a scribe to draw up the legalities on a scroll, signed it, sealed it with his signet ring and handed it to her. She motioned for him to bend over as if she would whisper something to him and then kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t be a stranger,” she told him. “You and Nashon were always such good friends. Please do come by and see me.” In three months Hezron had not bothered to take her up on the offer. That was okay, but she guessed that if he did she would have to make it worth his while. A woman must do what she has to do make sure that her plans succeed, and Tamar was used to succeeding.