The Days of Peleg (44 page)

Thaxad straightened himself and said, “Serug and I have been studying this phenomena since our journey began. We have had numerous discussions and theories, but we have never been able to determine any kind of environmental cause. Cold or hot weather; changes in latitude; night or day; nothing seems to affect their rate of occurrence.”

He turned to look at Peleg.

“Whatever they are, these tiny objects seem to move through everything. And we’re pretty sure they
are
objects—they respond to magnets, and react to each other. What you’ve seen here are their travels
through
my glass box. I believe they are actually much smaller than the eye can see, but the lines you just saw are evidence of their passage. Apparently they fill the entire cosmos, and I can’t help but wonder if they tear tiny holes wherever they go.”

He studied Peleg’s eyes while Peleg became very restless as he imagined himself being peppered with these tiny objects, creating invisible, bloodless slits as they coursed through his body.

“The only variance we’ve seen,” Thaxad continued, “is their increase. At the time of the long darkness and extreme volcanic activity their frequency abruptly doubled. And since that time, there has been a consistent three or four percent increase every week—with an extreme increase that lasted only a couple days during the event of our south polar passage. Even as we headed north, I have been able to confirm this whenever I was able to take measurements.”

Peleg noticed the switch from “we” to “I”, but said nothing.

“This may be something that has absolutely no affect on any of us, but I can’t help wondering if these objects may somehow contribute to the issues of senescence which concern all of us.”

“Well, it can’t be healthy,” said Peleg, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going.

“The only conclusion I have reached is that this may be peripherally related to volcanic activity, and, to a much lesser degree, altitude.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I suspect that if this trend doesn’t reverse itself, the longevity of all life will be threatened.”

A slight shudder ran through Peleg and he glared at Thaxad.

“You certainly know how to cheer a person up,” he quipped.

Thaxad almost smiled.

“Why don’t you join me on my next outing?” he said. “I’m going to travel to the eastern grasslands which I discovered on my last journey. I’ve made some remarkable mineralogical discoveries, and you might enjoy accompanying me.”

He took Peleg by the arm and led him out of the darkroom into the relative lightness of the hut, and from there, into the glare of the late morning sun.

“I’ll let you know when I am ready.”

A few days later, they headed out to the elevated grasslands due east, taking some simple calculating equipment and a hunting bow. Peleg also brought his compass, and was glad that they were now traversing a latitude where the sun’s path would immediately reveal any deviant behavior that his not-so-trusted compass might exhibit.

After traveling for three days, they reached the area Thaxad had spoken of. The grassy flatlands stretched as far as they could see, while ripples of green and yellow shimmered under the slight winds, and small baobab saplings dotted the landscape. Some of these trees were so young that they appeared to be blossoming for the first time in their lives—an event that occurred only after twenty years of growth.

During the next several days they continued across the flatlands and witnessed small herds of gazelles, zebras, and giraffes darting across the plains. Once they observed a pride of large striped lions traveling in a pack, and occasionally they saw an isolated rhino or short-haired mammoth.

In the eastern distance, a small forest of tall, slender trees silhouetted the horizon. It was late in the evening, and the red, western sunlight caught the crowns of the trees, creating the flickering illusion that they were on fire. As they approached, they saw that the trees stretched up to twenty meters in height; but their only branches sprouted from the treetops, creating a large green crown which, from their distant perspective, resembled large cabbages aloft thin wooden poles.

Below, where there were no branches, it was easy to see between the trees, and at one point Peleg thought he saw a small behemoth grazing among them much like a child might walk through a wheat field. Peleg looked to see if Thaxad had seen, but he was studying a small rock outcropping nearby. When Peleg looked again, the large reptile was nowhere to be seen.

“Thaxad,” he said, “I just saw a small
ušemšutum
over there in the trees.”

Thaxad tuned to look to follow his gaze.

“What kind?” he asked.

“The long-necked type with the large front legs.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen one of those since I was a child.”

Such sightings were rare, and, although there were numerous stories of the large, shy beasts, very few people had actually seen them. They were generally categorized into two basic kinds—the flying
Anzudmušen
, or giant reptilian vultures; and the land-dwelling
Ušemšutum
, or dragon-lizards. Because of the huge sizes they could attain, they were often simply called behemoths. There were also accounts of these large animals dwelling in deep waters known collectively as
Ušemkúšu
, (reptile whales), and were the source of many amazing (and probably exaggerated) seafaring adventures. During Peleg’s lifetime, the reported dimensions had dropped considerably, and it was often speculated that, as their lifespans decreased, so did their size.

As they approached the cabbage trees, Thaxad decided to set up camp for the night under the overhanging branches. He began making arrangements for the fire, and Peleg began to dress and prepare the small boar they had caught and killed earlier that day.

After eating, Peleg lay back to go to sleep, and realized that the “cabbages” blocked his view of the sky. All previous nights of this excursion he had gone to sleep with a full view of the stars, but tonight he simply hoped that no strange animal would fall on him.

He drifted off wondering if entire species could die off simply from decreased longevity.

“Wake up, Chief Peleg!” Thaxad spoke in a forced whisper while shaking Peleg’s shoulder. He was kneeling next to him, and when he received a grunted response, he continued.

“Can you hear that?” he asked.

“Hear what?” grumbled Peleg as he rose up on his elbows.

“Get up and follow me,” ordered Thaxad who briskly turned away and silently began to collect their belongings.

Peleg wrenched himself from his blanket, and placed his cross-staff and other instruments in his chest-pack.

It was a moonless night, but patches of starlight made puddles of light between the treetops. Peleg rushed to follow Thaxad—who was already several paces ahead of him.

They continued through the low grasses in a wide serpentine course between the trees for several minutes, until Thaxad stopped short and waited for Peleg to come alongside him.

“Now do you hear it?” he demanded.

Peleg strained his ears but still heard nothing unusual. Other than the rustling of leaves overhead, there were no sounds.

He shook his head.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “My hearing’s not as good as yours.”

“It’s a low, humming sound; more reminiscent of moaning than anything else I can determine.”

Peleg listened again, and when the wind shifted slightly, he heard it. It was a full, deep sound, scattered and splintered by the breezes, but he could discern a definite rise and fall.

“What is it?” he asked.

Thaxad remained silent for a few moments, analyzing the waves carried by the shifting winds.

Finally he made his pronouncement.

“I believe it is singing,” he said.

Peleg looked at him quizzically, but said nothing.

They continued together as the low-pitched droning began to coalesce into the human voices that Thaxad had predicted. Peleg soon detected additional higher-pitched voices as they drew near, which combined to form five-part harmony. There was no discernible rhythmic structure, but he noticed that the bottom two voices maintained an interval of a perfect fifth, regardless of the upper-voice activity.

As they began to close in on the vocalists, Thaxad grabbed his arm and pointed. Peleg peered into the darkness ahead, but could see nothing.

Thaxad grunted with disgust, and propelled him by his elbow in a straight line for about forty meters until finally Peleg saw what he was pointing to.

A speck of light slowly resolved into a small campfire, and as they approached, they left the canopy of the cabbage tree forest behind them. Soon they could see the singing figures silhouetted by the flames and centered against the vastness of the plains beneath the expanse of stars—which were slightly dimmed by the fire’s flickering and smoke.

Thaxad let go of his arm and whispered, “Wait! We don’t want to startle them.” He almost smiled. “They are sure to be armed, and won’t take kindly to us sneaking up on them.”

“What should we do?” asked Peleg.

“We shall return to the trees, and make contact in the morning.”

Peleg nodded.

They turned to go, but before they completed their move, two small loops of rope descended from the night sky, brushed past their ears, and tightened securely around each of their necks. Peleg was pulled backwards, choking, as two men approached him from behind. One was holding the noose tightly and proceeded to kick Peleg’s legs out from under him, forcing him to drop onto his kneecaps. The other man attached a second cord to the first one encircling his neck, allowing both men to control his movements and strangle him at will. Through his tearing eyes, he saw that Thaxad had his own two counterparts who were performing the same operation.

The singing had abruptly stopped, and soon they were dragged before the fire and forced to buckle down on their knees, bowing until their faces were in the dirt. As the cord continued to cut into his neck, Peleg could feel the heat of the nearby fire scorching the left side of his face and singeing his hair.

He turned his face sideways and saw a man with large, neatly twisted hair-knots leaning over him. He was speaking loudly with the others, and, to Peleg, it sounded similar to the language of Kemet—with enough differences to make it difficult to follow. The man was addressing one of the men holding his cords, and was not looking at him. Peleg twisted his neck to get a better view, and was stunned at what he saw.

On the man’s cheek was the same brownish-red upside-down tear-shaped tattoo that Thaxad bore. He turned his head to the other side and saw Thaxad lying across from him with his face also in the campfire’s ash. He caught the Mentor’s eye and motioned with his eyebrows to look at the man standing over them.

Thaxad arched his back and looked at their captor, but did not see the tattoo until the man turned toward him. When he did, Thaxad gave a look of such utter shock that Peleg thought,
This is worth it all just to see Thaxad stunned about something
.

Thaxad opened his mouth, coughed out some dust, and then shouted.

“Dōgon!”

All conversation abruptly stopped, and the man spun his head around to look down at Thaxad.

In the sudden silence he stared down into Thaxad’s face which was glistening with sweat in the firelight. He approached slowly, then reached down and grabbed a large chunk of Thaxad’s long, soot-filled hair, pulling his face up to stare directly into his.

His eyes bored into Thaxad’s while the Mentor’s face pleaded for recognition in return. Slowly he lifted Thaxad by the hair, allowing him to rise to his knees.

He opened his mouth and eventually a one-word question emerged.

“
Tarshish
?”

Thaxad nodded and proceeded to rise to his feet. There was no attempt to stop him.

“Yes,” Thaxad continued. “I was known by that name before the time of the Great Confusion. I am commissioned with the
Citadel
of Ur, now, and am called Thaxad.”

“Where have you come from?” asked the man, who apparently was named Dōgon. “There are no other men this far west. We are the first to arrive here.” He was obviously incredulous to find other humans in this region.

“We come from the sea, about three days west of here.” Thaxad was now fully standing, which forced Dōgon to tip his head slightly upward.

Dōgon looked slightly startled, but pleased.

They were speaking in the language of Kemet, but the dialect was difficult for Peleg, and he was sure he would be unable to follow once the conversation moved from the current simple introductions.

“May I please stand?” Peleg ventured.

He was still pressed into the ground, and now realized that the pressure in his lower back was caused by someone’s knee holding him down. He swore he could smell his smoldering split ends.

“This is my companion, Chief Peleg,” said Thaxad, pointing down to Peleg. “He is a Chief Cartographer and Master Navigator.”

Dōgon looked down at Peleg, as if for the first time, and motioned for his men to release him. Peleg rose, and soon he and Thaxad were rubbing their necks where the cords had bit into them and brushing the dirt and ash off of their clothing. They were now welcomed enthusiastically, and offered seats next to the fire.

“Have some drink,” beamed the now friendly Dōgon. He handed each of them a large carved wooden cup which Peleg soon discovered was filled with a hot alcoholic ale. It was very potent and seemed to be made from apples.

He thought,
It’s amazing how all societies seem to master the technologies of fermentation.

“How did you know we were out there?” asked Peleg innocently. This elicited several snickers from around the campfire, and finally one young man answered.

“We smelled you when you left the trees.”

‘That’s right,” said another. “We weren’t sure what kind of creatures you might be.” He looked around at his compatriots and grinned. “You two could sure use a bath.”

Laughter erupted from all sides, and Peleg started to defensively try and explain how they had been hiking and camping for several days, but ultimately thought better of it.