CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the clearing where the Neshili worked tirelessly. The rhythmic sound of stone axes striking wood, the grunts of exertion, and the occasional murmur of conversation filled the air as they labored on clearing the land and constructing the walls to what would be their new home. Lowanna moved silently among them, her senses attuned to the earth beneath her feet and the life that pulsed all around her.
The Neshili were having a tough time with the work, especially since the local wood was much harder than any they’d encountered on the island.
It was under François’s guidance that the Neshili began working with what the Frenchman had identified as mesquite and quebracho, both of which were extremely hard and resistant to rot and insects. These woods, François had explained, would ensure their walls stood strong against the elements and any potential threats.
The primitive tools slowed their progress, and Lowanna could see the frustration etched on the faces of the natives. These people, once island dwellers, were unaccustomed to the demands of building large-scale walls or clearing vast amounts of land. The clearing was beginning to take shape, but the walls they were constructing around it were progressing far too slowly for her liking.
During the team meeting, they’d all agreed that they wouldn’t leave until the Neshili were on solid footing, and that meant these people needed protection from whatever dangers lurked out there, which meant they needed a wall.
Lowanna felt a familiar restlessness stirring within her. Her connection to the land, to the plants and creatures that thrived here, was a constant presence, a power she’d grown used to and had begun learning how to harness and control it. But now, watching the painstakingly slow construction, she felt an urge to act, to bend the natural world to her will and speed up the process.
She removed her boots, the only remnants she had of where she’d come from, and walked to the edge of the clearing, her bare feet sinking into the cool earth. For some reason, the physical contact with the soil made her feel better, even sometimes improving what would otherwise be a sour mood.
The forest beckoned to her, its hidden secrets whispering on the breeze. She closed her eyes, letting her senses expand outward, searching for the plants and vines she knew would be nearby. In her mind’s eye, she could see them—strong, resilient vines, capable of binding the wooden walls together with a strength no tool could match.
Once the walls were up, they could cover them with clay, a technique that was used almost worldwide in primitive cultures for making walls stronger.
Her eyes snapped open, and she began to move, slipping away from the group and into the dense undergrowth. Her movements were fluid, almost animalistic, as she navigated the forest floor. She found what she was looking for quickly: a cluster of vines coiled around the base of a towering tree, their leaves glistening with dew. It seemed like an entire section of the forest had these ropelike vines climbing up the tree trunks. Lowanna knelt beside the nearest of them, placing her hands on the ground, feeling the life force within them.
With a whispered word in a language known only to the earth and the creatures that lived within it, Lowanna reached out with her power. She could feel the vines respond, their energy shifting as she guided them, coaxing them to grow, to spread. They obeyed her command, the tendrils unfurling and stretching out, moving in the direction she willed.
Lowanna’s eyes grew wider as she rose to her feet. Even though she’d willed it to be, it still left her dumbfounded that these otherwise inanimate plants responded to her.
Hundreds of vines from the neighboring trees all unwound themselves and began writhing on the ground. They curled themselves into balls and began to roll. It was as if a wind were blowing them like a tumbleweed—toward the clearing. She followed them, her pace quickening as she felt the energy building within her, the connection between her and the plants strengthening with every step.
Her abilities were not something she was conscious of . . . she was acting on pure instinct.
When she returned to the clearing, the others had barely noticed her absence. The workers continued to haul logs and seat them into the holes dug into the hard-packed soil, unaware of the green tendrils that were now snaking their way across the ground, creeping toward the half-built walls.
Lowanna’s eyes glowed with an inner light as she dug deep within herself, summoning more of whatever it was inside her that made these abilities a reality. She could feel the earth respond, the plants surging with energy as they rolled up against some of the loosely seated logs, unfurling themselves from their tumbleweedlike form. Their tendrils began wrapping around the logs, weaving in and out across the nearest wall, tightening the binding between each log.
She called to the nearest bewildered workers and yelled, “Quickly! Seat the other logs into their holes.”
The workers scrambled, rolling the prepared logs into place as some murmured things under their breath and stared wide-eyed at the writhing vines that had gathered around Lowanna.
“Magic.”
“The gods are at work through her.”
“The priestess is gifted by the gods.”
Lowanna ignored the speculation as she focused on the work at hand. The moment a new log was seated, several of the vines lashed out to it, intertwining with the wood and binding it to its neighbor with a strength that rivaled anything the Neshili were capable of.
After nearly an hour of this, this section of the wall that once stood fragile and incomplete began to take on a new sturdiness that was miraculous given the short time that had elapsed.
Lowanna’s eyes were closed as she felt her power waning. Nonetheless, she sensed his presence approaching before he ever uttered a word.
“You’re full of surprises, my dear,” Marty said with a light tone.
Lowanna gave him a sly smile, her eyes still glowing with the remnants of her power. “The land here is strong . . . I know it sounds strange, but I can feel it in the same way I can your pulse by holding your wrist. And somehow, it listens to me when I’m speaking to it.”
“That’s an amazing talent. How long have you been able to do this trick with the vines?”
“About an hour.”
“Wow.”
“Learn by doing.”
Marty panned his gaze across the one-hundred-foot section of wall. “You probably saved days of work in just that amount of time.” He put his hand lightly on her shoulder and asked, “Are you okay?”
Lowanna nodded. “Just a bit tired. Doing this does kind of suck something out of me.”
Marty kneaded her shoulders and said, “You’re really tense. Maybe you should talk with Gunther about that stuff he drinks to replenish that healing battery of his. It might help you as well.”
Lowanna pressed her lips together, focusing on the vines writhing on the ground, and doing her best to ignore what she was feeling with Marty giving her an impromptu massage. If she had her way, the vines wouldn’t be the only things writhing on the ground, but sadly now was not the time.
Feeling the energy within her begin to wane, she called out to the workers, “I have to stop now. Gather more logs, prepare the ground to receive them, and we’ll do this again when you’re ready.”
Standing behind her, Marty leaned forward, put his chin on her shoulder, and said, “It’s getting late. I’ll go find Surjan and make sure we have lookouts scheduled through the night. You go talk with Gunther and get some rest tonight. You need it.”
Lowanna took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. There was something about that man that drove her crazy with emotions, both good and bad—well, maybe not bad, but he frustrated her beyond anyone she’d ever met.
She let go of whatever thread of control she’d been maintaining on the vines, and they convulsed and fell in heaps across the clearing.
One of the workers approached her. He looked nervous and was wringing his hands. “Um, Priestess Lowanna?”
Lowanna tilted her head as she looked at the sweat-covered islander and sensed a nervous fear coming from him. What goddess, exactly, did they think she was a priestess of? Flower Girl? But “priestess” was more respectful than “sorceress,” in any case. “Yes?”
The man pointed at the lifeless vines and asked, “Are they asleep or should we gather them for tomorrow’s work?”
She let out a short laugh and gave the nervous man an uncharacteristic smile. “I brought them out here for us to use. Go ahead and gather them up, we’ll need them.”
The man nodded and he shifted a nervous gaze to the nearest piles of vines. He looked back and forth between her and the vines, as if debating with himself if he could trust her. Suddenly, he grabbed at the nearest vine and almost immediately dropped it, his expression full of suspicion.
“Don’t worry, I promise you they won’t do anything if you pick them up.”
The man nodded and focused on the vine that he’d previously grabbed and dropped. The pace of his breathing was elevated and he looked like he was psyching himself up. With his jaw tightened, he reached forward and quickly grabbed the vine, holding it as far away from him as he might do with a snake.
Lowanna chuckled and the man grinned in response.
He gathered another vine, and without any obvious signs of these things coming to life, he called to the others and they all began to gather the vines, looping them into coils and creating a neat stack for use tomorrow.
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the clearing. Lowanna took in a few deep breaths and allowed herself a moment of peace. Somehow, she’d commanded the vines to help and it had worked. They were that much closer to moving onward.
Lowanna stared through the many gaps in the wall and knew that even with the help of the vines, there were still several days of work ahead before they would have a usable barrier.
As she gazed out over the pampas, a faint unease settled in her stomach. The land was wild, untamed, and full of secrets. While she had bent some of it to her will today, she knew that the true challenges still lay in wait for them.
François stood at the edge of the newly cleared field, the warm sun on his back as he gestured toward the freshwater lake that shimmered in the distance. The Neshili, gathered around him, listened intently, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern. These people had always relied on the sea and the bounty of their island for sustenance, but here, on the mainland, things would be different. The vast, open land was both a blessing and a challenge, and François was determined to prepare them for what lay ahead.
“Look at the slope of this land,” François began, pointing to the gentle incline that led down to the lake. “We can use the water from the lake to irrigate these fields, ensuring that your crops will have enough water even during dry spells. But it requires planning and effort.”
He picked up a stick and began to draw in the dirt, sketching out a simple diagram. “We can dig channels here and here,” he explained, marking the lines in the soil. “These will direct water from the lake up the slope and into the fields. We can use a series of pulleys and levers, like a shaduf, to lift the water from the lake. It’s a technique used in many parts of the world, and it will allow you to grow crops even in areas that are not directly beside the water.”
“I’m sorry, François,” one of the former islanders interjected, his brows furrowed. “I don’t understand. How can we lift the water up a slope?”
“A shaduf is the name of a simple tool that was used a long time ag—I mean that I’ve seen it used before. Imagine a long pole with a heavy stone on one end and a bucket on the other. We lower the bucket into the water, and the stone helps lift it back up. Then, we pour the water where it’s needed, often into an irrigation trough that I’ll show you how to make. This shaduf makes the work much easier.”
“Ah!” The islander’s eyes widened with understanding. “So the stone does the lifting?”
“Exactly. The stone balances the weight, so you don’t have to lift the water by yourself.”
The Neshili murmured among themselves, some nodding in understanding, others furrowing their brows as they tried to grasp the concept.
One of the younger islanders, a boy named Huz, scratched his head. “François, why are you teaching us all of this now? You’ve shown us how to find food in this new place, what wood to use to build our walls, and now this farming that you’re speaking of . . . it’s a lot to take in at once. Why all of this so quickly?”
François hesitated, his heart sinking slightly. He had been dreading this moment, knowing that the truth would have to come out eventually. But it wasn’t his place to be the one to tell them, to break the news that the team would be leaving soon. They had done their part in saving the Neshili from the encroaching waters, and the time was coming for the former islanders to stand on their own.
He looked at the teen, choosing his words carefully. “The world is a dangerous place,” he said slowly, his voice steady. “You’ve seen that already. There are many things out there that we don’t fully understand, and there are threats that can appear without warning. I’m teaching you all of this now because . . . well, I may not always be here to guide you. I want to make sure that you can thrive, no matter what happens.”
Huz’s eyes widened slightly, and François saw the wheels turning in his mind. The young man wasn’t foolish—he sensed that there was more to François’s words than he was letting on. But he didn’t press the issue, simply nodding slowly as he absorbed the information.
François turned back to the group, forcing a smile. “This knowledge is your safeguard, your way of ensuring that your people will continue to grow and prosper. These techniques are tried and true, and with them, you can transform this land into a thriving home.”
He moved to the edge of the field, where a small patch of earth had been prepared for planting. Kneeling down, he scooped up a handful of soil, letting it sift through his fingers. “This soil is rich, but it needs care. We’ll start by planting crops that are hardy, ones that can withstand the cooler climate here. Once the irrigation system is in place, you’ll be able to expand, grow more diverse crops, and even trade with others you might meet.”
As he spoke, François felt the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The Neshili were resilient, but they were also vulnerable, thrust into a world that was entirely new to them. He had to give them every tool, every piece of knowledge he could, because soon, they would be on their own. And he had no idea what kind of threats existed in this place. This was still a world when the megafauna had yet to go extinct. Things like the giant sloth or even saber-toothed tigers roamed the forest and plains, and these people needed to be ready.
He stood up, brushing the dirt from his hands. “Let’s start with the channels. We’ll need to dig them deep enough to carry the water without losing too much to evaporation. I’ll show you how.”
The Neshili set to work, their movements slower than usual, weighed down by the uncertainty of their future. François moved among them, offering guidance and encouragement, but his thoughts were elsewhere, turning over the reality of what was to come.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the field, François paused to look out over the lake. The water shimmered, calm and inviting, but for all he knew, there could be deadly threats in those waters. He wasn’t a prehistoric zoologist, none of them were.
These people needed to be careful.
François wasn’t the kind of person who was known for his compassion and mothering instincts. On the contrary, he knew himself to be a bit of a curmudgeon, but these people deserved peace after what they’d been through.
As he watched the Neshili work, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing that the foundation they were building together was one that he would soon have to leave behind.
Gunther stood before the newly constructed wall, his eyes narrowing as he studied it with a critical gaze. The final section of the wall had just been raised, encircling the Neshili’s first settlement, a physical barrier meant to protect them from the unknown dangers of this ancient land. But as solid as the wall appeared, Gunther couldn’t shake the nagging doubt gnawing at the back of his mind.
The tales of the giant sloths had reached him—massive creatures with the power to crush a man with a single swipe, their aggression unlike anything any of the islanders had encountered before. If those sloths decided to attack the settlement, would these walls hold? What if a neighboring tribe of natives attacked? Would the walls protect the people as they slept, as they toiled to build a new life here?
Gunther’s jaw tightened as he reached out and placed his hands on the rough surface of the wall. The woven vines and wood, though expertly crafted, felt almost insignificant under his touch. Someone had mentioned that the walls would be covered with a clay-and-straw mixture to solidify it further, but he knew that the core of the wall’s strength would be what was in front of him right now. His heart thudded in his chest, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. He had become a healer, but here, in this ancient, untamed world, he felt as if his role had expanded to something more—a protector, a guardian.
He closed his eyes, trying to steady his racing thoughts. As he did, he felt a familiar presence stir within him, a surge of energy that flowed from deep inside, something primal and raw. The voice, the one that had always been there, just on the edge of his consciousness, grew louder, clearer.
“How can I strengthen this wall?” Gunther thought, his mind reaching out to the presence. “Make it more impervious to attack?”
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat, the cool breeze rustling the leaves. But then he felt it—a response, not in words, but in purpose. The energy within him surged, and he sensed a direction, a clarity to the power that coursed through him.
He didn’t fully understand what he was doing, but he didn’t need to. Gunther let the energy flow through him, into the wall, his hands pressed firmly against the vines and wood. His connection to the voice deepened even though it hadn’t uttered a word. He felt his mind guided along a path. The barrier between him and the wall seemed to dissolve as if they were becoming one.
A flash of brilliant white was all he saw in his mind’s eye.
He opened his eyes and nothing changed.
Gunther gasped.
Had he gone blind?
But it wasn’t dark—it was the brilliant white that he’d encountered when traveling to this world.
It was the flashes of white when the voice had spoken to him.
But something was very different.
He felt the ground under his feet.
The palms of his hand rested against the wall of the Neshili sanctuary.
Suddenly, heat bloomed within his chest, pouring through his arms. He felt like gouts of flame were about to burst from his palms.
And in the blink of an eye, the white veil vanished and he was fully back in the here and now. But something about the world around him had changed.
The wall shimmered faintly, a soft glow emanating from the woven vines. The tiny gaps in the weaving that had been visible moments before began to close, the vines both tightening and expanding as if guided by an unseen hand. The entire structure rippled and writhed, somehow seeming to grow more substantial, more solid.
Gunther’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the transformation, his heart pounding in his chest. The glow intensified for a moment, and then, as quickly as it had begun, it faded, the light dimming to nothing. But the change remained. The wall, once a patchwork of vines and wood, now looked impenetrable, seamless.
Around him, the Neshili who had been working nearby had stopped, their tools hanging limply in their hands as they stared in stunned silence. One of the warriors, a tall man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward and tapped the wall with the butt of his spear. The sound that echoed back was solid, resonant, as if the wall had been forged from stone rather than plant and wood.
The warrior looked at Gunther, his expression a mix of awe and confusion. Gunther nodded slowly, his chest still rising and falling with the remnants of the euphoric surge that had accompanied the transformation. He felt content, more so than he had in a long time. Whatever had just happened, it felt right.
He stepped back from the wall, his hands falling to his sides, still tingling with the remnants of the energy that had passed through them. Gunther closed his eyes for a brief moment, sending up a silent prayer to the voice, the presence that had guided him.
I don’t know what I did, or maybe what you did through me, he thought, his mind reaching out once more, but it seems like a job well done.
As he opened his eyes, the warrior gave him a curt nod, respect and gratitude etched into his features. The Neshili resumed their work, building the first of many small huts for the people to live in—a shelter from the elements.
Gunther stepped away from the wall, his body humming with the afterglow of what had just occurred. The doubt that had plagued him earlier was gone, replaced by a quiet confidence. The walls protecting the Neshili as they slept were solid, hopefully impenetrable. Whatever came next, he’d done for the former islanders what he could to help.
As he walked away, the sun beginning its descent, casting long shadows over the settlement, Gunther felt a peace settle over him. He didn’t fully understand the power he had tapped into, but he sensed its presence. It was there, accessible with just a mental flick and the connection would be restored.
What was this thing that he’d reached out to and gotten a response?
Some form of alien?
A delusion of the mind?
Or was this all part of the elaborate test they were going through? A tool that if left untapped might spell their doom or maybe serve as a distraction?
Could it be trusted?
How could he know what it was and whether to use it as they navigated this dangerous, ancient world?
The setting sun bathed the clearing in a warm, golden light as the Neshili gathered around Surjan, their faces filled with a mixture of anticipation and unease. The walls of their new settlement rose proudly behind them, a testament to the hard work and resilience of these former island dwellers. Surjan stood before them, his heart pounding in his chest, but his expression calm and resolute. He knew this moment had been inevitable, but that didn’t make it any easier.
He steeled himself for what he needed to do.
He cleared his throat, the murmurs of the crowd dying down as all eyes turned to him. Dawa stood nearby, her presence a steadying force, but even she didn’t know what he was about to say. Surjan took a deep breath and began.
“People of the Neshili,” he started, his voice carrying across the clearing. “My friends and I have traveled far. We have faced many dangers with you and we’ve all overcome great challenges together. The gods sent us to bring you to safety, to help you build a new home where you can thrive. And now, that mission is complete.”
A ripple of surprise went through the crowd, the Neshili exchanging confused glances. Surjan continued, his voice growing stronger with each word.
“The gods have shown me a new destination for myself and my team. Our journey is not over, but it is time for us to move on. You are safe now, and you will continue to grow and prosper in this new land. But our path lies elsewhere.”
Beside him, Dawa stiffened, her eyes wide with shock. She turned to him, her voice a whisper laced with panic. “Surjan, what are you saying? You can’t just leave—what will become of us?”
Surjan placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but his gaze remained fixed on the crowd. “The gods have sent messages, Dawa,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “They have spoken, and they have chosen a new leader for the Neshili.”
Dawa’s eyes widened even further as she looked at him, then up at the sky, her lips moving in a silent prayer. Surjan watched her, a sense of calm washing over him. He had never wanted to be king, never sought the responsibility that had been thrust upon him. Now, the burden was finally being lifted.
“The gods have chosen Sharrum as the new king,” Surjan announced, his voice steady. “He will lead you, guide you, and protect you. It is his destiny.”
The crowd gasped in unison, turning to look at Sharrum, a tall, strong man with a calm demeanor who had always been a respected figure among the Neshili. Sharrum, who had been standing quietly among the people, looked just as shocked as everyone else. Dawa turned to Surjan, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Are you sure this is what the gods have asked of you?”
Surjan nodded. “I wish it could be otherwise, but I am but a servant to the gods.”
Dawa took a deep, shuddering breath and said, “As am I.” She turned, head raised to the sky, muttered another silent prayer, and then moved to stand beside Sharrum, tears rolling down her cheeks.
For Surjan, it was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He walked over to Sharrum, placed his hands on the man’s shoulders, and said, “I’m sure you will do what’s right for our people.”
The man nodded, accepting the mantle that had been passed to him.
Dawa looked up at her new king, her expression a mixture of resignation and determination. She took Sharrum’s hand, and the Neshili began to murmur in approval, their anxiety giving way to acceptance.
Surjan’s eyes caught a small movement at the edge of the crowd. Shush, Lowanna’s weasel friend, was climbing her leg, his tiny paws gripping her trousers as he made his way up to her shoulder. Lowanna smiled softly, giving the weasel a quick cuddle, her fingers brushing through his fur. The sight brought a fleeting smile to Surjan’s face, a brief moment of levity in an otherwise heavyhearted day.
As the Neshili began to circulate through the team, saying their farewells, Surjan felt a strange sensation wash over him—a sense of relief. He had carried the burden of leadership for so long, but now, that responsibility was no longer his. The Neshili had their new king, their new path, and it was time for him and the others to find their own.
Marty approached, his expression unreadable, but his eyes searching Surjan’s face for some sign of what he was feeling. Surjan draped an arm over Marty’s shoulder, exhaling deeply. “I’m done with this king stuff,” he said, his voice carrying a note of finality. “Next time, you be king—you’re better suited for it.”
Marty chuckled, though there was an edge to it. “I think I’ll pass on that, Surjan. It’s time to move on. Time to find out what the ‘gods’ have in store for us next.”
Surjan chuckled. “They are a demanding bunch, aren’t they?”
Marty nodded as they stood together, watching as the Neshili continued to bid their farewells and huddle around their new king.
The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the new settlement. It was the end of one journey and the beginning of another, and for the first time in a long time, Surjan felt ready to face whatever came next.