The Lost Colony

Chapter 36

Late morning sun warmed Sparr as he made his way out of Shong. Leaving the densest part of the city behind him, he once again found himself in the shallow, dusty valley. A lattice of streets had been laid out, but unlike those the pilgrims had passed through on their way into the city, these had never been built upon. For the hundredth time, Sparr wondered what had befallen the colonists. Had some natural disaster struck? Had they fallen into conflict? Shong had given no clue. The damage there appeared to have been inflicted by scavengers, not war.

Sparr also wondered how he would stay safe. His first day on the planet had seen him pursued by a pack of wolf-like creatures which he had evaded only to be captured by slavers. He had learned a great deal about the planet over the past months, including its language and culture. Would it be enough to keep him safe? Doubts gnawed at him.

By mid afternoon, Sparr had climbed to the edge of the shallow valley. Ahead lay a ridge line, dotted with green. Puffing with the effort, Sparr topped the ridge. Here the way dropped down into a land completely different from that which he had just crossed. Scrub, grasses, and dwarf trees led down the slope, giving way at the bottom to thicker clusters of greenery. The abundance and diversity of life on Kaybe never ceased to intrigue Sparr. Apart from some hunting, the colonists didn't seem to have inflicted any serious harm on the local fauna. It was, Sparr thought, much like life on Earth must have been before the emergence of men.

The road wasn't much farther. Sparr approached it cautiously, looking for any sign of recent traffic. There wasn't, but shortly after turning south east, he spotted a cluster of buildings. At a spot where the road pressed close to the ridge, a tiny village had taken root. Fearful of slavers, he crept toward it.

There was little sign of recent inhabitation. One decrepit building was large enough possibly to have served as a guesthouse. Two much smaller buildings, little more than shacks, would have been suitable for at most two occupants each. One of the two had been largely stripped of its walls, the wood apparently used for a fire. Little else recommended the place. Shade was sparse, there was no sign of access to fresh water, and the ground was rocky. Little wonder, Sparr thought, that the spot had been abandoned.

The ridge wall, however, was unique. Where it passed near the village the sheer wall had been crudely carved. Sparr tugged away some vines to reveal a pictograph. To the left, clusters of crudely worked stick figures surrounded what might have been the towers of a city. The figures stood tall, their arms outstretched. Nearby, a circle had been drawn, surrounding a downward-pointing arrow. To the right similar figures seemed to crawl, or lay flat. Farther to the right still, a few lonely figures stood, surrounded by trees. Sparr tried to make sense of the drawing.

"Can you believe travelers used to pay to see this?"

Sparr spun, startled, but the woman facing him offered no obvious threat. Dressed in drab, threadbare clothes, greying, and carrying only a wooden bucket in each hand, she stood facing Sparr with amusement. He tried to gather his wits. "People paid to see the carving?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "This used to be a pilgrimage station. They'd stop for the evening, set up camp, and as soon as night fell, the priest or priestess would bring the group to the carving for a lesson. One of Omm's stages. The fifth? I get them confused."

"Was it the one where Omm liberates the faithful from their tokens?"

"Exactly!" she said. Sparr caught a glimpse of a weary smile.

"I'm Alain."

"Nooma," the woman said. She set down the buckets, which Sparr saw contained a thick liquid.

"But seriously," Sparr said, returning to the carving, "what is this all about?"

Nooma swept her eyes across the carving as if she might previously have missed something. She gestured to the buckets. "Help me with these and I'll tell you."

Sparr hesitated. It was earlier than he had planned to stop. On the other hand, his new friend might have important information. For that matter, she might know of a safe place to pass the night. He hoisted the buckets. "What is this stuff?"

"Sap," Nooma explained, taking off along a path which hugged the ridge. "Give it a smell."

He did. "It's sweet?"

"Yes," Nooma said. "Very. I boil it down, dry some into candy, and bottle the rest."

"And you sell it to travelers."

"And I sell the candy to travelers. The molasses I sell to a spirit vendor."

"Why did the pilgrim caravans stop coming to visit the carving?" Sparr asked.

"When they found out it was a hoax?"

Sparr snorted. "What?" The two reached a small clearing.

"You can set those buckets down over there," Nooma said.

Sparr did as he was asked, then watched as Nooma re-kindled a modest fire. She poured the sap into a kettle which might four hundred years prior have been fabricated as a sink. So much of Kaybe life still depended upon the technology first built then abandoned by the original colonists. The two sat.

"You said the carving was a hoax?"

She sighed. "I don't know, honestly. My husband and I debated it. He thought it was a convenience for the Origin, something that had been twisted to support their teachings."

"Like the importance of the phases of the moons." Efreem and Silla had explained how the Origin had borrowed their symbolism from an older religion known as the Precipice.

"Like that, yes." She eyed Sparr anew before continuing. "We, my husband and I, thought that the carving had nothing to do with the Origin, but tells an important story nonetheless."

"What story?"

"Well, it's obvious most people used to live in the cities, right?"

"Sure," Sparr said, surprised. It was obvious to him, but it came as a pleasant surprise that at least some of the local inhabitants made the connection as well.

"But we don't, not any longer. Only the scavengers still live in the cities. Mostly we live in villages."

"Okay..."

"So that's the first and third sections of the carving. In the first, people live in large numbers in a city. In the third, just a few people remain, and there's no city."

"What happened in between?" Sparr asked. No question plagued him more.

"I think we got sick," Nooma said. "Remember the people in that section weren't standing? They were crawling or, I think, dead."

Sparr hadn't seriously considered illness. By all indications the colonists had arrived in good health, and prospered for decades. What new affliction could have stricken them?

"What about the circle? It had an arrow inside, pointing down."

It took Nooma a moment to recall. "Oh," she said. "My husband and I disagreed on that. He thought it meant the people escaped the city through a hole."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "I just didn't like his explanation. You know how husband and wife are."

"Do you mind if I ask..." Sparr let the question trail off.

"Dead," Nooma said. "It's okay. It's been many years." She ran her fingers through greying hair. "Dusk hounds."

"Yeah, about those," Sparr said. "Any tips? I mean, you're still alive."

"So are you," Nooma observed.

"I was traveling with a caravan until recently."

"Ah," Nooma said. She sat back. "Yes, for a solo traveler they're more than a nuisance." She thought on it for a moment. "Can you kill one?"

"Yes," Sparr said. With his pistol and a defensible position he could kill quite a few.

"Okay," she said. "Kill one. Skin it. Wear the skin. The scent makes them think twice." Nooma rose, groaning. She banked the fire against the kettle, stretched, and went to the trunk of a fat tree. A rope from a high branch hung almost to the ground. She turned to Sparr. "Go back toward the carving. There's a spot there where the soil is especially soft. Right overhead you'll find a little cave. Not comfortable, but you'll be safe." She gripped the rope, then looked over her shoulder. "Good luck, Alain."

As Sparr watched in astonishment, the aging woman tugged herself up the rope, to her own version of safety.

***

Enemy at fifteen meters, Sparr's implant reported. Fourteen...

"s**t!" Sparr cursed, uncaring if the others heard. He hurried down the corridor of the doomed castle, looking for any escape. He was so close!

Twelve meters...

There! Sparr spotted a wooden door. He swung his sword, the legendary Blade of Kallon. The door burst into a hundred glowing fragments. He leapt through the opening, quickly assessing the room on the other side. He already had the Helmet of T'Charzon, his sword, and the Belt of Blessings. All he needed was the Requiem Crystal. It had to be here! Sparr approached each of the room's three chests in turn. The first two popped open automatically, revealing nothing but a few useless gold coins. The third remained sealed.

Key required, his implant confirmed. Nine meters.

"s**t, s**t!" he repeated. Frantically he ran again for the corridor. Left or right? He couldn't remember which way he'd come.

"Bwaaaaaaaaah!" the creature roared, in a mismatched female voice. The thing towered over him, blocking escape. It rested on twenty writhing tentacles, while threatening him with at least twenty more. It lunged.

"f**k! Goddammit Calista!" Sparr swung his sword crazily. The mighty blade sheared off one of the monster's tentacles after another, but still it came for him.

Health sixty-three percent, his implant reported. Forty-one. Without the crystal he was doomed. For each tentacle he severed, two more grew to replace it. Eighteen percent. Five...

GAME OVER

"f**k!" Sparr tore off his extended reality goggles, jarringly replacing the blood-spattered stone corridor with the spotlessly clean mission lounge.

Calista, still wearing her goggles, performed her now-standard victory dance.

"I'm the monster, oh yeah!" The blonde shook her hips and wriggled her arms in a passable impression of tentacles. "Who's the monster? I am!" The goggles did, in fact, give her a faintly non-human look.

"You're the monster, all right," Tracee groaned. Unlike the others, she had permanent vision enhancement. Without the sleek, dark lenses attached at her temples, the medical specialist would be almost blind.

"So, are you watching her victory dance in the game, or live and in person?"

"Live," Tracee said. She turned to Sparr. "I jumped out of the game after she tore off your arms." The brunette inspected her drink ruefully. Like Sparr and the others, Tracee had finished two rounds already. "I'm thirsty."

"Hey, you guys should try mirror mode in this game." Calista was still twisting and flailing her arms, oblivious to the others in the lounge. "It's badass seeing yourself dance with forty arms!"

"Thirty-two at most," Sparr grumbled. "I'm sure I severed at least eight or ten there at the end."

"Mine grew back. Yours didn't," Calista replied. But at last the blonde grew tired of her solo dance. She tugged off her goggles and shook her hair. "I win. Agaaaaaain!"

"I don't need mirror mode," Kevin said. "I look badass in real life."