CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Peering over the bow of the ship, Surjan felt a strong sense of relief for himself, for the team he’d arrived in this world with, and especially for the Neshili, whom he was now leading. The sun was high in the sky, yet the brightness of the noonday sun penetrated not an inch of the thick, untamed jungle that bordered the shoreline. The islanders were busily lashing together their vessels as they floated about one hundred yards off the shore of a new land. The waves lapped gently against the hull of his ship and he breathed in deeply of the air that was thick with the scent of salt and earth, foreign and enticing.
Surjan turned his gaze away from the approaching shore to look at the young woman he’d married just over a month ago. Dawa, now queen, stood at the bow, staring ahead at a new world. Somehow, she’d transformed from the shy girl he’d met to one who looked proud, had a regal bearing that showed confidence, and carried life sparkling in her dark eyes as the wind blew through her long black tresses. Surjan couldn’t deny that the girl was beautiful in her own unique way. It wasn’t anything like the seductive curves and mannerisms of her elder sister, which had triggered many warnings in his mind. Hers was a more wholesome, traditional beauty that took much of his will to ignore.
On the boat were her twenty-three handmaidens. They were Dawa’s lifelong friends and it almost seemed like they were in some way beholden to her—almost like servants, yet that term didn’t seem to exist in the Neshili language. Unlike Dawa, who since her wedding had worn a plain-colored woven garment, the girls were adorned in vibrant colors and would dart in and out of the new couple’s proximity to check on her and see if she needed anything.
Surjan leaned closer to Dawa and whispered, “Your thoughts on the new land?”
Dawa turned to him, her eyes shining with determination. “My king, the goddess of flowers has blessed us with this bountiful land. We must offer our thanks and ensure her favor continues. My friend-sisters need to go ashore to make the sacrifice.”
Surjan’s jaw tightened. He knew almost nothing about the religious practices of the Neshili, but he had gotten the strong impression that Dawa was a devout adherent to these beliefs. “I understand the importance of the sacrifice, Dawa, but it is too dangerous. We do not know what lies beyond that beach. There could be hostile natives, wild animals, or other threats.”
Dawa’s gaze hardened. “Are you doubting the goddess’s protection, Surjan? We have come this far under her guidance.”
“It isn’t the goddess I doubt,” Surjan replied, his voice lowering. In point of fact, he had zero knowledge of any of the Neshili pantheon, and zero confidence in their ability to provide any kind of blessing or protection whatsoever. “It is the unknown dangers of this land. We cannot risk your safety or the lives of your friends.”
One of the handmaidens, a young woman named Amara, stepped forward. “Your Majesty, we are willing to take the risk. The goddess will protect us.”
Surjan’s mind raced with all of the unknowns about the land they were approaching, and he shook his head firmly. “No. Not yet, and my decision is final. We will send scouts to survey the area first. Only when we know it is safe can I allow more of us to set foot on that shore. The danger of the unknown is too great.”
A tense silence settled over Dawa and her companion.
Surjan noticed in his peripheral vision that some of the other handmaidens had overheard the conversation and were exchanging worried glances.
Dawa’s eyes flashed with frustration, but she held her tongue and nodded her head slightly in Surjan’s direction. “Very well,” she said, her voice cool and composed. “We will wait for the scouts’ report.”
Surjan nodded, relieved that she had not pressed the issue further. He talked with one of the Neshili warriors on the boat, instructing him to communicate with the other boats and arrange for a landing party for him to lead. They’d explore the immediate area and report back by nightfall. As the warrior departed to communicate with the others, Surjan turned to his queen once more.
“I promise you, Dawa, we will perform the sacrifice. But we must ensure our safety first.”
“There is no ‘we’ in the sacrifice.” Dawa laughed and shook her head. “This is a woman’s responsibility; you cannot commune with the goddess.” She inclined her head, a flicker of resignation in her eyes. “I trust your judgment, Surjan. But do not delay longer than necessary. The goddess’s patience is not infinite. I do not want harm to come to our people.”
Surjan panned his gaze across the small fleet of larger transport boats and noticed that several outrigger-style canoes were being deployed. Preparation for the scouting team.
“I’ll lead the scouts and come back before sundown with news.”
Dawa reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Be careful. May the Flower Goddess protect you.”
Surjan smiled, gave her hand a squeeze and began helping one of the islanders lower a canoe onto the water.
Leading a group of six Neshili warriors, Surjan moved cautiously through the dense jungle, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger or food. The tropical foliage was thicker than anything he had ever seen in the Bahamas, the air humid and heavy with unfamiliar scents. The islanders followed closely, their primitive axes and spears at the ready, faces tense with a mixture of excitement and fear.
“Stay alert,” Surjan whispered, raising a hand to halt the group. “We are not familiar with these lands. There could be dangers we do not recognize.”
They moved on, the underbrush rustling softly under their feet. Surjan spotted a cluster of dark purple berries hanging from a tall, slender tree. He approached and plucked one, gave it a sniff, and a tentative nibble. He immediately recognized the earthy, tart, and slightly sweet flavor of the açaí berry and popped it into his mouth. He plucked another and showed it to the others. “These are good to eat.”
The islanders gathered around, eagerly picking the small, nutritious fruits and filling some empty tightly woven baskets they carried on their waists.
Even though the others were very interested in gathering supplies, Surjan couldn’t help but worry about what nearby threats there might be. He wasn’t one hundred percent convinced that they were in Earth’s prehistory, but if they were, nobody was entirely sure whether some really dangerous animals might still be lurking in these forests.
His mind brought up an image of a saber-toothed cat and he tightened his grip on the narwhal spear he’d acquired in the Sacred Grove. As he felt for the presence of his sharpened ankh, he focused his heightened senses ahead, looking for any type of threat.
So far, the only sizable wildlife they’d encountered was a peccary that had raced across their path, never giving them a moment’s attention. Had the wild pig turned to attack, its sharpened tusks could have posed a danger to them.
After stripping the low-hanging branches of the tree with the açaí berries, they moved farther into the jungle. A little farther, Surjan spotted a large, familiar-looking fruit hanging from low branches. Banging the hard woody pod against a tree trunk, Surjan broke the fruit open to reveal a creamy, aromatic pulp.
He recognized it from his military survival training that he’d completed in the jungles of Central America.
“This is something called cupuaçu,” he said, handing the fruit to the nearest islander. “We can eat the pulp, but leave the seeds.”
Using sharpened stone axes, the islanders gathered all of the easily accessible fruit as Surjan focused on their surroundings.
Even though the sun barely penetrated the thick canopy, Surjan had an innate sense of direction. All he needed to do was to concentrate and he could point in the direction of the shore, where they’d entered the dense jungle.
He continued to lead the group through the labyrinth of twisted vines and towering trees, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and vibrant vegetation. They all used their edged weapons to help cut through the underbrush as the sun had dipped lower in the sky and the shadows grew slowly darker, more ominous.
“Keep close,” Surjan urged, glancing back at the group. They were heavily laden with the bounty of the jungle. Warriors who had expected to find danger at every turn, now found themselves burdened with an abundance of fruits and tubers. The weight of papayas, pineapples, and other unfamiliar but enticing foodstuffs slowed their progress.
“We should head back,” Surjan said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “We have plenty of examples of what can be gathered in this jungle.”
The islanders nodded, their expressions a mix of relief and weariness. The dense foliage pressed in on all sides, and despite the richness of the jungle’s offerings, an undercurrent of unease ran through the group.
As they began their trek back to the shore, Surjan’s senses remained on high alert. The jungle was a living, breathing entity, full of sounds that hinted at unseen eyes watching their every move. The occasional rustle of leaves or snap of a twig set his heart racing, but he pressed on, determined to return with everyone safely.
Despite Surjan’s admonition against loading themselves so heavily with their culinary burden, the men couldn’t resist gathering all that they could, and now each step seemed heavier than the last as they navigated through the thick undergrowth.
“Your Majesty!” one of the warriors called out, pointing to a patch of bright yellow among the green. “More pineapples!”
Surjan shook his head. “No, we have enough. We need to get back before nightfall.”
The group moved on, but Surjan’s unease grew with each passing minute. The jungle seemed to close in around them, the shadows growing longer and darker. They were close to the shore now, he could feel it. The salty tang of the sea was a faint but welcome scent on the breeze.
Suddenly, a rustling noise stopped him in his tracks. He held up a hand, signaling for silence. The islanders froze, their eyes darting nervously through the trees. The rustling grew louder, closer.
Surjan gripped his spear tightly, muscles tensed and ready. “Stay behind me,” he whispered.
From the shadows emerged a large, wild boar, its eyes glinting menacingly. The creature snorted, swung its razor-sharp tusks from side to side and pawed the ground, preparing to charge. Surjan’s heart pounded, but he stood his ground, spear raised.
“Hold steady,” he commanded.
The boar charged, but Surjan was ready. With a preternatural precision, he sidestepped the creature at the last moment, his spear poised. In a fluid, practiced motion, he drove the tip between the vertebrae at the base of the boar’s neck. The spear slid in perfectly, severing the spinal cord and instantly paralyzing the large animal.
The boar collapsed, immobilized. Surjan approached the fallen beast, and with a quick, merciful thrust, ended its life.
The islanders breathed a collective sigh of relief. Surjan withdrew his spear, wiping the sweat from his brow. “We need to move quickly,” he said. “We need to get back before it gets completely dark.”
The warriors pointed at the animal and before they could say anything, Surjan crouched low and with a grunt of effort hefted the animal onto his shoulder.
“Let’s go!”
They quickened their pace, and it was only a few minutes before the shore finally came into view through the thinning trees. As they broke free from the jungle’s grasp, the sight of their makeshift camp greeted them. Dawa and the others rushed to meet them, their faces alight with hope and curiosity.
“We found food,” Surjan announced as he dropped his porcine burden onto the ground and gestured to the array of fruits and tubers. “More than we can carry.”
Dawa’s eyes sparkled with relief. “That’s wonderful news, Surjan. We can resupply our efforts without fear and for that we must thank the Flower Goddess right away.”
Surjan shook his head as he glanced at the sun hanging low on the western horizon. “It’s almost sundown. Let’s leave the gathering and thanks for tomorrow morning so we have full sunlight.”
Suddenly, a commotion erupted near the shoreline. Surjan rushed over to find some islanders excitedly hauling in nets filled with snapper, grouper, and a plethora of crabs.
“Good catch!” Surjan praised. “Handle them carefully. Those large-clawed crabs look like they could lop off a finger if you’re not careful.”
One of the islanders pointed farther down the shore and smiled. “This place has much to offer for food. We didn’t even have to go hunting, the food came to us.”
Surjan walked over to a group of people focused on butchering what looked like the remains of a capybara and several wild pigs. The islanders worked efficiently, their movements practiced and precise despite their unfamiliarity with the animals. The talk focused on the capybara, since none of the islanders had ever seen a one-hundred-pound rat before, and they debated about how to best deal with it. Surjan provided guidance. “Treat it just like a pig. Skin it, slice the meat into strips, and hang them to dry.”
As Surjan surveyed what the others had discovered, it quickly became abundantly clear that some others had discovered caimans and turtles, many of which were being prepared for immediate consumption.
Spotting François, he walked over and noticed that he’d managed to gather a pile of rock salt from a shallow basin near the shore. “This will help preserve the meat,” François instructed several islanders, his hands white with salt. “We can dry and cure it properly.”
The islanders had already started an assembly line of butchering and drying of the fish and meat, ensuring nothing went to waste.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over their makeshift camp, Surjan allowed himself a moment of relief. They had navigated the perils of this strange land, escaping a flooding island, finding supplies, and making progress toward their goal. All great things, but his mind remained vigilant, knowing that the true challenges of their new home were only just beginning.
“We did well today!” Surjan bellowed to all within reach of his voice. “But remember, we are still strangers in this land. Stay cautious, stay alert, and most importantly, stay together while we gather our needed supplies.”
The islanders all nodded, their spirits seemingly lifted by the successful gathering effort, and almost assuredly from being back on land.
Surjan steeled himself for what needed to be done on the long journey that still remained. He scanned across the small fleet of ships that bobbed offshore and grabbed one of the canoes.
He needed to visit all the ships, talk to the people, allay any fears they might have, and keep everyone on the same page.
Surjan couldn’t take to heart the role he’d been given of king, knowing that he and his companions would hopefully soon depart from this time, but he was compelled to do what these people needed.
The responsibility lay heavily on his shoulders and he took it seriously. Together, they still would have to face the unknown dangers for whatever lay ahead in this ancient, untamed world.
The moon hung low over the horizon, casting a pale light over the Brazilian coast. Lowanna silently cursed under her breath as she trailed after Dawa. The young queen and her companions were determined to make their sacrifices to the flower goddess of prosperity and went silently swimming toward the shore.
Surjan’s bride may not have been the conniving, evil creature that his former queen had been, but the woman had a mind of her own—she’d waited until nighttime and while Surjan was talking with others on another ship, the young woman and her companions put into action their planned sojourn onto the shore.
Lowanna had been given no choice but to follow or completely lose track of these impetuous fools. Lowanna’s senses were on high alert. The unfamiliar territory filled her with unease, but she pressed on, following the group into the dense jungle. The air was thick with the scent of flowers and damp earth, scents which Dawa and her entourage would surely take as a reminder of the goddess they were going to honor.
Suddenly, the peace was shattered by the rustling of leaves and the sound of footsteps. Lowanna turned just as a sharp blow to her head sent her crashing to the ground.
Darkness swallowed her.
When Lowanna regained consciousness, her head throbbed painfully. She found herself tied up, her hands bound tightly behind her back. Her vision blurred, she blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Around her, the other girls were similarly restrained, their faces etched with fear and confusion.
A familiar voice cut through the haze. “You see? I promised you my magic would summon food, and here they are!” It was Halpa, the previous queen, standing triumphantly before a group of fierce-looking raiders. The men looked like very dark-skinned Native Americans, had high cheekbones, and a fierce expression that sent a chill up Lowanna’s spine. One of the men grinned; his teeth had been filed into fearsome, razor-sharp points. One of the natives went to work at freeing what appeared to be Halpa’s men, who had been tied up nearby in a separate group.
Dawa, bound and struggling, caught Lowanna’s eye. Horror filled the young queen’s face as one of the natives grabbed two of the queen’s companions and dragged them toward a roaring fire. The screams of the girls were brief, their bodies soon tossed onto the flames. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, making Lowanna’s stomach churn.
Lowanna’s head spun from the blow she had taken. Her thoughts were muddled, but she forced herself to focus. She recalled the stories of this area that she knew from her anthropology studies, tales of a mysterious megalithic structure known as Rego Grande. Rumors spoke of human sacrifice and a people long lost to history. Now, faced with these men who were almost certainly cannibals, the stories seemed all too real.
Desperation fueled her resolve. Lowanna concentrated, reaching out with her mind, searching for any help she could find.
Enemies. Stupid strangers.
The voice had come in the form of a parrot’s squawks in a nearby tree.
Lowanna shifted her attention upward and, despite the nausea-inducing headache, focused on the nearby parrot.
Unsure if it would work, Lowanna put all of her energy into projecting an image into the bird’s mind.
The boats near the beach.
An image of Marty . . . he’d be the only one who might understand what the animal would say in his seemingly random squawks and tweets.
And as the nausea grew stronger, threatening to empty her stomach, she whispered, “Danger . . . come quickly . . .”
Somewhere up in the trees, she heard the parrot squawk. A bird ruffled its feathers and took off from its perch.
With her consciousness waning, Lowanna tried to steady her breathing.
Halpa’s voice broke her concentration. “You will all serve as a feast to prove my power,” she declared, her eyes cold and calculating as she glared at the captured group.
Lowanna’s vision blurred again.
She struggled to stay conscious, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. She had to hold on, for herself, for Dawa, and for the others. They needed to survive this nightmare, to escape these savages and return to their own form of nightmarish tasks.
As the fire crackled and the sun began to rise, Lowanna succumbed to the darkness.