The Transall Saga (12 page)

part

3

chapter
36

He was on Earth.

It was incredible. It was impossible. He’d thought of it, of course—all the similarities: people who looked almost the same, plants almost the same, animals almost the same. But he’d decided that perhaps life on all livable planets had evolved more or less the same way—all from star stuff. He had been sure he was on a different planet.

But now there could be no doubt. He was still so stunned by the knowledge that he rode along among the Merkon’s men hardly paying attention to where they were going.

The previous day he had delayed his departure for Trisad while he questioned Barow, Dagon and some of the older people. At first they weren’t much help. To them, the world they lived in was called Transall, and they didn’t care about the writing on the odd piece of glass.

Then Barow told him of other things with letters on them that the villagers had found over the years. Until Barow, no one in the village knew about reading, so the finders assumed that the strange marks were symbols left by earlier tribes.

Mark had insisted on seeing the artifacts. They brought him a small tube made of a tough transparent material, which bore the initials USAF, and a large chunk of steel that seemed to have no special origin until he scraped off the dirt and read the words GENERAL MOTORS. One woman had a perfect half of a white glass bowl with PYREX imprinted on the bottom. And an elderly man showed him a brass doorknob that he used for a handle on his walking stick with MADE IN JAPAN stamped on the bottom.

Now Mark was even more determined to see the shaman in Trisad. If Mark had come through some sort of time warp and been projected far into the future, he had to know if it was possible to go back.

Questions flooded his mind. What had happened to civilization and its technology? Where were all the cities and their billions of inhabitants? And what had caused the mutations in the plants, animals and people?

Whatever had happened, Mark mused, it must have been catastrophic. The Tsook people had regressed to the Dark Ages, the arrow people even further, and the Rawhaz were barely above wild animals.

Mark let his mount fall back to the end of the procession. The Merkon’s men watched him but didn’t say anything. Sarbo circled back and rode up beside him.

"What is troubling you, infant? You have been acting strange all day."

"It’s a long story. I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you." Mark looked at the big man. There was genuine concern on his wide yellow face.

"Sarbo, have you ever heard of a fantastic light with more power than a bolt of lightning? Power to transport people across time?"

Sarbo stroked his short black beard thoughtfully. "Is this what your quest is about? Are you trying to find this light?"

Mark lowered his voice and chose his words carefully. "I came to Transall with the aid of that light. I belong to a time hundreds, no probably thousands, of years in the past."

Sarbo’s eyes widened and Mark hurriedly continued. "I know it’s hard to believe. I had a rough time with it myself. But now I have proof. The glass present Barow gave me with the writing on it belongs to my time. So do those other old things they brought to my cabin yesterday."

"It is true that you are different. That much I know." Sarbo paused and glanced up to the head of the column of men. "Dagon noticed it right away. There has been only one other..." He stopped.

"One other?" Mark repeated. "You mean you’ve seen someone else who looks like me?"

"Yes, I—"

An arrow slammed into the shoulder of Sarbo’s beast. The animal screamed and reared, pawing the air with its front legs. More arrows followed, sticking in the ground all around them.

"Run for the woods, Kakon!" Sarbo turned his animal and bolted to the right. A battery of arrows flew at them from the trees.

"We have to go back," Sarbo yelled. "Stay with me, Kakon."

Mark jerked his beast around and thundered after Sarbo at full speed.

Without warning Sarbo darted off the path. Mark sped after him through the deep red grass and into the forest.

In the cover of the trees Sarbo slid to the ground and skillfully twisted and pulled the arrow from the beast’s flesh. Blood squirted out and streamed down the animal’s leg. Sarbo poured a little water in the dirt and made a mud poultice.

Mark grabbed his sword and stood guard near the edge of the woods.

They could hear shouts, but no one came after them. Sarbo put his fingers to his lips, motioning for Mark to remain quiet. Even after silence had settled they continued to wait in the trees.

After almost an hour Sarbo finally spoke. "It was an ambush. Our attackers were waiting for us, Kakon."

"How can you be sure?" Mark whispered. "No one could have known the Merkon was going to Trisad. He only decided himself two days ago."

"I am sure. Come, let us see if there are any survivors."

Sarbo checked his beast’s wound. The poultice had stopped the bleeding. He climbed on its back and cautiously entered the clearing. Mark trotted up beside him, listening intently for anything out of the ordinary. When they reached the spot where they had been attacked they discovered three of the Merkon’s men sprawled on the ground, dead.

"The Merkon must have gotten away!" Mark exclaimed. "At least, if they killed him it didn’t happen here." He turned and noticed Sarbo examining one of the bodies. "What is it? Did you find something?"

"Perhaps." Sarbo broke the shaft off the arrow sticking out of the man’s neck and brought it to Mark. "Do you recognize this?"

"Rawhaz." Mark frowned. "I didn’t know they planned their attacks. An organized ambush doesn’t seem to be their style."

"It is not their way. They come upon their enemy and fight to the death. It was not the Rawhaz who ambushed us today. Look carefully at the design. It is hastily painted on. The Rawhaz take pride in creating their weapons. And they are scavengers. They would never leave these swords and crossbows lying here in the dirt. No, whoever finds these bodies is supposed to be fooled into believing this was the work of the Rawhaz. But it was not."

chapter
37

They had picked up the trail of the Merkon’s beast. It appeared that the Merkon had been captured by an army of several dozen men. They followed the tracks for three or four miles before losing them in a dense wood.

At dark Sarbo found a secluded spot and suggested they camp for the night. He reapplied the mud poultice to his beast’s wound and settled down to a cold camp, deciding it would be better not to build a fire until they knew more about the danger of their situation.

Mark sank his teeth into a hard piece of bread, chewed twice and swallowed. "Who do you think went to all the trouble to make the attack look as if it came from the Rawhaz? And why would they do it? Does the Merkon have enemies?"

Sarbo lay back in the grass. "The Merkon is ... an unusual man. He has been able to unite all the Tsook as one people. No one else has ever done this. But there are some who resent him."

"Some of the Tsook?"

"Half Tsook. In the long ago time when there were not so many real people, one tribe of Tsook captured an entire race of desert dwellers called the Samatin. They intermarried with them and their children became half-breeds, no longer true Tsook."

"What does this have to do with the Merkon?"

"The Merkon has declared that the Samatin are not to be considered part of us. Their lands are not under Tsook protection and may be plundered for the good of the real people."

"Sounds like bigotry is still alive and well on this planet," Mark muttered.

"I do not understand."

Mark shook his head. "Did it ever occur to you that the Samatin are people like you? Why hate them just because they are another race? And what about me? I’m not true Tsook."

"You have earned the right to be Tsook."

"This is an impossible conversation." Mark tore off another piece of bread and chewed on it thoughtfully. Sarbo was set in his ways and there was no talking him out of them. Mark decided to change the subject. "How far is Trisad from here?"

"Two, maybe three days. It is in the middle of the Death Sand. Long ago one of the tribes created a city there made completely of mud bricks. It was a trading center for caravans on the way to the river. But it is almost gone now and only a few people live there. Mostly those who are in hiding or wish to be left alone."

Mark finished his bread. "What do you think will happen to the Merkon?"

"If it was the Rawhaz who attacked us he is dead by now. But if, as I suspect, it was the Samatin, they are holding him for a ransom."

"Should we go on looking for him?"

"We will keep our eyes open for tracks. But I think it is no use to go after them. By now they have already determined his fate. Tomorrow we will go to Trisad."

Mark leaned back. "If something happens to the Merkon, who will take his place as Overlord of the Tsook?"

"That I do not know. The Merkon governs from a large city across the river called Listra. I am sure there are many of his officers there who could take over. I have heard he has a son. But they say he has deliberately never appointed anyone as second in command."

"Perhaps when they are paid, the Samatin will release the Merkon and no one will have to worry about it," Mark said. He raised himself on his elbows. "Just before the attack you were telling me that you have seen someone who looks like me. Someone both you and Dagon know. Who is it?"

Sarbo cleared his throat. "Never before had we seen round eyes like yours, or light skin, or feet without a protective covering on the bottom. Then many years ago such a man came to our village. Like you, he earned the right to become Tsook. He was smart and very strong, and soon he became a powerful warrior.’’

"Who was this man?"

"The Merkon."

chapter
38

The crystals in the red sand reflected the sun’s sweltering rays, and beads of sweat trickled down Mark’s forehead. He wanted to take a drink from his almost-empty leather pouch but Sarbo had already warned him that they should use their small supply of water sparingly.

Sarbo had explained that many who had wandered through the Death Sand had never returned to their homes and families. Some went out, lost their way and became crazy with thirst. Others simply vanished.

The arid landscape was a stark change from the mountains and jungle. Even the treeless plains of the Rawhaz were inviting compared to this. There was no vegetation to be seen in any direction, nothing but endless scarlet sand.

Sarbo’s beast was still recovering from its shoulder wound and moved at a stiff gait. Mark’s animal plodded alongside, not wanting to move any faster either because of the suffocating heat.

The night before, they had camped near a small water hole. It was the only one Sarbo knew of on the way to Trisad. Mark used the time to question him about the Merkon. Where was his tribe? Had he ever said whether there were more like him?

Sarbo didn’t have any answers. He and Dagon had been young men when they had first met the Merkon and noticed how different he was. It had been more than twenty-five years ago. As for the Merkon’s background, the Overlord told them he came from a tribe of metal workers from across the great waters.

Mark assumed that was the ocean. He asked Sarbo if he had ever seen it. Sarbo laughed and said he did not believe such a thing existed. So Mark drew him a crude map of the world in the sand. In North America he carefully depicted all the rivers and mountains he could remember and explained where the land stopped and the ocean began. He told Sarbo about the great ships that sailed from one continent to the next.

Sarbo was hard to convince until Mark drew the Rockies and the Rio Grande. The big man seemed to recognize them and after that he grew oddly quiet and sullen.

Today he was still not very talkative. Mark chalked it up to the heat. They traveled mile after mile in silence.

Mark had long since taken off his armor and tied it around his beast’s neck. It reflected the sun’s rays and clanked lightly as they walked. He was considering letting it drop in the sand when Sarbo pulled his animal to a sharp stop.

"I have been thinking about what you told me, Kakon. Your story about the light must be true. No one in Transall possesses the kind of knowledge you have. Therefore, you are surely not from our world. I will do what I can to help you return to yours."

"Thank you, Sarbo. I appreciate your vote of confidence. You’ve already been a big help. I know I couldn’t have come this far without you."

Sarbo pointed ahead. "Trisad is just over that far rise. If the shaman you are looking for is not there, we will not stop until we find him."

Mark rubbed his sweaty chin on his shirt sleeve. As he did, he happened to glance back and saw a small red cloud of dust moving up fast.

"Looks like we’re about to have company."

Sarbo turned. The expression on his face changed. "Samatin. No one else could move that quickly in the Death Sand. Hurry, Kakon. We must make it to Trisad before they catch us."

They whipped their beasts and moved out across the sand. The Samatin were gaining on them. The pursuers were riding short, fast-moving animals, and the deep sand didn’t seem to slow them much. Mark could see the outline of the front rider. A white cloth was wrapped around his head turban-style and his sheetlike clothing flapped like giant wings as he rode.

The rise Sarbo had pointed to earlier seemed to be moving away from them. Mark urged his beast to go faster.

Sarbo’s injured mount stumbled and its leg folded underneath it. The warrior lost his seat and rolled across the sand. He scrambled to his feet. "Go on, Kakon. Hurry. You can make it. I will hold them off as long as I can."

Mark ground to a stop and jerked his beast around. "Don’t be foolish, Sarbo. Get on behind me. Either we both make it or neither of us does."

Sarbo hesitated, then quickly swung on behind Mark. The silver animal turned and ran, but it was held back by the sand and the added weight.

The Samatin were closing in. There were more than twenty of them, whooping and hollering in choppy cries.

Mark finally topped the rise. Below them he saw the ruins of an old adobe city. The walls were crumbling and whole sections were missing. He drove the beast down a steep sand dune and charged through the high broken wall that had once surrounded the city.

"We can make our stand here," Mark said as he pulled the beast to a stop. He reached for his sword and crossbow, then jumped down and ran to the wall.

The Samatin had spread out in a line across the top of the dune. They raised their curved swords and yelled what sounded like jeers and threats. A few of them shot arrows in the direction of the wall but the arrows fell short by several yards.

"What are they doing?" Mark stared up at them. "Taunting us?"

Sarbo watched the Samatin through a large hole in the wall. "No. If what I have heard is correct, believe they are afraid."

"Afraid? Of what? They have us outnumbered ten to one."

"They are not afraid of you and me. They are afraid of this place. In the before times, Trisad was known as an important religious center. A variety of worshipers converged here for sacred rites, and from them the Samatin’s own beliefs sprang up. They consider this place untouchable. Holy ground."

"Are you saying that they’re superstitious? As long as we are here, they won’t come in after us?"

"Yes. But do not forget, they are the sworn enemy of the Tsook. We will not be allowed to leave alive. They will be waiting for us."

"We’ll worry about that when the time comes." Mark turned his back on the shrill yells of the Samatin. "Let’s go find the shaman."