The Transall Saga Read online

  "No!" Mark started for her. A rope settled around his neck and dragged him back. He hit the ground hard. The rope was choking him. He fought and grabbed at it with both hands but it was no use.

  The man pulled Mark on his back through the sand to the center of the village clearing, where the invaders had rounded up several of the men, women and children.

  Mark loosened the rope and threw it off. He stood and saw Leeta being pushed roughly across the compound to join them.

  When she spotted Mark she ran to him and held on to his arm. "Es Tsook. Tsook."

  The men surrounded them. They were much larger than the arrow people and their skin was a light yellow, but they had the same odd eyes.

  The leader, a fat man wearing a long cape made of hides, gave a command and the warriors dismounted and began tying the arrow people together.

  Mark found himself at the front of the line with Leeta tied securely to his right wrist. He could see that the Tsook, as Leeta called them, had not come to plunder the village for goods. They were after people. And now he was one of their prisoners.

  The fat man was staring at him. Mark stared back. The man’s eyes narrowed and he yelled an order in a new language. One of the warriors put the rope back around Mark’s neck and held the other end in his hand as he climbed onto his beast.

  The leader gave the command and the men rode out of the village, dragging Mark and what was left of the arrow people along behind them.

  part

  2

  chapter 21

  It was feeding time. As usual the Tsook tossed a leftover hindquarter of raw meat in the dirt and scarcely waited until it was gone before they gave the order to move out again.

  The routine had been the same since the terrible day they had been captured. Tied together, the prisoners trudged along behind the riders all morning, and then in the afternoon the column stopped for a short break to eat and drink.

  Their numbers had dwindled from twenty-five to twelve. The Tsook did not tolerate weakness. Any of the captives who fell sick or lagged behind was immediately killed.

  Leeta gnawed on a piece of the raw meat. She noticed Mark watching her and held it out to him. "Mawk eat."

  Mark shook his head. He and Leeta were getting better at communicating. They spoke an odd combination of the clicking language and English. He’d learned that the name she had called him frantically when he had first confronted her, Mawof, was a mythical creature the old people used to scare the little ones into behaving. His new name, Kakon, was more difficult for her to explain. She could only tell him that a kon was a very important warrior. And ka meant the second or younger one.

  When he questioned her about the blue light, she claimed to know nothing. But Mark noticed that every time he brought it up, she seemed nervous and eager to change the subject.

  He was also picking up a few phrases from the Tsook. Their language was easier than Leeta’s because he could hear distinct vowels. He understood when the leader, Dagon, gave orders to stop and go, or for his men to feed the prisoners or take care of the mounts.

  Mark swallowed dryly as he watched Leeta and the others gobble up the raw meat. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t eat it. He often did when he couldn’t find insects or edible plants along the trail. Sometimes he took a small portion just to keep himself from starving. But it rankled him to be treated this way and by now he was used to going without food. When he had broken his ribs he had conditioned himself to eat only when it was absolutely necessary. So it wasn’t hard to let the others have the meat.

  Dagon always watched Mark carefully. At feeding time he would stand near him, staring openly as if he was inspecting a novelty in a sideshow. It made Mark feel uneasy, though he understood he was different from the arrow people and that his skin was lighter and he was taller than the Tsook. Even his clothes were unusual. He’d outgrown his jeans and was now wearing pieces of them he’d wrapped around himself.

  Once, Dagon pointed to the hiking boot Mark kept tied to his belt and used the word Merkon.

  "Not Merkon," Mark said flatly. "I am called Kakon."

  Dagon’s second in command, a surly bearded man called Sarbo, angrily drew his sword and threatened to drive it into Mark’s chest for daring to speak to the leader. Dagon stopped him.

  That had been more than a week before. Now they were resting at the foot of the very mountains Mark had promised himself to visit someday. He only wished he had come here under different circumstances.

  Dagon was studying him again. Mark ignored the man and turned to Leeta. "How long till we reach the land of the Tsook?"

  Leeta glanced up at the mountain. "Go over." She held up three fingers. "Tkas."

  "Three days?" Mark chewed his lip. "Then what?"

  "Nah kirst ma." She held up a wrist that was tied with rope. "Tsook war to take workers."

  "I noticed your people weren’t exactly against making war."

  Leeta shrugged and took another bite. "Way much people."

  Dagon gave the order to break camp. The arrow people quickly stood and formed a straight line. The men no longer put a rope around Mark’s neck. Either they thought it would be too hard for him to escape while tied to the others or they knew he would never be able to outrun their animals.

  The thought of escape had crossed Mark’s mind more than once. The Tsook had not bothered to check the contents of his boot, so he still had his pocketknife, which would easily cut through the rope. But so far he hadn’t had a good chance to use it. By day the Tsook watched them carefully and at night a guard was posted.

  As they climbed higher up the mountain the terrain became rocky and the air difficult to breathe. The arrow people were used to flat, humid land and they were having a hard time keeping up with the animals.

  Leeta cried out and Mark felt an abrupt tug on the rope. He glanced back. Leeta had stepped on a sharp rock and sliced the bottom of her foot.

  The riders immediately closed ranks. Leeta bit her lip, looked straight ahead and kept moving.

  Mark could see blood on the side of her foot. "Is it bad?" he whispered.

  "Bad, yes."

  Mark slowed the pace as much as he dared. Soon Leeta was hobbling and the line was barely moving.

  Sarbo stepped off his mount and drew his sword. Mark knew what was about to happen. The Tsook would kill her, throw her body to the side and go on without a second thought.

  The yellow-skinned man moved to the front of the line. He cut the ropes that connected Leeta to Mark and the person behind her.

  Leeta closed her eyes.

  "Stop!" Mark yelled in Tsook. He stepped between her and the man.

  The executioner’s eyes flashed. With his free hand he shoved Mark out of the way and raised the sword.

  Mark gathered himself and charged. He rammed the warrior with his shoulder, knocking him off balance.

  Surprised, Sarbo stumbled and turned on him, swinging the heavy sword in a wide arc. Mark dropped to the ground and the death blow missed him by inches. He rolled to the side and sprang to his feet, waiting for Sarbo’s next move.

  "Ho yat Sarbo," Dagon commanded the warrior.

  Sarbo hesitated, his sword still raised. He gave Mark a contemptuous look, spat at his feet and swaggered back to his mount.

  Mark looked up into Dagon’s eyes. They were like cold, black stones. He couldn’t read any emotion. Why this man continued to spare his life was a mystery.

  Dagon ordered Mark back to the line.

  Mark hurried to Leeta and looked at her injured foot. The gash was deep, slicing through the clear thin web between two of her toes. Without waiting to see what the men would do, he took the roll of cloth from his boot, gently wrapped the wound and slipped one of his threadbare socks over it. Then he told her to climb up on his back.

  A tear slipped down Leeta’s cheek. She nodded gratefully and threw her arms around his neck. Mark shifted her weight and took his place in line.

  They moved on.

  chapter 22

&n
bsp; That night they camped in a small clear-ing on a tree-studded ridge. The Tsook were running low on food and water so the prisoners had to do without.

  The men were restless and their tempers were constantly on edge. Sarbo tried unsuccessfully to pick fights with several of the warriors. Mark did his best to stay out of the big man’s way.

  He understood enough Tsook to know that they were almost at the end of their journey, two more days at best. As he rewrapped Leeta’s foot he tried not to think about what that would mean.

  "There. That ought to do it." Mark had ripped the insole out of his boot and used it as a cushion for the bottom of her foot. "Does that feel any better?"

  She didn’t answer.

  He glanced up. The way she was looking at him made him uncomfortable. She had an odd smile on her face, as if she knew something he didn’t.

  Confused, he scratched the back of his neck. "I ... guess we’ll be at the Tsook village tomorrow."

  Leeta nodded. She gently stroked the broken watch he had given her and kept smiling at him.

  "Uh, well, it’s late ... ksee tu. Better sleep now." Mark scooted down on his back and closed his eyes. The last thing he needed was for Leeta to start acting weird on him.

  The Tsook had left him untied. He turned over. If ever he had a good chance to escape, this was it. The men were tired and quarrelsome. And they were so close to home they probably wouldn’t even bother hunting him.

  On his own he would be able to move faster. He could make it down the mountain in less than a day and then cut cross-country and head straight for the dark jungle.

  The dark jungle. Willie had probably given up on him and gone back to live with the other monkey-bears by now. And of course there was the blue light. It was out there somewhere. He had to start looking for it again.

  There was no way to be certain, but he estimated that he had been in this world for well over a year. Perhaps even two years. That would make him close to fifteen years old. Had his parents come to terms with his disappearance? Were they getting on with their lives? He sighed, then shifted and opened his eyes. Leeta was still sitting beside him, caressing the watch. He frowned. What would the Tsook do to her if he left?

  "You go?" she asked.

  How did she know? It was almost as if she could read his mind. Mark stirred uneasily.

  He closed his eyes again. "Go to sleep, Leeta."

  chapter 23

  Mark set Leeta down and let her walk for a while. They were on a well-traveled road in the bottom of a beautiful red valley. The crimson grass was knee high and there were fruit trees and fields of bright orange flowers on either side.

  The odor of manure and roasting meat wafted down the path toward them. From behind some rocks on the hillside came a long clear note from a hunting horn. It was answered by another horn farther down the valley.

  A churning cloud of dust sped down the road toward the caravan. The animal that reined up in front of them was a golden color with a well-brushed coat. The rider was a girl with long black braids who was dressed in buckskins like the warriors. She wore beautiful tanned-leather moccasins that reached past her knees.

  Dagon jumped off his mount and ran to greet her. He gave her a bear hug and swung her around. When he put her down she glanced back at the captives. Her eyes fell on Mark. She stared openly the way her father had done.

  "Megaan ... Kakon," Dagon said in a low voice.

  The girl raised her chin haughtily, turned back to her father and smiled. She said something Mark couldn’t make out, then climbed back on her mount and rode next to Dagon to lead the procession into the village.

  From the outskirts Mark could see that the Tsook were far ahead of the arrow people in building design and construction. This was more than a small village, it was a bustling town. Their houses were made of logs that had been fitted together and chinked with mud. And they had high lookout towers at every corner so that they could easily spot approaching enemies in time to warn the people.

  The manure smell had come from the large wooden pens a few hundred yards in front of the buildings. They contained a small herd of tame buffalo creatures.

  A cheer went up as the warriors came closer. The Tsook people stood outside their houses and clapped and yelled as the group passed by.

  The prisoners were led through the maze of fires, cooking pots and houses to the far side of town. The ropes that had held them together were removed and the warriors began pushing the prisoners over the edge of a deep pit.

  Mark looked down. It was at least an eight-foot drop. One of the warriors shoved him forward. He shook the man’s hand off and glanced across the pit. Dagon was on the other side watching him. Mark set his jaw, stepped out and landed on the bottom with the others.

  The arrow people were frightened and huddled together in the middle of the pit. A crowd of Tsook villagers gathered around the top and pointed and stared at the prisoners.

  Mark found a corner and sat down. He was tired and his back ached from carrying Leeta. Yawning, he put his hands behind his head and leaned against the dirt wall. He knew he had done the right thing by staying. Leeta never would have made it without him. But it didn’t make what was happening now any more pleasant.

  Leeta knelt beside him. "Mawk tkan tu."

  "You don’t have to thank me. Anybody would have done the same."

  Above them some sort of trading was going on. Voices were raised and there was arguing. Mark figured the Tsook were trying to decide how they were going to divide the slaves. It didn’t concern him. As soon as he had rested he would be gone. And they wouldn’t be able to catch him either. His plan was to move fast and stay in the brushy country where the mounted men couldn’t go.

  The arguing and trading lasted for hours. Finally, late in the afternoon, everything was settled. Suitable terms had been reached and the new owners came for their property.

  One by one the captives were hauled out of the pit and handed over to their Tsook masters. When it was Leeta’s turn she held on to Mark’s arm and had to be pried loose. The elderly woman who had purchased her prodded her with a sharp stick, forcing her to move away.

  Mark was the only prisoner left in the pit. The crowd had thinned out and the warriors were dividing up the payment.

  Apparently no one wanted him as a slave. That was just as well. Because in the morning they would have realized what a bad trade they’d made when they found him missing.

  "Kakon." A sharp voice called to him from above.

  He opened one eye. The girl with the long black braids was standing over him with her arms folded. She barked an order, and a rope circled his head and settled around his shoulders. Sarbo jerked Mark to his feet, and some of the warriors helped pull him out of the pit onto his stomach. One of them held him down while another quickly tied his hands together.

  Sarbo got up on his mount and barely gave Mark time to stand before he dragged him through the village to a small outbuilding behind one of the larger log houses.

  He shoved Mark inside the shed and bolted the door. The smell was awful, like an open sewer. It would have been pitch black in the tiny room except for a small semicircular opening near the bottom of the back wall. Mark crawled through the slime on the floor and looked through the hole.

  There were fat, hairy piglike animals with long, pointed snouts rooting in a pen attached to the back of his cell. No wonder it smelled so bad. He was in some kind of pigsty.

  He moved to the door and tried it. It wouldn’t budge. He pushed on the walls. They were solid, made of logs like the houses. That left the opening. He knelt by it again. It was so small he doubted he could get his head through, much less his body.

  The floor. It was dirt. He would dig his way out. But first he had to get his hands loose. Feeling in the bottom of his boot, he found his knife and began to saw awkwardly on the rope. Minutes later it snapped off his wrists.

  He dug at the base of the opening, using everything he could find—his knife, the toe of his boot, his finger
s—until finally he had a hole big enough to fit his shoulders through. He wriggled into the pen.

  He hadn’t really planned to escape until it was dark but he couldn’t take the chance they might discover the hole. Staying low behind the log fence, he crossed through the herd of pigs and peeked up over the side of the pen. There was no one in sight.

  It was now or never. He took a deep breath and slid over the fence. He moved carefully from one building to the next until he had made his way to the edge of town.

  Ducking behind some tall red plants in a garden, he took a quick look around. The road they had come in on was to his right. But taking it was out of the question. They would catch him if he stayed in the open. He looked to the mountains. They were steep and rocky but would have better places to hide.

  Mark crawled along the rows of vegetables. There was only one more house to get past and then he would head for the rocks and brush on the hillside.

  He raced to the back of the building and leaned against it to rest. The move nearly cost him his life.

  A small furry animal—he hesitated to call it a dog but it had some of the same features—started up a scrawking sound. Mark knew there was no time to lose. He bolted for the closest ridge. Behind him he could hear shouting and the sounds of people running.

  Something whizzed past his ear. An arrow hit the dirt in front of him. He dodged to the left and zigzagged up the mountain. He was nearly to the top of the ridge. If he could just make it to the brush they’d never catch him.

  He felt something slam into his back. It ripped through his flesh like a hot iron. He fell to his knees. Twice he tried to get up but couldn’t. He clawed at the ground, then managed to get to his knees and pull himself behind an outcropping of rocks.

  The voices were getting closer. Mark fought for air. Something was taking his breath away. With his last spark of consciousness, he felt around for something to use to defend himself. His fingers closed around a large rock. He tried to pick it up but he was too weak; it fell from his hand.