RAIDERS OF THE SECOND MOON-5
884 Words
NOORK PADDLED THE LONG flat dugout strongly away from the twilight shore toward the shadowy loom of the central island. Though he could not remember ever having held a paddle before he handled the ungainly blade well.
After a time the clumsy prow of the craft rammed into a yielding cushion of mud, and Noork pulled the dugout out of the water into the roofing shelter of a clump of drooping trees growing at the water’s edge.
Sword in hand he pushed inward from the shore and ended with a smothered exclamation against an unseen wall. Trees grew close up to the wall and a moment later he had climbed out along a horizontal branch beyond the wall’s top, and was lowering his body with the aid of a braided leather rope to the ground beyond.
He was in a cultivated field his feet and hands told him. And perhaps half a mile away, faintly illumined by torches and red clots of bonfires, towered a huge weathered white skull!
Secure in the knowledge that he wore the invisible robes of a Misty One he found a solitary tree growing within the wall and climbed to a comfortable crotch. In less than a minute he was asleep.
“The new slave,” a rough voice cut across his slumber abruptly, “is the daughter of Tholon Dist the merchant.”
Noork was fully awake now. They were speaking of Sarna. Her father’s name was Tholon Dist. It was early morning in the fields of the Misty Ones and he could see the two golden-skinned slaves who talked together beneath his tree.
“That matters not to the priests of Uzdon,” the slighter of the two slaves, his hair almost white, said. “If she be chosen for the sacrifice to great Uzdon her blood will stain the altar no redder than another’s.”
“But it is always the youngest and most beautiful,” complained the younger slave, “that the priests chose. I wish to mate with a beautiful woman. Tholon Sarna is such a one.”
The old man chuckled dryly. “If your wife be plain,” he said, “neither master nor fellow slave will steal her love. A slave should choose a good woman—and ugly, my son.”
“Some night,” snarled the slave, “I’m going over the wall. Even the Misty Ones will not catch me once I have crossed the lake.”
“Silence,” hissed the white-haired man. “Such talk is madness. We are safe here from wild animals. There are no spotted narls on the island of Manak. The priests of most holy Uzdon, and their invisible minions, are not unkind.
“Get at your weeding of the field, Rold,” he finished, “and I will complete my checking of the gardens.”
Noork waited until the old man was gone before he descended from the tree. He walked along the row until he reached the slave’s bent back, and he knew by the sudden tightening of the man’s shoulder muscles that his presence was known. He looked down and saw that his feet made clear-cut depressions in the soft rich soil of the field.
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“CONTINUE TO WORK,” he said to the young man. “Do not be too surprised at what I am about to tell you, Rold.” He paused and watched the golden man’s rather stupid face intently.
“I am not a Misty One,” Noork said. “I killed the owner of this strange garment I wear yesterday on the mainland. I have come to rescue the girl, Tholon Sarna, of whom you spoke.”
Rold’s mouth hung open but his hard blunt fingers continued to work. “The Misty Ones, then,” he said slowly, “are not immortal demons!” He nodded his long-haired head. “They are but men. They too can die.”
“If you will help me, Rold,” said Noork, “to rescue the girl and escape from the island I will take you along.”
Rold was slow in answering. He had been born on the island and yet his people were from the valley city of Konto. He knew that they would welcome the news that the Misty Ones were not demons. And the girl from the enemy city of Grath was beautiful. Perhaps she would love him for helping to rescue her and come willingly with him to Konto.
“I will help you, stranger,” he agreed.
“Then tell me of the Skull, and of the priests, and of the prison where Tholon Sarna is held.”
The slave’s fingers flew. “All the young female slaves are caged together in the pit beneath the Skull. When the sun is directly overhead the High Priest will choose one of them for sacrifice to mighty Uzdon, most potent of all gods. And with the dawning of the next day the chosen one will be bound across the altar before great Uzdon’s image and her heart torn from her living breast.” The slave’s mismatched eyes, one blue and the other brown, lifted from his work.
“Tholon Sarna is in the pit beneath the Temple with the other female slaves. And the Misty Ones stand guard over the entrance to the temple pits.”
“It is enough,” said Noork. “I will go to rescue her now. Be prepared to join us as we return. I will have a robe for you if all goes well.”
“If you are captured,” cried Rold nervously, “you will not tell them I talked with you?”
Noork laughed. “You never saw me,” he told the slave.
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- Writer
