Authors: L. M. Roth
It was the
evening of the second day since they had lain idle. Marcus and Felix took a
stroll on the deck, where they were at least in the open air and not
suffocating below. They were joined by Dag and Cort, who had much the same
notion. Exhausted by the heat, none of them wasted their diminished strength in
conversation; instead they saved it to struggle for breath in the oppressive
atmosphere.
By this time,
Marcus found that even thinking required an effort. He felt drained and numb by
the heat. All he desired to do was lay down and rest his weary body until the
heat broke.
He glanced at
his companions. They all wore the same look of dazed inertia that he too surely
must have borne. The soggy, humid air made one as limp as a linen tunic that
was washed and wrung out to dry. Until it dried and regained its freshness and
shape, it flapped listlessly from the line where it was hung.
And then
suddenly, Marcus felt it. Something soft grazed his cheek and ruffled his hair.
Again the touch came, more intensely this time. A breeze! The air was stirring,
cooling his brow and lifting his spirits.
Felix let out
a whoop and spun around in an impromptu dance. Dag’s face broke into a broad
smile as he wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. Cort raced around the deck
as excitedly as a puppy turned loose to play. They all burst into laughter at
the sight and reveled in the refreshing breath of wind.
A commotion
was heard on deck as the Captain and several hands raced to the mast. The sail
flapped in the breeze, and filled out as the breeze changed to a steady wind. A
cheer went up and there was much clapping of hands on shoulders as they
rejoiced in the return of the wind. The ship lunged forward and continued her
voyage that had been stalled by the lack of a headwind.
Joy soon
turned to anxiety when the wind increased with a sudden intensity. Marcus
looked backward to the group of men hovering around the sail, and saw the smile
fade from the face of Dag as he furrowed his brow. Dag caught the eye of Marcus
and nodded in the direction of the rail.
“What are
those clouds?” he muttered.
Marcus turned
and gasped at the sight that met his eyes. Only a few minutes ago the sky had
been hazy but free of clouds. But now a mass of ominous dark clouds had piled
up on the horizon as the ship got caught in the current and sailed on.
Indeed, it
seemed that the ship was at the mercy of the current and the wind. For the
Captain attempted to steer her rudder back on course, only to be thwarted. The
boat seemed bent on a path that was set for it by some unseen hand, as if
another directed its sail.
Before them
the clouds continued to amass like a battalion of ships preparing for war. The
wind whipped the waves to a frothy foam as of a rabid dog readying to lunge and
take the boat in the bite of its jaws. The sky turned a sickly green, against
which the clouds turned orange in the setting sun.
Like some
nightmare vision of Hades it looked to Marcus as he stared from the deck. His
heart started to pound as a queer anxiety rose up within him. No less anxious
was the Captain as he strode the deck, barking orders to the crew, tension
visibly creasing his face.
A cry went up
from the lookout.
“The Dragon!
We are in the Dragon’s Belt!”
Felix barely
had time to shoot Marcus an amused glance when suddenly the sea rose up around
them in towering waves. They sank into a trough and rose on a crest higher than
any wave Marcus had ever rode on a ship. Down they went, and up they rose.
Then a
deafening roar assaulted their ears as thunder boomed with a rumble resembling
the clamor of chariot wheels and pounding hooves in the races that Marcus so
enjoyed watching. The sound of one hundred chariots all racing at once could
not compare to the awful sound of that thunder. It clutched the heart in fear
with its threat of worse to come.
And worse
did
come. The sky sizzled with the snapping of lightning that blazed in the
darkening sky. Never had Marcus seen such a display of light; it exploded with
white ferocity, sending vapor up as it smote the water with lethal aim. A smell
like sulfur seemed to accompany it, and Marcus momentarily gave credence to the
tale of the Dragon and its revenge.
But only for a
moment. For the wind accelerated and began to spiral, gripping the boat in its
vortex. Around and around it spun the boat in a dizzying circle. Marcus tried
to find something to grab onto, but was hurled to the deck where he lay
facedown.
He raised his
head to try to locate his friends. They too had been slammed to the deck, and
lay at the mercy of the wind and the rain. Fearing they would be swept
overboard if they stayed on deck, Marcus crawled first to Felix, then to Dag
and Cort. He prevailed on them to follow him.
They crept low
along the deck, not standing lest they be caught up in the howling gale. They
followed Marcus to the hatch, which was firmly fastened shut. It took their
combined strength to pry it open, and scrambled one by one down the rope
ladder. Dag held the cover as he entered the hatch, and closed it as he
descended. The force of the wind slammed it behind him, nearly knocking it
against his head.
They wearily
dropped to the floor panting for breath after their exertions. For several
moments they lay, filling their lungs with air, and waited for their gasps to
subside.
Kyrene and
Elena rushed from their cabin with wide eyes and outstretched hands.
“But you are
soaked through!” Kyrene exclaimed. “We heard the storm, but did not know you
were on deck. We must pray for this storm to stop or I fear the ship will break
apart.”
This outburst
was met with a sound that sickened them with fear: a crash from the deck that
reverberated below and sent a shudder through the ship, and sent them scurrying
topside once more.
Here their
worst fears were confirmed: the mast had snapped, a leak had sprung, and the
ship was breaking up.
Atop all was
in disarray. The mast lay across the deck, the sail covering a few hands that
were unfortunate to be standing below it when it fell. They lay still, and did
not move again. The Captain shouted orders above the wind, but few heard him,
and those who did heeded him not.
“It is the
Dragon, the Dragon!” one screamed in terror as his eyes rolled back in his
head. Marcus had once seen a horse look like that just before a chariot race
when it turned on its master and kicked him to death. He decided to keep his
distance.
“Save
yourselves, save yourselves!” another sailor called out and threw himself
overboard.
Some hesitated
and looked to the Captain, but many followed his example. The splash of their
plunges was muffled by the howl of the wind and the waves spilling over the
deck. The ship bobbed up and down in the billowing swell like a cork without
any substance of its own, completely at the mercy of the violence of the
tempest.
“Captain,
please you must stop this madness!” Marcus implored. “They will die in those
waters; none can survive a sea like this.”
“Aye, they
will die!” the Captain agreed, a gleam of madness in his eye. “We will all die,
for who can escape the Dragon’s Belt?”
“But why throw
yourself overboard?” Felix asked. “Yes, the ship is breaking apart, but better
to grab a plank to keep yourself afloat,” he reasoned.
“Why? Why?”
the Captain shouted at Felix. “Why, because if they stay the ship goes to the
bottom where the Dragon lies in wait for us. Better to swim and get out of the
vortex when she sinks to the bottom!”
And with that
the Captain dived from the sinking ship, leaving the little band of friends on
the deck in the midst of the wreckage and the dead.
The ship began
to roll, startling them. It now had a distinct list to the right, and was
taking water fast. Marcus suddenly straightened himself as the peril of their
situation took an urgent turn.
“Quickly!” he
ordered. “Kyrene, you and Elena and Cort go below and grab our packs. If you
can’t carry everything, at least take Logos. Dag, Felix, come with me.”
He led them to
the aft part of the ship while Cort and the girls hurried below. Felix,
divining his intent, whipped out his dagger. Being more agile than the others,
he reached their little boat first; for they had brought it on board with them
to use again when they left open sea and could continue by river.
Felix rapidly
cut the bonds that tied the boat to the mooring. They struggled to free it, but
the deck was now awash and their feet slipped as they tried to release the
little boat, now filling rapidly with water, from its berth. The wind
continually splashed sea-water into their eyes, impeding them still further.
At last Dag
with a mighty heave of his strapping shoulders turned the little boat on its
side and drained it dry. Marcus and Felix joined him and together they hoisted
it above their heads and carried it back to the hatch to wait for the return of
the others. They had not long to wait.
Elena, so it
happened, could pack speedily and efficiently due to her experience in
servitude, and it was she who commandeered the expedition below decks, drilling
the others on the swiftest ways to pack as much as could be carried. She and
Kyrene toted three bundles each, while Cort struggled with two. Dag quickly
came to his aid, and they stowed their packs in the little boat, while Marcus
shared his plan.
“We must get out
of the current or we will never survive. You saw those sailors jump; not one of
them has surfaced. Let us pray and ask Dominio to guide our boat, just as Zoe
did when we took the River.”
They bowed
their heads and prayed fervently.
“O Dominio,”
Marcus began, “You did not bring us this far only to have us die in this storm.
Our faith is in You; our hope is in You. Grant us life that we may serve You
and lead others to You as we advance Your Kingdom.”
“Amen,” Kyrene
agreed.
“Amen.” “Amen.”
“Amen,” chimed in Felix, Dag, and Cort with one voice. Elena remained silent.
Marcus then
took several of the ropes that lay scattered on the deck. He looped one end
around himself and secured it with a knot, then passed the next portion to
Felix to do the same. In this fashion they continued one to the other until
they were all bound together. He also passed the remaining ends of the rope
through the empty holes where the oars were stored, thus tying them fast to the
boat. Thus, when the waves knocked them about, they would not spill out of the
boat, nor be lost from each other.
When he had
finished, he slowly took a deep breath. Then he shouted his instructions over
the whirling tempest.
“When the next
swell comes, I want all of you to put your hands in the water and push with all
your might. We must get off the ship before it takes us to the bottom with its
descent. Once we are free of the ship, we must row with our hands away from it
and get out of this current. One man swimming alone cannot do it, but a team
united may succeed. Do you understand?”
They all
nodded; Elena tense and pale, Cort’s eyes sparkling with excitement, Kyrene
gazing calmly at Marcus, Dag’s countenance impassive with stoic resignation.
But Felix gave Marcus a look of confident trust that warmed his heart and gave
him reassurance in his own ability to lead. He nodded back at them.
They sat
rigidly in the boat, watching the water rise on deck with anxious eyes. They
were sinking closer to the level of the water when suddenly the wind dropped
and the waters calmed.
“What,” Felix
stammered but Kyrene interrupted.
“It is only a
lull,” she said. “I have seen it on the Isle of Phaulosene many times. It is an
isle near Solone that is subject to fierce storms that blow up from the sea
without warning. The wind will soon return and howl with renewed ferocity. We
must hurry and break free; there is no time to lose!”
At her urging
they plunged their hands into the water. With no swell to buoy them it was more
difficult to leave the ship. The ship, however, tempest or no, continued to
sink beneath them. They waited for the moment the deck was below the level of
the sea…
At last, they
felt a tug beneath them as the ship started to flounder.
“Hurry!”
Marcus commanded. “Row with your hands away from here!”
They threw
themselves into rowing, all leaning backwards in the same direction, with one
mind and will. The sinking ship attempted to drag them in its wake but their
combined efforts kept them afloat.
When the ship
could resist the pull no longer, it dived, sending a wave cresting from its
descent. Frantically they rowed their hands with the wave, away from the ship
in its death spiral. They felt a lifting as the little boat caught the wave and
rode it, and broke them free of the clutching grasp of the sea.
They were free
of the ship, but as Kyrene warned, the storm returned with a vengeance. Rowing
frantically with their hands they released themselves from the treacherous
current. They had not gone more than a few miles from the site of the shipwreck
when they heard once more the howling fury of the tempest.
The sea grew
choppy and the waves began to rise. From the gloomy black of the evening sky
the rain fell in a spate that pounded their skin, blinding their eyes. Thunder
shook the sea and reverberated in their little boat. Lightning flashed,
revealing the banks of clouds hidden in the dark of night.
Then the wind
rose savagely once again, beating their little boat as if punishing a wayward
child. Elena cried out in fear, and Cort held onto the boat tightly, clenching
his lips lest a cry escape from them. Kyrene looked ahead, her lips moving
silently in prayer. Felix said nothing but rowed all the harder. In this effort
Dag joined him, with unrelenting vigor as his mighty arms plunged and lifted in
the water with unbroken regularity.
They soon
became aware, however, that this time the wind did not blow them about with the
bobbing helplessness of a child’s toy ship. For now, they were free of the
current that had caught the ship in the vortex; the gale drove them on in one
direction as if in a single-minded purpose. Whither to, they could not tell;
yet all of them felt they were being carried on a predetermined course sending
them to an unknown fate.
Through the
night they sped on, too weary to even attempt to fight; for they could not row
against the force of that fierce tempest, all attempts being of no avail. They
saved their strength and prayed, entreating Domino to protect them and guide
them to safety.
Gradually the
wind died down until only a steady breeze remained. The waves calmed to a
gentle lapping of water against the sides of the boat. The thunder ceased to
bellow, and the lightning no longer split the sky in dazzling flashes of
brilliant light.
As the sun
rose, they found themselves adrift on an expanse of sea as blue as the sky at
high noon. The morning rays kissed the water with a rosy glow, turning it to a
mysterious mauve.
They relaxed
and stretched their aching arms. Now that the storm had passed, they were
content to drift idly as they regained their strength. The sun rose higher
overhead, warming their bodies now chilled by their sodden clothes.
A pair of
gulls flew past, issuing a mournful cry. The lament reflected the mood of
Marcus’ heart, as he thought of the Captain and crew who perished in the
tempest. If only they had heeded the voice of reason, he rued.
Suddenly, he
started. Gulls! They had seen gulls. And where there were gulls, land was not
far away.
“Dag!” Marcus
cried out. “Follow the gulls; they will lead us to land.”
Dag nodded.
The stalwart Trekur Lender once more lowered his arms into the water and began
to row in the wake of the gulls.
Shortly before
noon, they rounded the island. It was not very large, being perhaps two miles
long by five miles wide. At first glance, there appeared nothing remarkable
about it.
As they neared
the coast, however, they noted the oddity of the landscape. While it boasted an
abundance of lush green grass, not a single tree was to be seen. Most
remarkable were the clusters of what appeared to be large stones or pillars
that dotted the island. But not a sign of human life did they detect…
Kyrene spoke
first.
“I do not like
the look of this place, Marcus,” she whispered. “Nor does it feel right.”
Inwardly,
Marcus agreed. But they needed a place to rest after the horror of the storm
and the shipwreck.
“I agree with
you, Kyrene,” he said as he nodded his head. “However, I feel we must take
whatever opportunity for rest presents itself before continuing our journey.”
Thus, with foreboding,
they steered the small boat into a cove. There they beached it while they
surveyed the coast. They left the shore and headed for the stony pillars they
had spied from the water.
Upon closer
inspection, they proved to be white stones that had been roughly cut and hewn
into large blocks. They were not tall enough to be pillars, nor was there any
sign of the remains of a temple as they knew it. They had obviously been
fashioned by human hands, yet the island was clearly uninhabited.
“Here is a
mystery,” Felix observed. “What think you of it, Marcus?”
“I know not,”
Marcus responded, speaking rather slowly as he pondered the stones. “Do you
have any insight, Kyrene?”
Kyrene
wrinkled her brow, her eyes boring in on the standing stones.
“I cannot
fathom why they should be here; fashioned by human hand, yet not a soul to be
found. There are no remains of a floor to indicate a temple once stood here,
yet I divine some sacrificial significance to them. Who made them, and why? And
where are the people whose hands erected them? It troubles me in my spirit.”
She paused.
“I do not like
this place,” she shuddered as shook her head, and her tawny waves bounced as if
for emphasis.
“Well,” Felix
said, after a brief period of silence. “Since there are no inhabitants to
challenge us, and we need a respite, I opt that we explore a bit and get some
sleep.”
The others
agreed, somewhat reluctantly on the part of Kyrene and Marcus. But something of
Kyrene’s uneasiness infected Dag, and he made a startling announcement.
“You sleep: I
will keep guard,” he stated.
Marcus was
surprised for surely the great man must be exhausted. The bulk of the
responsibility for rowing the boat had fallen primarily on the shoulders of the
hardy Trekur Lender. He felt relief that they would not be unprotected, yet a
pang of guilt accompanied it.
“Allow me to
sleep for two hours, then wake me and I will relieve you in your watch while
you take some rest.”
Dag agreed,
and they found a spot shaded by the standing stones where they were shielded by
the hot rays of the sun.
Marcus threw
himself down on the grassy floor; he felt a lessening of tension at once as he
nested down in the emerald carpet. He had forgotten the feel of grass, and how
as a small boy he had thrown off his sandals and run through the green blades
that encompassed the gardens of his father’s villa. He breathed in the fresh
scent, and felt the sun warming his body more soothingly than any blanket. He
heard the gentle slap of the waves caressing the shore, and the occasional cry
of a gull. Within moments of lying down he was lulled and carried off into a
deep slumber.
It seemed only
moments later when Dag woke him. Torn abruptly from sleep, it took several
moments to orient himself to his surroundings. He nodded to the Trekur Lender
who appeared drooping with weariness. Thus relieved, Dag smiled gratefully and
laid himself down. His snoring soon assured Marcus that he was sound asleep.
Marcus
struggled to keep his eyes open. His short rest had only served to make him
aware of how truly exhausted he was. He blinked his eyes, shook his head, and
stomped his feet, but to no avail. Deciding that sitting in one spot only made
him sleepier, he rose to his feet and began to pace. He soon felt his brain
clear of its sleep induced fog, and his mind became alert once again.
As he paced he
listened for any signs of life, but heard nothing except the occasional gull,
and the rumble of Dag’s snores.
How strange is
this place, he mused to himself. He shared Kyrene’s uneasiness and wondered why
the island affected them thus. What events had transpired here that left such a
pervading sense of foreboding?
About an hour
after he woke, Kyrene stirred. She lay for a few minutes with widened eyes, her
body tense as if she also listened for something. Finally, she rose to her feet
and joined Marcus.
“Kyrene,” he
whispered, “you should sleep. We do not know what lies ahead and how long
before we may rest again.”
“Nay, Marcus,”
she answered. “I slept a while, but I cannot rest. There is something evil
about this island; some great wickedness took place here. In truth, I sense
danger!”
“That is it!”
Marcus exclaimed; then lowered his voice so as not to disturb the sleepers. “I
feel that also, as if we are being watched by unseen eyes. What do you discern?
What do you make of the strange stones?”
Kyrene did not
answer at once. She gazed at the stones with a far off look in her eyes, as if
she were divining the secret of the stones.
“I sense the
stones were part of some ritual,” she surmised at last. “It is not possible
they were used as shelter, for there is no roof, no floor. Yet they are not
aligned in straight rows as pillars would be, so they do not appear to be the
remnants of a temple, such as we would recognize. Some one made them, but why?
And where are the people who placed them here?
“It disturbs
me greatly, Marcus,” she said as she sighed gently.
They remained
silent for several moments, as they pondered the possible significance of the
stones and the mystery of their origin.
At last Marcus
roused himself from contemplation with a shake of his head. The frown of
concentration cleared from his handsome brow and he exhaled deeply. He turned
to Kyrene as another thought came to him.
“There is
another matter that perplexes me, Kyrene. I have not had opportunity to speak
with you about it until now, and I would like your opinion on it.”
He then shared
with her the strange visions he had seen in their travels: the evil visage that
peered out from the Tribal Chief’s face when he confronted and denounced Dag,
and the eerie figure he saw at the edge of the woods at the home of Pascal and
Gaelle during the banquet.
Kyrene nodded
her head eagerly as he related these visions.
“Very good,
Marcus, very good indeed,” she said with the air of a tutor commending an
exceptional pupil. “You are growing in discernment, and that is why you
perceived them.”
Marcus
hesitated a moment, then voiced his own conclusion.
“Were they the
Astra?” he inquired as he lowered his voice.
“Yes, indeed!”
Kyrene exclaimed. “Or rather, two of the minor ones.”
“Minor?”
Marcus asked skeptically. “But they were hideous!”
“Oh yes, I am
certain they were!” the girl answered him. “But it is only the minor Astra that
are hideous. They are the ones who appeal to our base natures and incite us to
indulge in deeds of the flesh, such as drunkenness, lewdness, anger, or as in
the case of the Tribal Chief, murderous revenge.
“It is the
high ranking Astra who are more difficult to detect, for they disguise
themselves as beings of great beauty. These do not incite one to carnality, but
rather to a false spirituality. They set themselves up to be worshiped as gods
and lure the ignorant to set up idols, to bow down to what is not God, and to
persecute those who belong to Dominio.
“They pretend
to be loving, kind, and tolerant of all peoples and their faith save one: they
hate Alexandrians and incite their own followers to make war on us. Yes, they
seem beautiful, but make no mistake, Marcus; they are evil.”
Those last
words were pronounced with such finality that for a moment Marcus found himself
bereft of words. Yet, he had something niggling at him, which would not leave
him in peace…
“I have one
more question,” he finally ventured. “Why could not Dag make the Tribal Chief
see reason, and how empty the worship of Bjorrne is? Why do they persist in
believing a lie?”
“They believe
because the lie is of long tradition, and it is entrenched in their
understanding. What you saw in the Tribal Chief’s face was a lower ranking
Astra, but over that one is a higher, more powerful general, if you will, who
exercises control of that territory in Trekur Lende and gives orders to those of
a lower rank. It is a hierarchy, Marcus, just as it is in a standing army.”
This statement
made sense to Marcus, who was raised in a military family, and whose thoughts
proceeded along such lines. And yet…
“Why was Dag
unable to break through that lie with the truth of Dominio, and Alexandros Whom
He sent?” Marcus persisted.
“Dag could not
prevail because he had not yet been tested,” Kyrene explained. “Do you remember
what Xenon taught us? ‘You will never defeat the kingdom of darkness unless you
conquer the chambers of your own heart.’ ”
Marcus
reflected on Kyrene’s explanation.
“But what is
the test? Surely when he found out that Cort lied to him he had to forgive and
break the vow of his family to kill the members of Cort’s tribe. What test
could be greater than that?”
Kyrene looked
Marcus directly in the eye as she answered him.
“Fanchon,” she
firmly pronounced. “Forgiving Cort and sparing his life was a mere act of
obedience to Dominio. What else could an Alexandrian do in such a circumstance?
The true test for Dag came when he had to choose Fanchon or Dominio. Who really
possessed Dag’s heart:
that
was the test.