Empyrean Chronicles Book 1:

Mercenary of Empyrea : An Isekai

Barbarian Fantasy Adventure 1st
Edition Michael Dalton
Visit to download the full and correct content document:
https://ebookmass.com/product/empyrean-chronicles-book-1-mercenary-of-empyrea-
an-isekai-barbarian-fantasy-adventure-1st-edition-michael-dalton/
More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Invent: An Epic Fantasy LitRPG Adventure (The

Completionist Chronicles Book 7) Dakota Krout

https://ebookmass.com/product/invent-an-epic-fantasy-litrpg-
adventure-the-completionist-chronicles-book-7-dakota-krout/

Implode: An Epic Fantasy LitRPG Adventure (The

Completionist Chronicles Book 8) Dakota Krout

https://ebookmass.com/product/implode-an-epic-fantasy-litrpg-
adventure-the-completionist-chronicles-book-8-dakota-krout/

Barbarian Claimed: A Dystopian Barbarian Warrior

Fantasy Romance (Savage Warriors Book 1) Amber Ella
Monroe

https://ebookmass.com/product/barbarian-claimed-a-dystopian-
barbarian-warrior-fantasy-romance-savage-warriors-book-1-amber-
ella-monroe/

Rage King, Book Three. An Urban Fantasy Men's Adventure

1st Edition Aaron Crash

https://ebookmass.com/product/rage-king-book-three-an-urban-
fantasy-mens-adventure-1st-edition-aaron-crash/
Rage King - Book Two : An Urban Fantasy Men's Adventure
1st Edition Aaron Crash

https://ebookmass.com/product/rage-king-book-two-an-urban-
fantasy-mens-adventure-1st-edition-aaron-crash/

Demon Hunter: The Complete Series Books 1-3 1st Edition

Michael Dalton

https://ebookmass.com/product/demon-hunter-the-complete-series-
books-1-3-1st-edition-michael-dalton/

Magic Adventure (The Evermores Chronicles Book 5)

Martha Carr & Michael Anderle

https://ebookmass.com/product/magic-adventure-the-evermores-
chronicles-book-5-martha-carr-michael-anderle/

Domestication: A Fantasy LitRPG Adventure (Battle Mage

Farmer Book 1) Seth Ring

https://ebookmass.com/product/domestication-a-fantasy-litrpg-
adventure-battle-mage-farmer-book-1-seth-ring/

Dreams of Kell: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The

Magelands Eternal Siege Book 13) Christopher Mitchell

https://ebookmass.com/product/dreams-of-kell-an-epic-fantasy-
adventure-the-magelands-eternal-siege-book-13-christopher-
mitchell/
 Mercenary of Empyrea
Empyrean Chronicles: Book 1

An Isekai Barbarian Fantasy Adventure

An entry in the Dukes of Harem BarbarianFest

Copyright 2022 by Michael Dalton. All rights reserved.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of

this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a
retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means
(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise) without the prior
written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher of this
book.

This is a work of fiction. References to real people, establishments,

organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of
authenticity, and are used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons, living
or dead, is coincidental.

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or

older.

Edited by Kate Nascimento

kneditorial.com

Cover illustration by KayaV

https://linktr.ee/kayav

Cover design by Lorelei Basaj

Interior art by Midjourney AI

Interior art editing by Dutch Palmer

Follow Michael at michaeldaltonbooks.com and on Twitter
at @MikeDaltonBooks.
I don’t know who I am. I only know what I need to be.

I awoke in a tomb. I had nothing but a big sword and uncertain

memories from uncertain lives.

I was a great warrior who wandered this land before being killed by
an ageless tyrant wizard-king. I was a warrior of a very different sort,
who lived in a city of steel and glass.

In this life, I’m more than I was – stronger, more powerful, more
dangerous. But that wizard-king still lives, and he’s still hunting me.

All I have is my sword and my skills. So I’ll gather the gold, weapons,
and women I need, and if that wizard gets in my way again . . . our
next meeting will be very different from the last.

Mercenary of Empyrea is an isekai fantasy adventure in the theme of

classic barbarian pulp fiction, and contains graphic violence and
unconventional relationships.
 Author’s Note

The interior illustrations in this book were created using Midjourney

and NovelAI, with some help from my art editor Dutch Palmer. I’m
including them here as a sort of experiment to see if I can enhance
my books without breaking the bank. I welcome thoughts about this
idea from readers.
 Chapter 1

I woke up.

But . . . from what? And from where?

It was dark.

So dark that opening my eyes changed nothing. It was a dark far beyond
the night sky. This was the dark of a cavern a thousand feet below the
earth. A pitch black where light was nothing but a memory, a forlorn fantasy
never to return.

And when I tried to move, I understood why.

I was confined in a very small space, one barely large enough to hold my
body. I lay flat on a cold, hard surface. It felt like worked stone, smooth and
finished. As I moved my hands, I felt traces of sand under and around me.
To either side, less than a foot in either direction, was more stone. When I
tried to lift my arms, my hands hit a wall of stone above me.

A word arose in my mind.

Coffin.

A stone coffin. That was what it felt like. I explored the dimensions of my
lightless confinement for a few moments. I lay in an empty space that might
have been seven feet long, two feet high, and three wide.

But as I gathered this information in my head, something else occurred to

me. How did I even know any of this? How did I know the words to describe
this thing?

How had I gotten here? Where had I been before this?

Who was I?

Another word came to me.

Cayden.

That was a name. I knew that much, but the name had no context. Who,
exactly, was Cayden?

Then another name rose out of my mind.

Khazun.

That name felt familiar as well, though familiar in a different way. A memory.

Except . . . I had no memories. The very fact that I knew I was lying on a
slab of stone seemed disconnected from anything. How did I even
understand the concept of stone?

Who was Khazun? Was he who I was?

Khazun was not Cayden, yet I felt a connection to the name just the same.

I explored the dark space I lay in, and I realized that I wasn’t the only thing
in here. My right arm bumped into something long and cold lying beside me.
I realized after a moment that it was a thing of metal, not stone. The end of
it, the part against my arm, was cylindrical, but beyond that part, it grew
wider, then narrower, long and flat. I felt a sharp edge. Two edges.

I took the cylindrical portion in my hand. It felt familiar as well. Then I finally
realized what it was.

A sword.

My sword, a part of me said.

But.

Had Cayden even owned a sword? That didn’t feel right, and the moment I
considered the idea, I knew it was wrong.

It was not Cayden’s sword.

It was Khazun’s.

Why was it here with me?

Yet whoever it belonged to, it was of little use to me at the moment.

I felt around the space further, trying to build a mental picture of my

surroundings, even if I couldn’t see anything.

There were other things here with me. I was dressed in something, though
the fabric felt loose and rotten. Some kind of thick material was around my
chest, but when I tried to examine it, to lift it away from me to get some kind
of idea of what it was, it came apart in my fingers.

I felt something else around my waist, a sort of belt. On the other side from
the sword was another blade, though much shorter. A knife of some sort.

The belt fell apart as I examined it. Whatever clothes I wore were so old and
decayed that I might as well have been naked. As I moved around, I felt the
fabric on my arms and legs falling apart.

I took a scrap of it in my hand, feeling it slowly. It was coarse, the threads

thick enough to roll between my thumb and forefinger, though they turned
near to dust as I did so.

The dilemma of my confinement soon rose to the forefront of my

consciousness. I could not stay in this space forever. The air seemed to be
growing stale already. I might well suffocate long before hunger and thirst
became an issue.
I felt around myself again, seeking some kind of exit. All I felt was stone.
Below me and around me, it was smooth and featureless. I probed at the
corners, finding nothing. I reached up, seeking some kind of opening or
leverage. I found nothing.

For a few moments, I began to panic, but something in me stifled the

reaction as fiercely as it could. Cayden might panic, but Khazun would not
give up so easily.

The dichotomy in my mind stilled that momentary flash of fear. Where had
that flash of anger come from?

Was I Khazun, not Cayden?

The other half of me rebelled against that idea. I didn’t know who or what
Cayden was, but he was a part of me as well. Was I both of them?

Right now, though, Cayden had no idea what to do here. Khazun did.

I reached up, feeling around the upper corners of the space. Gradually, I
realized there was a joint there, one that was not present around the base
and corners.

If I was lying in a coffin, did it have a lid?

Hope flared inside my chest. I braced my hands against the stone above
and pushed. But just as quickly as it had arisen, that hope began to fade.
The lid, if indeed it was a lid, moved not a hair.

I forced myself to remain calm. I focused on Khazun, not Cayden. I slid my

arms around my chest, feeling myself. This body felt strange and familiar at
the same time, but I also realized something else.

It was a powerful body, one possessed of taut, hard-earned muscle. My

arms felt like the roots of a tall tree.

I braced myself again. I needed more leverage. I pulled my legs up, trying to
wedge my knees against the lid as well. I took a deep breath, trying to
gather all my strength.
Then I pushed.

For a moment, nothing happened. I let out a bellow of rage, refusing to be

trapped within this tomb, pushing as hard as I possibly could.

And the lid shifted.

It moved only a tiny fraction of its dimensions, less than the width of a finger.
But that movement told me there was a way out of here.

I gathered myself up again and shoved. Adrenaline roared through my body.

The knowledge that I had a way out was enough to sustain me.

The lid shifted again.

And I pushed once more, screaming at the slab of stone that kept me
trapped in this little space. Little by little, inch by inch, I shifted the lid to the
side.

All at once, I felt a draft of air against my face. I reached up, feeling a gap
around the lid. I’d shifted it far enough to open a space I could slip my
fingers through.

I shoved again, pushing the lid to the side. My arms were starting to ache
from the exertion, and I had to pause for a moment to catch my breath.
Then I pushed hard against the edge, feeling the lid start to lift. That little
elevation was enough to get my knees up fully, to wedge them under it.

With a roar of effort, I shoved the lid upward with my arms and legs. I felt it
start to tip to one side, and the prospect of imminent freedom gave me a
renewed burst of energy.

The lid slid away, grinding loudly against the top of the stone coffin. Then it
fell to the side, falling with a thunderous boom-boom-boom as it tumbled
over and hit some surface outside the coffin, before finally settling on the
ground.
I sat up, gasping for breath. The air was cold and dry, and I sucked it into
my lungs, trying to clear the stale burn that had built up while I was
confined.

I was in some kind of cave. There was a small amount of light, but the
details were difficult to make out. The area around me was dimly lit from
above through a narrow gap in the ceiling.

I sat inside a stone sarcophagus, which lay on a broad platform in the

center of the cave. Beside me was the lid, which had broken into several
pieces when it fell off.

I stood up slowly. What was left of the clothes I’d been wearing inside the
sarcophagus slid off me. The thing on my chest was a sort of leather
breastplate, but it fell to the ground as I stood, the straps long since rotted
away. The belt parted, falling down around my legs. I’d had sandals on my
feet, but these fell apart as well.

The mere act of standing up had left me completely naked. How long had I
been inside here?

I stepped out of the sarcophagus. Some instinct made me pick up the

sword. It was a big, heavy blade, about four feet long and two inches wide
at the base, with a well-worn grip that could be used by one hand or two. It
felt familiar in my hand.

This was Khazun’s sword. I felt that now. This was not a thing from
Cayden’s existence, whatever it had been.

I looked down at myself. I was tall, lean, and tightly muscled. Memories of
both bodies floated up, and I realized that this body was neither Cayden’s
nor Khazun’s. Khazun had been shorter and broader. Cayden had been fit
and agile, but he had not been quite this muscular.

I bounced on my toes a few times, then stepped side to side. I was strong,
but this was not a body that would be lifting fallen trees. Rather, it was one
that could strike like a serpent, fast and agile, killing and moving away
before its foe knew what had happened.
My hands and feet were heavily callused, and the calluses on my hands fit
neatly around the sword. The grip was not the only thing that was well-worn.

I tossed the sword from one hand to the other. Neither hand felt dominant. I
swung it around me, the motions feeling natural and effortless. This was a
fine blade, expertly forged and precisely balanced despite its size and
weight, and one that had seen many years of service.

The knife was of similar make, with a broad blade that was about a foot
long. It too bore signs of heavy use as well, though the edge was still as
keen as the sword’s. It felt good in my hand.

Yet as familiar as these motions were, I remembered nothing of their

provenance. I might have Khazun’s blades, but I had almost none of his
memories.

I set the sword down for a moment and pieced together enough remnants of
clothing to make a sort of loincloth. It would have to do for now.

Then I took a closer look at the cave.

On the platform around the sarcophagus was an array of broken pottery

and rotten wicker chests, all of them overturned and scattered. I’d thought at
first the damage was the result of the lid falling off, but it was the same thing
on either side. The collection of containers bore the distinct impression of
having been thoroughly ransacked.

As I looked around, I saw footsteps everywhere. Someone, likely many

someones, had been in here. In addition to the footsteps, I noticed scrapes
and gouges on the sarcophagus, as if someone had tried and failed to lift
the lid.

Gradually it dawned on me what must have happened here.

If this was Khazun’s tomb – however I had ended up inside it - grave

robbers had been here after he was laid to rest. Whatever had been in
these pots and chests was long gone.
That made me wonder why Khazun had been buried with grave goods
valuable enough to attract tomb raiders. Who had he been? Who had
buried him here?

But there were no answers. The robbers were gone, as were the valuables,
and nothing was left beyond the sword and the knife.

That left the question of whether there was a way out. If robbers had gotten
in, where had they gone?

I walked around the perimeter of the cave. It was not large. It ended not far
behind the sarcophagus in a solid wall of stone. I followed the wall around
until I reached an area of fallen rock. Beyond that, the cave circled around
again to the back of the platform.

The rockfall had closed off the exit.

I began to dig, shoving the sand and rocks to the side in hopes of clearing
the passage. In a few minutes, I excavated the outline of a tunnel leaving
the cave. Unfortunately, beyond a foot or two, it was completely blocked by
a cave-in, and there was no telling how far it went.

Undeterred, I kept digging until l hit a huge mass of rock. I dug as best I
could, but it quickly became clear there was no way around it. The tunnel
was blocked by a pile of enormous boulders I could never hope to move.

I stepped back from the cave-in and looked up. The gap in the ceiling where
the light was shining in might have been ten or twelve feet above. Could I
get up there?

The cave walls were not completely smooth, but they angled inward as they
rose toward the ceiling. I tried to climb up, but I lost my grip well before
getting close to the opening.

I stared up again. It wasn’t that far, and there was a ledge underneath the
gap. With something to stand on, I might be able to jump high enough.

But what could I use?

I searched the cave again. I didn’t find anything useful until I looked along
the back of the cave. There, mostly buried in the sand, were two long
wooden beams.

I looked back at the sarcophagus. There was a lip around the base of it.

I lifted one of the beams and held it alongside the lip. The beams were long
and thick enough that they could have been used to carry the sarcophagus
in here. If so, the grave robbers had apparently missed them, focused as
they were on the other grave goods.

The beams were old and dried out, and the wood on the surface was
starting to decay, but they were still solid. I carried one of them over to the
cave floor under the gap and held it up.

It was just short enough not to reach the ceiling when I set it on the floor. I
tried wedging it into the gap, but while it held, I was concerned that it would
break if I tried to climb up that way, and if it did, my one chance of getting
out might be lost.

What to do?

There was no way to lean two beams against each other and have them
remain upright on their own. I considered setting them into a pair of holes in
the sandy floor of the cave, but when I began to dig, I hit stone only a few
inches down.

I looked back at the exit. The one thing I had to work with here was a lot of
rocks.

Bit by bit, I piled every rock and piece of stone I could gather around the two
beams. I used the rocks from the cave-in that were small enough to move,
as well as the broken pieces of the sarcophagus lid. I leaned the beams
together to make a rough ladder. When I’d placed every rock I could lift into
a foundation around the two pieces of timber, I climbed up the pile and
considered how to approach this.

I was just about to start climbing when I remembered Khazun’s blades.

The knife fit into my loincloth well enough. The sword was another matter.
There was no scabbard for it anywhere, just a thick loop on the belt, and of
course the loop broke when I tested it.

Every piece of fabric and leather I tried to tie into some kind of strap to carry
the sword fell apart in my hands. In the end, there was nothing to do but
carry it in my teeth. I put one arm of the hilt in my mouth, clamped down,
and started to climb.

The beams were smooth and partially rotten, which made it very hard to
maintain a grip. I had to wrap my arms and legs around both of them and
shimmy up slowly. Several times the wood shifted, and I lost my purchase.
The third time it happened, I had to slide down and reset the beams in the
rocks, doing my best to make them as secure as possible.

My arms were starting to ache from all the exertion, but the possibility of
freedom – not to mention some explanation for all of this that I hoped to find
outside the cave – drove me on.

I began climbing again. Little by little, I made my way upward. The gap grew
closer. It was three feet away, then two, then just out of reach. I tightened
my legs around the beams, not wanting to fall again.

I reached out, hooking my fingers over the ledge. I pulled myself up slowly.
The sword banged against the rock, and I realized I could not climb up any
further with it hanging from my mouth.

Steeling myself, I carefully let go with one hand and took the sword from
between my teeth. I lifted it up and slid it into the little cavity, hoping I was
not about to fall and lose it. My other hand maintained a death grip on the
ledge. When the sword was up there, I braced myself with both hands and
pulled up.

The gap was narrow. I had to lower my head and slither forward, but I got
my chest over the edge. I checked the knife, making sure I wasn’t going to
lose it climbing up here.

In front of me was sunlight. A narrow opening to the outside. I wriggled

forward, pulling the sword with me. The light momentarily blinded me as I
emerged from the cave. I had to pause for a few moments to allow my eyes
to adjust.

I felt the sun on my skin and solid rock under me. Wherever I was now, I
was out.

 Chapter 2

As my eyes grew used to the light, I forced them open and took in my
surroundings.

The area around me appeared to be a sort of badlands – arid and dry, sand
and boulders, the landscape broken and uneven in every direction. Behind
me was a tall mountain range. In the other direction, far off in the distance, I
saw more mountains, though the peaks were lost in the haze.

I was on a hillside about halfway up the mountain. Just below me was a

broken section of the hill, a small landslide that was likely what had blocked
the entrance to the cave. The mountains behind me rose high enough that
that snow covered the peaks. The land around and below the cave was
largely barren, but a band of trees crossed the upper reaches of the
mountain below the snow line.

Not far away, I saw a small stream flowing down from above, surely
meltwater from the snowpack. A few scraggly bushes and low trees
followed its course down the hill, where it eventually disappeared into a
region of slot canyons.

The sun was just over the horizon, but the air was warm. I saw a pair of
moons high in the sky above me. I couldn’t tell whether it was morning or
evening, but if it was morning, the day was likely to be hot.

Nowhere did I see any sign of habitation. A few birds wheeled through the
air around the mountain, but I saw no people or large animals.

I knew this land – or rather, Khazun did. The look and feel of it was familiar
to him.
A name rose up in my mind. Empyrea. That was the name of this world, or
at least this region. It was the name Khazun knew.

Wherever and whatever Empyrea was, that was the place where I now
stood.

After standing on the hill for a few minutes, I considered what to do. I had
no shoes, virtually no clothes, and no possessions beyond the sword and
the knife. I realized I was getting hungry, and the sight of the stream
sparked thirst. Whatever I might do here, I needed water.

I tucked the knife more securely into the side of my loincloth, but I would
have to carry the sword until I found something else to wear. The route to
the stream required me to go uphill a bit until the terrain above the cave
leveled out. Then I crossed the hillside, walking until I reached the flow of
water in a few minutes.

I had just slaked my thirst when I heard a noise. I stood up and spun
around.

A large thing was coming up the hill toward me. It did not appear as if it
intended to say hello and chat a while.

It was insectile in appearance, with a segmented body composed of hard

chitinous plates. It walked on four legs, and its front half rose up at an
angle. Two more sets of legs emerged from the upper body. One set was
long and angular, covered with sharp spikes. The upper set was smaller,
with long, thin finger-like appendages. A large triangular head sat atop this
monstrosity, which stood half again as tall as I did.

A mouth filled with sharp mandibles chittered and clacked as it approached,

leaving little mystery as to what it wanted from me.

To Cayden, it looked something like a ten-foot tall, eight-legged praying

mantis.

But another word floated up from the portion of my mind occupied by

Khazun.
Ranneng.

I got the impression of a fierce, relentless predator, but one Khazun had
faced before.

I checked my surroundings, backpedaling away from the stream and

readying my sword. The ranneng charged up the slope toward me, its four
long, spiky legs moving easily over the rocks and broken ground. I wasn’t
going to outrun this thing.

As soon as it closed within a few feet, its spiked forelegs shot out toward
me, trying to snatch me up. I darted to the side, slashing down with my
sword as I went. The blade glanced off the chitin but snapped off one of the
spikes.

The ranneng let out an angry chittering noise, rotating smoothly to prevent
me from getting around it. It struck again. I parried the strike a second time,
and once again, I failed to penetrate its exoskeleton.

In the back of my mind, a memory emerged, something about ranneng

chitin making serviceable armor. That would be a thing to consider –
assuming I survived this encounter.

I danced back and forth, waiting for an opening and dodging the monster’s
strikes. One wrong move, and I would be snatched up and devoured.

I circled uphill, looking for a position where I could neutralize its size
advantage, but the ranneng followed me. It had little trouble negotiating the
broken terrain.

I felt Khazun’s anger welling up in me. Cayden had no idea what to do here,
and he needed to cede control. I forced myself to relax and trust my
instincts.

I kept moving to the side until I reached a large boulder that impeded the
ranneng’s movement. I dodged again as it struck, leaping around the
boulder. The ranneng tried to follow, but doing so required it to extend its
back leg far enough to expose it.
I leapt past the monster’s next lunge, striking at the upper joint in its back
leg. My blade bit into the soft tissue between the chitin, and the ranneng
screeched in pain, flailing its forelegs in my direction.

But I was past and around the beast’s flank. It turned, trying to keep me
from getting further behind, but its wounded leg lost purchase on the
ground. The ranneng stumbled, falling forward and having to brace itself
with a spiked foreleg.

I struck again, this time at the vulnerable limb in front of me as the beast put
its full weight on it. The chitin on the forelegs was thicker and stronger and
protected by long spikes, but my aim was true and I slashed open another
joint.

The ranneng screeched again, twisting around and swiping at me with its
other claw. I had to jerk backward and narrowly avoided being decapitated
as a sharp spike lashed past my neck.

I fell back, trying to regain my balance. The ranneng stumbled forward,

bracing itself on its wounded fore- and back legs. I darted up the hill, trying
to regain some advantage. The ranneng followed, but it had now lost much
of its agility. I circled around the other side of it as it stumbled up the hill
after me.

It struck at me again with its other foreleg, but I had expected this and
dodged to the side. I was trying to flank it again, on the other side, and the
ranneng seemed to sense this. It turned and stumbled, briefly losing its
balance.

That was enough of an opening to let me get around it. The ranneng
slashed at me once more, but I ducked under the strike and struck hard at
the joint of its nearest back leg. The monster let out another screech and fell
forward.

Now it could no longer support itself on its back legs, and the center of its
body settled on the ground. The ranneng continued trying to brace itself on
the foreleg I’d wounded while attacking with the other.

But I was now much more agile and mobile than it was.
I maneuvered again, getting it to follow me uphill. I focused on striking at the
foreleg each time it struck at me, and after several attempts, I landed a blow
across the joint. This was the most serious wound I’d inflicted yet, slashing
apart the soft tissues underneath so the front segment of the foreleg was
now limp and unable to move.

The ranneng screeched in pain and anger, flailing around as best it could.
Drawing on Khazun’s experience in facing these things in the past, I’d
methodically weakened it until I could get into a position to finish it off.

But it wasn’t ready to surrender. No longer able to attack with its forelegs, it
now tried to strike at me with its jaws. It lunged at me, snapping its
mandibles in an attempt to catch my arm.

Khazun had expected this, though.

I moved gracefully aside as it lunged, sweeping my sword though the air

and taking it in both hands. As the ranneng’s head struck at the spot I’d
occupied a moment earlier, I brought my blade down hard across the back
of its neck.

The soft tissue at the joint parted easily, and the sword sliced through the
beast’s neck. As the monster’s internal fluids erupted forth, the head fell to
the ground at my feet.

Yet the ranneng was still not done.

Its headless thorax reared back, fluids still jetting forth. The small upper
forelegs reached for the severed head, trying to lift it back into place as its
mandibles snapped and chittered. The monster attempted one final lunge
as the little forelegs thrust the head in my direction.

Instead of moving away, I thrust my sword forward to meet it, driving the
blade into its mouth until it emerged from the rear. The forelegs shook
helplessly as whatever lingering connection remained between the
ranneng’s severed head and its body began to end. It let go of the head,
and I stepped back, letting it slide off the sword to the ground.
The ranneng staggered for few moments more before finally collapsing. It
continued twitching and twisting for another minute or two.

As the beating of my heart slowed, I felt hunger gnawing at my gut. The

exertion of escaping the cave followed by this fight for my life had depleted
whatever energies I’d awoken with.

The knife had fallen from my loincloth during the fight, but I found it not far
away. Khazun was still largely in control, and I stepped up to the ranneng’s
abdomen. I slashed it open with the knife and began pulling out the internal
organs. I took a big bite from a cylindrical purple mass and began chewing.

It didn’t occur to me for a few seconds that I was eating bug guts.

Inside my head, Cayden recoiled in disgust, but Khazun in turn reacted with
disdain. Ranneng heart was a delicacy, hearty and filling, and he had eaten
it many times before.

My two halves fought with each other for a few moments. My body’s need
for nutrients won out for now.

And it didn’t actually taste bad.

It tasted, in fact, like a nutty, fatty, sausage. As I kept eating, my disgust

began to subside. Did this world even have food that Cayden was familiar
with? That was a fair question.

I needed to eat, after all.

When I was full – Khazun found another yellow organ, something akin to a
liver, and ate that as well – I drank some water from the stream.

I felt good for the moment.

What now? I had found food, but I needed clothes. Here, Khazun’s vague
memories served me well again. Ranneng could be a source of things
besides sustenance.

I needed clothes, and in particular, I needed shoes.

I sliced apart the monster’s guts until I had a collection of long, stringy
tissue not unlike sinew. Nearby was a dead bush. I strung the strings of
tissue over its branches so it would dry in the sun. Once it was stiffer, I
could use it as thread.

Then I carved apart the softer chitin of the ranneng’s underbelly, cutting two
pieces that would serve as soles for a pair of sandals. I scraped them clean
and set them on a rock nearby to dry.

Ranneng chitin could indeed be fashioned into armor, but doing so required
things I did not have here. Somehow I knew it had to be softened in hot oil
so it could be shaped.

But the underbelly chitin was tough and flexible enough to employ for other
purposes. I cut a long strip to make into a belt once the thread was dry, and
another, broader piece I could stitch into a little pouch.

Then I extracted the stomach-organ from the ranneng’s gut, squeezed out
whatever it had eaten before our encounter, and rinsed it out in the stream.
It would serve well as a water sack. Finally, I cut off a long, thin spike from
one of the forelegs and carved it into a needle I could use to sew everything
together.

Whoever Khazun had been, he was self-sufficient and comfortable surviving

alone in the wilderness. I – at least he – had done this sort of thing many
times, though the memories were vague and fuzzy at best. I knew he’d
done it, but the circumstances were not there.

I realized now that I’d emerged from the cave not long after dawn, because
the sun was climbing in the sky and the air was growing hot and dry. This
was good – the thread would not dry well in the dark. But in these
conditions, half a day or so would be more than enough.

I filled the water bag in the stream, but I was going to need more food, and
there was no need to waste what I had here. I sliced open one of the
ranneng’s back legs and carved some long strips of flesh from the inside.
The internal organs would spoil quickly, which was why Khazun had spurred
me to eat them first. But in this heat, this flesh would dry into something like
jerky. Once I’d carved out enough to last a few days, I hung it up with the
thread.

Then I found a spot under a tree along the stream and lay down in the
shade to rest while the sun did its work.

It took a few hours of baking in the sun for everything to dry sufficiently, and
another hour or two for me to stitch all my new gear together. As I waited
and worked, birds would periodically glide in to pick at the ranneng carcass.
They were roughly the size of crows, but with longer wings and a mottled
grayish-brown coloration.

These were cheeaks, Khazun remembered, common scavenger birds. Their

feathers had various uses, though none were relevant to me at the moment.
So I chased them off by throwing a few rocks. Eventually they got the
message and collected on the hillside to wait until I left.

The Cayden part of me expected to have difficulty with the sewing, but I let
Khazun’s instincts control it, and things went smoothly. In the end, I had a
stout pair of sandals that I laced up around my calves, and a sturdy belt to
carry my sword and knife. I fashioned a strap for the water bag and stitched
up the pouch, then tied it to my belt. There was plenty of thread left over, so
I stowed it away with the needle.

There was little more I could do now to further clothe myself, but it had
gotten hot enough that I didn’t feel the need for more covering. My body
was deeply tanned already, and the heat didn’t really bother me. Khazun
was used to it.

I tied the jerky strips to one of the strings, then rolled the whole thing up and
tied it to my belt. I now had food and water, along with enough weapons and
gear to survive for at least a few days. So I was left with the question of
where to go.

Once again, I let my Khazun-self take over.

I knew this place would get colder at night, so I needed to find shelter. And
then . . . I wasn’t sure. I felt there had to be a reason I was here, why
Khazun had returned from the dead, why Cayden – whoever he was – now
shared space in my mind.

So I decided to follow the stream downhill.

Uphill would be even colder at night, and I didn’t see anything up there. I
didn’t want to get too far from a source of water if I could help it. If there was
one stream flowing down this mountain, there would be others. They would
flow together into a larger stream and perhaps eventually a river. A river
would be a magnet for people, and then I might find some answers.

The hillside descended steadily for quite a ways. Behind me, the cheeaks
began congregating on the carcass and squawking loudly at each other as
the feast began. I kept an eye out for any more ranneng, or other beasts,
but saw nothing.

Eventually, I reached the slot canyon I’d seen earlier, where the stream cut
into an area of loose sandstone. There were other canyons like it not far
away, which told me there had been significant runoff from the mountains at
some point. I saw other streambeds, though they were currently dry.

Once I descended into the canyon, I was surrounded by narrow, undulating

walls of smooth stone. The stream burbled and bubbled over and around
the small rocks and sand at the bottom. For a while, I had little trouble
following it. Several times, the stream backed up into a pool behind narrow
spots in the canyon, but none were too deep to wade through.

The experience of hiking through this landscape was familiar to Khazun –

but also, strangely enough, to Cayden as well, though I remembered even
less about who he was. The two of them felt different, but something told
me that Cayden, whoever he had been, was no clueless weakling in the
wilderness.

Here and there, other streams joined the one I was following, and then it
joined an even larger one. After I’d followed the stream for what seemed like
an hour, the canyon began to widen and level out. From there, I followed
along one bank a bit further.

Then I came around a bend to find a fairly large pond completely occupying
a little bowl. On the far side, the pond emptied over a waterfall. I couldn’t
see what was below it, but the canyon continued on from there.

I waded into the pond, wondering if Khazun could swim. But Cayden could,
and that was enough. I swam across to the far side, trying to avoid the
current flowing over the waterfall. When I reached the other end of the
pond, my feet hit the bottom, and I was able to walk around the edge. I
moved carefully up to the waterfall until I could see over it.

The drop was perhaps fifteen or twenty feet. Below it was another little
pond. Studying it for a few moments, I decided it looked deep enough to
jump. I climbed out to the center of the cascade, trying to gauge the best
place to go over.

Then I got a good grip on my belt and blades, and leapt out.

I hit the water and went under with a splash. My feet hit the bottom, but it
was sand and gravel, and the impact was gentle. I pushed up and my head
broke the surface. I swam over to the nearest shore and got out.

But I now had a problem.

Beyond this point, the stream, which was really a small river by now, flowed
through the narrow canyon with nothing but sheer rock walls on either side.
At the very least, I was going to need to wade from here, and possibly swim.

I’d come ashore on a broad little beach where the sand had accumulated
below the waterfall, but there was nowhere to go from there – the canyon
walls rose straight up for at least a hundred feet. The beach was sunny and
warm, and there was a little cave in the cliff wall at the top, but I couldn’t
stay here forever.

I decided to take a break and eat something. The dried strips of ranneng
meat were reasonably tasty and filling. The water was not warm, and I
wanted to restore some energy as I considered what to do. So I lay back on
the sand and tried to dry off in the sun.

After hours upon hours of hiking, battling monsters, and trying to escape
that tomb, I was tired. The warmth of the sun began to get to me. I didn’t
relish getting back into the water. The sun was sinking below the edge of
the canyon, and if I was going to need to swim from here, I certainly didn’t
want to risk doing it in the dark.

The beach had collected more than sand from the river. Quite a bit of
driftwood from further up the mountain had been deposited here, much of it
up against the walls of the canyon. There was more than enough dry wood
for a fire.

So I gathered up a big pile and dug a firepit in the sand at the cave opening.
I knew a fire would be visible when it got dark, but given where I was in this
little canyon, it would have been virtually impossible for anyone up on the
rim to get down here.

Cayden had never started a fire like this, but Khazun had little trouble with it.
I built a stack of little sticks, with a stack of larger branches around it, then
used my knife to create a big pile of feathery wood shavings. I set the
shavings around a flat piece of wood and began spinning a thin, straight
stick between my hands against the flat piece.

In a few minutes, the stick was hot enough to ignite the wood shavings. I
blew on them carefully until a flame blossomed, then set the burning
shavings into the pile of little sticks. Bit by bit, the fire grew as I fed more
wood into it.

Once the fire was going, I leaned back against the cave wall to relax. The
sun was behind the canyon rim by now, and darkness fell quickly. The stars
began to come out.

I sat there wondering again what I was doing here, and who I was. I wasn’t
Khazun, at least not the Khazun who had been buried in that tomb. He was
clearly dead, even if his mind occupied a portion of my own.
I wasn’t Cayden either. This wasn’t his world, and he had no knowledge of it
at all. One way or another, I was someone in this world. Not Khazun. Not
Cayden. Someone new.

But the answers eluded me, and I soon fell asleep in the little cave as the
fire kept me warm.

 Chapter 3

I woke with the dawn. The noise of the waterfall had lulled me to
sleep and kept me there. The night had not been especially cold,
and I’d been comfortable enough despite being nearly naked. The
fire had died, but a few coals were still hot under the ashes, and I got
things going again quickly. I drank some water from the stream and
ate a few strips of ranneng jerky as I considered what to do now.

I wanted coffee.

For a few strange moments, I wondered what coffee was, before it

began to come back to me. This was a memory of Cayden’s, a
memory of coffee beside a campfire on a morning like this. But like
all my other memories, the context was missing. I knew it was a
drink Cayden enjoyed, but no more.

I finally stood and assessed the situation. I needed to keep going. I

felt strong and fit enough to swim for quite a while. The problem was
that I didn’t know how far I would be swimming. It might be just
around the next bend. It might be much, much further. If I exhausted
myself while the river remained within this slot canyon, I might well
drown.

Another memory of Cayden’s floated up in my mind. I could climb out

of here. He had climbed such things in the past. He was good at it.
He had climbed much more challenging places than the walls of this
canyon.
Then I remembered strange tools and equipment I had no names for
– things I did not have here. I could not do what Cayden had done
before. I would need to climb as Khazun had climbed, and his
memories told me that was impossible for now.

The walls of the canyon were too sheer, too uncertain. A fall before I
reached the rim would likely be fatal. Cayden – examining the
contours of the canyon and considering yet another unfamiliar term,
free-climbing – finally agreed, seeing no way I could get from here to
the top.

What to do? In the corner of the beach, just above the waterline, was
a thick log about as long as I was tall. This might be a solution. I
dragged it into the water, seeing that it floated well enough.

So I waded out into the center of the flow and hung onto the log,
letting the river carry me along. This would be slower than
swimming, but it would preserve my energy. The water was cool but
tolerably so for now.

I drifted down the river for a while as the canyon twisted and turned. I
saw occasional fish, though none came close enough to tell much
about them. Now and then, birds – both cheeaks and other kinds –
flew over or through the canyon.

The river eventually began to flow more quickly, and the channel
deepened on one side. My feet hit the bottom, and I climbed up into
a shallower area where I could wade easily, pulling the log behind
me.

But the canyon turned again, and I had to re-enter the current. I
floated through a long, narrow stretch where the canyon walls nearly
closed together overhead. The water flowed swiftly here, carrying me
along. I listened carefully for the sounds of falling water, in case I
was approaching a waterfall, but the canyon was eerily silent.
After a few more twists and turns, the canyon suddenly opened up
into a small lake. On the far side, just before the point where the river
continued, the cliffs descended to a broad beach that appeared to go
up and out. I began paddling over.

When I reached the shore, I climbed out and shook myself dry. The
beach indeed led to a slope that climbed up to the areas above the
canyon.

I assessed the state of my belongings. The long swim down the river
had softened much of what I’d made from the ranneng’s carcass, so
I laid everything out in the sun to dry again. I didn’t want my belt
failing at a critical moment.

I lay down in the sun to warm myself up as well.

I’d been sitting there for quite a while when I noticed that there were
footprints in the sand coming down the slope. They were not mine. I
had not climbed up there yet.

I walked over and examined the prints. They seemed reasonably

human at first, but as I looked closer, I saw narrow little imprints at
the ends of the toes. They looked like claws.

I tried to draw out Khazun’s memories of what might have left these
tracks, but no answers came. I went back to my sunny spot in the
sand to rest, keeping one ear open.

The sun eventually dried out my gear. I strapped on my sandals and

belt, which seemed none the worse for the trip down the river. When
I felt ready to go again, I climbed up the slope.

The route out of the canyon led to another little canyon. This one at
least was dry. I followed it, seeing more of the strange, clawed
footprints going in both directions.
I stopped to consider whether following this route was a good idea.
Clearly some group of people, whatever race they might have been,
used this canyon to get to the river.

Was this a problem? I had come this way hoping to find some
settlement where I could learn more about this world. Multiple
footprints going to and from a source of water meant such a
settlement was likely nearby.

Cayden was uncertain, but Khazun dismissed the concerns. I knew

by now he had wandered this area extensively. All of this felt familiar
to him.

These people might or might not be hostile, but Khazun was

confident he could handle things. I stood there battling indecision for
a few moments.

I finally decided that I had little choice. I either wandered forever

avoiding all contact, or I had to take a chance in meeting others.

I continued down the narrow canyon, but I had gone only a little way
further when my senses began tingling. I heard something up above
– footsteps. Then more of them, both ahead and behind me.

If there were people above me, I was not in a good position, and the
fact that they appeared to be trying to surround me was a bad sign. I
began moving quickly back down the canyon. Then I heard several
thumps ahead of me that sounded very much like people jumping
down onto the sand.

I came around a corner to see two humanoid figures standing there

with bows drawn and aimed at me. I heard rapid footsteps above
me, and looked up to see more bows aimed in my direction.

Then I heard more steps behind me, and I turned around to see what
I fully expected. Another group completing the encirclement.
These were clearly the people who had left the footprints, but they
were not human. They were green skinned, with dark green to black
hair. Their eyes were uniformly yellow, and the males had little ivory
tusks curling out of their mouths on either side.

They were lean and powerfully built, several of them nearly as tall as
I was. They wore no more clothes than I did – loincloths for the
males, and skirts and breast bands for the females. Most of them
carried curved blades at their belts in addition to bows and quivers
full of arrows.

One of them stepped up from the group that had come down the
canyon to meet me. It was a female, and by human standards she
was strikingly pretty, with long black hair and a taut, well-formed
body. She seemed young, but from the manner of the others around
her, she was clearly leading this band.

Orc, Cayden thought, though it had the feel of something he’d never
actually seen.

Ortina, Khazun replied.

“You forfeit your life by entering these lands, human,” the girl spat at
me.

“I’ve done nothing to warrant such a reaction,” I replied calmly.

“These lands belong to the Throat Slicer tribe, and all are aware of it.
Did you not see our totems when you crossed our borders?”

“I came from the river.”

“Impossible,” she sneered. “Your craft would have been seen. And
our borders are marked on both sides of the river below here.”
“I came down the river, from further uphill.”

She scowled at me. “Nothing is up there.”

“I’ll agree with that.”

Then a memory of Khazun’s came to the front of my mind, an idea

that could get me out of this in one piece. I sensed that Khazun had
dealt with the ortina many times and understood their ways.

“I invoke the right of chinthubai,” I said. “If I have gotten this far into
your lands unseen, someone has failed in their duties, and the
chieftain must adjudicate the situation.”

I heard murmurs of displeasure around me, but I stood my ground. I

sensed from Khazun’s memories that while the ortina were fierce
and ruthless, they had customs and traditions that mattered a great
deal to them.

The girl stared at me as if she wanted to gut me and eat my liver. It

occurred to me that she might well have been the one who had failed
here.

“I am Glasha, the chieftain’s daughter,” she replied, “and I say you

die.”

“That is no longer your decision to make, and you know it.”

There was more grumbling.

“What is your name?” Glasha asked.

I paused. What was my name?

If I claimed to be Khazun, would that cause problems? I had no idea

what his reputation might be. He’d been laid to rest with what
appeared to be some honor not far from here.

But that also meant he was dead – long dead from all the evidence
I’d seen. So either his name was forgotten, or taking it could result in
a very unpleasant reaction.

“You can call me Cayden.”

“Throw your blades to the ground, Cay-den,” Glasha said, “and I will
take you to your death at my father’s hands. He has no tolerance for
trespassers.”

I looked around. I didn’t like giving up my weapons, but there were at

least ten bows pointed at me. The looks in the ortina’s eyes told me
they were waiting for any excuse at all to kill me.

Khazun agreed with my assessment. One wrong move here, and I

would be filled with arrows.

Cayden had initially been alarmed, but his side of my mind was now
strangely calm. I was in danger, but the way forward at the moment
was not combat. I relaxed and tried to listen to his instincts.

As long as I was still breathing, I had a chance. He was confident I

could navigate this meeting with the chieftain. Khazun told me that
the ortina were profoundly rigid when it came to their tribal laws. If I
was able to pull a few more memories from him, I might be able to
turn things against them and save myself.

I sensed somehow that twisting laws to his advantage was a thing

Cayden was very skilled at.

So I dropped my blades and stepped back. One of the ortina lowered

his bow and collected them.

“Come,” Glasha said.

They turned back up the canyon, and I followed.

The Throat Slicer compound was not far away, which surely
explained their angry reaction to finding me here.

They’d built their village into a broad, circular section of the canyon
I’d climbed into. It appeared as if this bowl had once been a lake that
had long ago filled up with sand and rocks, diverting the runoff from
uphill through another course. I could see the remains of the channel
leading into it. It looked as if they had piled up a lot of rocks and dirt
into a sort of levee at the top to reduce the chance of flash floods.

Around the rim of the bowl was a rough but well-constructed wall of
rocks, and there were half a dozen or so ortina up there standing
guard. Within the bowl was a solid warren of stone-and-clay
dwellings around the perimeter, all of them built together in a single
ring. In the center was an open area that appeared to be a meeting
ground.

Glasha and her band led me into the center. She left most of them to
guard me and went ahead into a structure directly opposite the
entrance. The ring of dwellings seemed mostly the same, but this
one was slightly larger than the others.

More of Khazun’s memories came back to me. There was a reason

for the structure of this settlement, why it was built in a circle with all
of them sharing the same compound.

Ortina society was ruthlessly egalitarian. No one ortina was better

than another because of accidents of birth, or appearance, or any
other abstract qualities. The ones who led them were followed
because of their strength and wisdom, and their adherence to the
iron laws of ortina tradition.

Show weakness, break tradition, or disappoint the tribe in any way,

and a chieftain could be removed, often permanently. That might be
my only way out here, if I could come up with a way to leverage it.

Cayden’s memories began to swell now. Khazun was a warrior, and

while I sensed that he had a deep familiarity with the customs of
these people, his way was the sword. Tense negotiations were not
his forte.

Cayden, though, felt entirely at home with this. The memories I saw
made no sense to me: strange rooms with glass walls that looked
out on a metal and stone forest of buildings. Sitting across a table
from strangely dressed men and women, asking for things they did
not want to give him.

Getting them anyway.

Cayden pressed Khazun. He needed his knowledge here. And I

began to see a single path forward.

Glasha returned after a few minutes, her face a mask of stone. She
motioned to the ortina standing around me, and one of them pushed
my shoulder. I said nothing, simply following her into the dwelling
across the ring.

She led me into a room that was about thirty feet square. An older
ortina sat on a wooden chair against the far wall. Several female
ortina stood by him, and there were two large, burly males in the
corners. Openings in the wall behind him appeared to lead into the
chieftain’s private rooms.
“Father,” Glasha said, “this is the human we found trespassing in our
lands.”

He scowled at me. “What are you doing here?”

“Did she happen to tell you where they found me?” I asked.

His eyes widened, and he looked at Glasha. She glared at me,

gritting her teeth, but said nothing. The chieftain looked back at me.

“In the canyon that leads to the river,” I said. “They captured me
perhaps halfway between here and the beach. Had they delayed
even slightly, I would have walked right in here.”

The chieftain growled loudly and looked at Glasha. “How did he get
so close?”

She fumed for a moment.

“No one saw him until he emerged from the river.”

“How did he get up the river so far?”

She looked at me again. “He claims to have come down it.”

“From where?” he asked me.

“Further up the mountain,” I replied.

“There is nothing there, no human settlements. Those are ortina

lands as well.”

“I found myself there. That is all I can tell you.” I looked at Glasha. “I
suppose she failed to tell you as well that I invoked the right of
chinthubai.”
Soft gasps filled the room. The chieftain’s eyes lit up in anger.

“A human who knows such things? Who are you?”

“I am the one who has invoked the right against your daughter.”

He grumbled loudly and leaned over toward one of the older

females. They spoke in urgent but hushed voices for a minute or so.
Then he leaned back and narrowed his eyes at me.

“Explain what you know about chinthubai. I must be convinced you

not did simply overhear the word in a wine-shop, in some human
city.”

I took a long, slow breath, focusing myself on Khazun’s memories

and Cayden’s instincts.

“One not of the tribe who shames a member of it has placed that
member’s allegiance in doubt,” I said. “Your daughter was leading
that band to guard your borders, and I nearly walked into your
settlement unmolested. That breach of her obligations to the tribe is
a greater breach than my trespass. Her status is in question until she
has vindicated herself against me in a manner of your choosing.”

When I stopped speaking, the room was silent enough that I could
hear the chieftain’s breath whistling through his nostrils. He finally
turned to Glasha.

“What have you to say in your defense, daughter?”

Her face was rigid. She stared back at him.

“I submit myself to your discretion, Father, whatever it may be.”

He nodded.
“Very well.” He looked back at me. “You will face Glasha in unarmed
combat. If she defeats you, her status is restored. If you defeat her . .
. I will grant you the liberty to choose your manner of death, for no
human may trespass on our lands and live.”

I fought the chill in my stomach as my mind struggled with this

development. Then I saw it. The chieftain had just given me a single,
slim path to getting out of here with my life. But I needed to fix it in
place.

“You swear before the tribe that you will grant me my choice of
death, whatever it may be?”

He nodded again. “I do.”

“Then I accept your wisdom, Chieftain.”

The other ortina appeared satisfied with this decision. Glasha

continued glaring at me. I wondered what would happen to her
should I defeat her, but I needed to get there first.

The ortina guards who had brought me into the dwelling now pushed
me out of it, into the center of the ring. Glasha followed, as did the
chieftain and his entourage. Word of what was about to happen
spread quickly through the settlement, and dozens of ortina emerged
from doorways around the bowl.

The guards pushed me back into the center. I took off my sandals,
not trusting them in a fight like this. The ranneng tissue was not
completely cured, and until it was, they were not as strong as they
needed to be.

Glasha handed her sword and bow to one of the guards. The
chieftain’s two personal guards had brought out his chair, and he sat
in it now.
He looked at Glasha, then at me.

“Begin.”
 Chapter 4

I focused inward on Khazun, trying at the same time to assess

Glasha as she moved around the circle.

I was taller and larger than her, but not by much. She moved with a
fluid grace, and I could tell this would not be an easy fight. Ortina
females were typically as strong as the males, and a chieftain’s
daughter would have been taught to fight from the moment she could
walk.

But Khazun was no novice either.

Memories of numerous fistfights and wrestling matches welled up in

my mind. He had been beaten, but not often, and nearly all of those
fights had come in his youth.

Khazun won because he was careful and methodical, just as I’d

been with the ranneng. A fight was not won with the first blow but the
last one.

I bounced gently on my toes as I circled with Glasha, waiting for her

to make the first move. She finally closed with me, and after weaving
for a moment, struck out with her foot. But I spotted the strike coming
and deflected it easily.

She struck again, throwing a punch at my head. I blocked that as

well, stepping backward. Glasha came after me, jumping up and
scissoring her legs to kick out with her back foot. But again, I read
her movements and dodged the kick.
I kept circling away from her, watching her closely. She snarled,
feinting with her left hand before punching with her right. She was
close enough that rather than dodging the strike, I caught her arm
and pulled her forward, tossing her over my hip to the ground.

The crowd moaned in surprise. Glasha caught her fall and

scrambled away from me before I could take advantage, though I
hadn’t planned to.

Khazun, in fact, was surprised at what I had just done. Where had
that move come from?

I kept watching her movements, trying to listen to Khazun. Yet – now

that the fight had begun – I felt that Cayden also had experience with
this sort of thing. Memories arose of fights with other men in white
clothing, in a strange, brightly colored room. A room where others
watched, much like this fight.

The memories flowed together smoothly. Khazun recognized them

for what they were. Perspective on fighting styles was valuable.
Cayden’s skills were useful here and did not greatly overlap
Khazun’s. I let them rise up and join them. Together they were
stronger and more skilled than either of them alone.

Glasha tried to strike at me again, left-right-left, but again I deflected

her blows. She cursed at me, calling me a coward, and swiped at my
face with her claws out. When she did, I grabbed her arm and swept
her feet out from under her with my foot, shoving her back with my
other hand. She fell to the ground with a yelp.

I stepped away from her as she tried to claw at my legs. The crowd
gasped again. Glasha sprang to her feet, glaring at me.

We circled each other for a few moments. She was warier now. I saw
doubt leaking into her eyes. But she was far from ready to concede
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
continued I, it may be well to ask what each of you thought of doing
with the shell, if he had obtained it?
Ernest.—I should turn it into a shield to defend myself with, if the
savages should come upon us.
Father.—Ah, there is my egotist again; this is as I expected; but let
us see in what way you would use it? You would fling it across your
shoulders no doubt, and take to your heels manfully.—I fancy I have
guessed right, my poor Ernest, have I not?—And you, Jack, what
have you to say?
Jack.—I should make a nice little boat of it, which would help to
amuse us all. I was thinking how cleverly we could fill it with
potatoes, or the other things we want to take from Tent-House to
Falcon’s Nest; it would glide along so nicely with the stream, and we
should be saved all the fatigue we now have in carrying them.
Father.—Your scheme, I grant, is not ill-imagined; but a small raft
or an old chest would do just as well for your purpose.—And now for
my little Francis; I wonder what pretty plan he had thought of?
Francis.—I thought I should build a little house, papa, and the shell
would make such a nice roof to it!
Father.—Vastly well, my lads, if we had only our amusement or
our ease to think of; but I want you all to form the habit of thinking
and acting for the general good, rather than of what will most gratify
or accommodate his single self.—Now, then, let me ask to what use
Fritz, the only rightful claimant to the shell, had intended to apply it?
Fritz.—I thought, father, of cleaning it thoroughly, and fixing it by
the side of our river, and keeping it always full of pure water for my
mother’s use, when she has to wash the linen or cook our victuals.
Father.—Excellent, excellent, my boy! all honour to the founder of
the pure water-tub! This is what I call thinking for the general good.
And we will take care to execute the idea as soon as we can prepare
some clay, as a solid foundation for its bottom.
Jack.—Hah, hah! Now then it is my turn; for I have got some clay,
which I have put by to keep for use, behind those old roots yonder.
Father.—And where did you get it, boy?
 Mother.—Oh, you may apply to me for this part of the information;
to my cost I know where the clay was got.—This morning early, my
young hero falls to digging and scrambling on the hill you see to the
right, and home he comes with the news that he has found a bed of
clay; but in so dirty a condition himself, that we were obliged to think
next of the washing-tub.
Jack.—And if I had minded a little dirt, mother, I should not have
discovered this bed of clay, which you will see will be of great use to
us. As I was returning from looking for potatoes, I thought I would
take the high path along the river, just to see how rapidly it runs and
forms those nice cascades: by and by I came to a large slope,
watered by the river; it was so slippery that I could not keep upon my
legs: so I fell, and dirtied myself all over: on looking, I saw that the
ground was all of clay, and almost liquid, so I made some of it into
balls, and brought them home.
Mother.—And boasted of your discovery as if you had made it in
consequence of the most earnest desire to be of use, while the
benefit was the result of chance alone. But I will not put you further
to the blush, my boy; you at last confess the truth, and for this
deserve our praise.
Ernest.—When the water-tub is complete, I will put the roots I
have found to soak a little in it, for they are now extremely dry. I do
not exactly know what they are; they look something like the radish
or horseradish, but the plant from which I took them was almost the
size of a bush: being ignorant, however, of its name or nature, I have
not yet ventured to taste the roots, though I saw our sow eat heartily
of them.
Father.—It was quite right to be cautious my son: but let me look
at these roots. I am always glad to hear that you observe and reflect
upon all the objects which fall in your way. How did you first discover
them?
Ernest.—I was rambling about, father, and met with the sow, who
with her snout was turning up the earth under the plant I have been
speaking of, and stopped only to chew and swallow greedily
something she seemed to find there. I drove her away; and on
looking into the place, I found a knot of roots, which I tore out and
brought home.
Father.—If my suspicion is right, you have made a beneficial
discovery, which with the assistance of our potatoes may furnish us
the means of existence as long as we may remain in this island! I am
tolerably certain that these roots are manioc, of which the natives of
the West Indies make a sort of bread or cake which they call
cassave. But if we would make this use of it, we must first carry it
through a certain preparation, without which these roots possess
pernicious properties. If you are sure of finding the same place, or
we can collect enough in any other, we will secure a sufficiently large
quantity for our first experiment, which I have great confidence will
succeed.
By the time of ending this discourse, we had also finished
unloading the sledge, and I bade the three eldest boys accompany
me to fetch another load before it should be dark. We left Francis
and his mother busy in preparing what we indeed stood much in
need of after a day of such fatigue, a refreshing meal for supper, the
tortoise having presented itself most opportunely for this effect. I
promise you, cried my wife, as we were moving off, you shall not at
your return find reason to complain.
As we walked along, Fritz asked me if this handsome shell was of
the kind so much valued in Europe for making into boxes, combs,
&c.? and if it was not a pity to use it for a water-tub?
I replied, that in our deserted situation the utility of a thing formed
its greatest, and indeed only value. According to this way of
reasoning then, were your water-tub of diamonds, it would be of no
more worth to us than the rudest stone, if in such a form as to be
able to contain water. However, dear boy, I shall inform you, for your
consolation, that our tortoise, which makes such excellent food, is
not of the species, the shells of which are so much esteemed for the
uses you have mentioned. This latter kind, which is called caret,
does not furnish a wholesome food, its flesh being no less
remarkable for its bad and unpalatable properties, than those of our
tortoise for savouriness and nourishment. The shell of the caret
tortoise is prepared for use by the action of heat, which separates
the layer that from its colour and transparency is so attractive, from
the inferior and useless parts. It is usual to preserve even the
clippings of the real tortoise shell and unite them by heat for making
articles of small price; but these are much more liable to break than
the former, and of course possess very little of their beauty.
We now reached the raft, and took from it as many effects as the
sledge could hold, or the animals draw along. The first object of my
attention was to secure two chests which contained the clothes of
my family, which I well knew would afford the highest gratification to
my exemplary wife, who had frequently lamented that they were all
compelled to wear clothes that were not their own; reminding her at
every moment, she said, how much they might be wanted by their
proper claimants. I reckoned also on finding in one of the chests
some books on interesting subjects, and principally a large
handsomely printed Bible. I added to these, four cart-wheels and a
hand-mill for grinding; which, now that we had discovered the
manioc, I considered of signal importance. These and a few other
articles completed our present load.
On our return to Falcon’s Nest, we found my wife looking
anxiously for our arrival, and ready with the welcome she had
promised, of an ample and agreeable repast; nor was her kind
humour diminished by the view of the acquisitions we now added to
her store of necessaries. Before she had well examined them, she
drew me, with one of her sweetest smiles, by the arm,—Step this
way, said she, and I too will produce something that will both refresh
and please you. And leading to the shade of a tree,—This, continued
she, is the work I performed in your absence, pointing to a cask of
tolerable size, half-sunk into the ground, and the rest covered over
with branches of trees. She then applied a small cork-screw to the
side, and filling the shell of a cocoa-nut with the contents, presented
it to me. I found the liquor equal to the best canary I had ever tasted.
—How then, said I, have you performed this new miracle? I cannot
believe the enchanted bag produced it.—Not exactly, replied she; for
this time it was an obliging white wave which threw on shore the
agreeable liquid with which I have now the pleasure to regale you. I
took a little ramble in your absence yesterday, to see what I could
find, and behold how well my trouble was rewarded! The boys ran for
the sledge, and had but little difficulty in getting it to Falcon’s Stream,
where our next care was to dig a place in the earth, to receive and
keep it cool. We guessed it must contain some sort of wine; but to be
quite sure, Ernest and Jack bored a small hole in the side, and
inserting a hollow reed, they contrived to taste it, and assured me the
cask was filled with a most delicious beverage. I now thought it was
high time to forbid their proceeding any further with the tasting,
fearing for the effect on their poor heads; and I closed up the hole
with a small piece of wood. I have nothing more to relate, but that the
boys kept the secret, as I desired them.
My wife and I agreed that we would now recompense them, by
giving each a small glass of the precious liquor; but the young
creatures took such a fancy to it, that they obtained again and again
a little more, till at last we perceived their spirits so much raised, that
we were obliged to refuse their further entreaties with gravity and
firmness; observing to them, that man is required to restrain his
appetite, and not to abuse, by excesses, the good things a bountiful
Providence allows us for the purpose of rejoicing our hearts and
strengthening our bodies when used with moderation.
By means of this little lecture I succeeded in appeasing their
turbulence, and in drawing them from the dangerous vicinity of the
cask. For my own part, the generous character of the wine had so
invigorated me, that I found myself able to complete my day’s work,
by drawing up the mattresses we had brought from the ship, to our
chamber in the tree, by means of a pulley. When I had laid them
along to advantage, they looked so inviting, that I could scarcely
resist my desire of at once committing myself to the kind relief they
seemed to offer to my exhausted strength.
But now the tortoise, through the voice of my wife, laid claim to my
attention. The savoury smell ascended to our castle; I hastened
down, and we all partook heartily of the luxurious treat. We returned
thanks to God, and speedily retired to taste the blessing of sweet
and sound repose upon our mattresses.
 CHAPTER XIX.
Another trip to the wreck.

I rose before day to go to the sea-side and inspect our two

vessels. My family did not hear me depart, and I was unwilling to
disturb their balmy sleep, that sweet restorative of strength, so
requisite for children. I therefore gently descended the ladder.
Above, the scene was all repose; below, I found every thing in life
and motion. The dogs jumped about me for joy, perceiving I was
going out; the cock and the hens flapped their wings and chuckled,
and our goats shook their long beards as they browsed; but the ass,
the only creature amongst them I was likely to want at that time, still
lay stretched at full length on the grass, and discovered no
inclination for the morning jaunt I designed for him. Taking less of the
creature’s feelings into the account than my own occasion for his
services, I quickly roused and harnessed him singly for the sledge,
not wishing to yoke the cow to it before she had been milked. It was
unnecessary to call the dogs after me. As I walked towards the
shore, animated at different moments by hope and fear, with
pleasure I saw there, that, with the help of my lead and iron bars
used as anchors, the boat and raft had resisted the tide, though it
had partially heaved them up. I got quickly on the raft, where I took a
small loading, and returned to Falcon’s Stream in time for breakfast.
Judge of my surprise when arrived, that I neither saw nor heard a
single creature of its inhabitants, though the sun had climbed high
above the horizon.—Thinking it time for our fellow-labourers to be
stirring, I gave a shout as loud as a war-whoop. My wife awoke first,
and wondered to see the day so far advanced. Really, my dear, said
she, I think it must be the magic charm of the good mattress you
brought home yesterday that has lulled me into such a long sound
sleep, and that appears to be still exerting its influence upon our
boys. In fact, though they rubbed their eyes, they could scarcely
keep them open: they yawned, stretched, turned round, and turned
back again. Come come, up, my lads, exclaimed I, once again; the
more we venture to parley with sloth, the longer she holds us in her
chains; brave youths like you, ought to awake at the first call, and
leap quick and gaily out of bed. Fritz, ashamed to have slept so long,
was dressed first; Jack soon after him, and Francis next; the ever-
slothful Ernest was the last.
Is it possible, dear boy, said I to him, that at your age you allow
even little Francis to get the start of you?
Oh! father, answered he, it is so delightful to lose oneself again
after having been awakened! one feels sleep come on afresh so
gently, ideas vanish so agreeably! I should be glad to be awakened
thus every morning, that I might have the pleasure of falling into a
new slumber.
I answer, Ernest, that this is a refinement in slothfulness I never
heard of till now! It is my duty to tell you, and that gravely, if you
acquire this habit, you will become an effeminate useless character.
A man, though not like us, in a desert, is bound to provide for his
existence, and avoid being a burthen to society; he should do what is
right with courage and promptness, without consulting convenience
or pleasure. He who indulges himself in all that flatters his senses,
will end by falling a victim to them. Nature produces, too, certain
poisons, which are grateful to the palate; yet the persons who
unguardedly taste them, fail not to suffer the death they conceal.
After this short admonition, we all came down; and prayers and
breakfast being over, we returned to the sea-side to complete the
unloading of the raft, that it might be ready for sea on the ebbing of
the tide. I was not long, with the additional assistance I had, in taking
two cargoes to Falcon’s Stream. At our last trip the tide was nearly
up to our craft. I immediately sent back my wife and three children,
and remained with Fritz waiting till we were quite afloat; when
observing Jack hovering round us and dilatory in following his
mother, I perceived his wish and assented to his embarking with us.
Shortly after, the tide was high enough for us to row off. Instead of
steering for Safety Bay to moor our vessels there securely, I was
tempted by the fineness of the weather to go out again to the wreck,
which it was with considerable difficulty we got up to, though aided
by a very fresh sea breeze. On our getting along-side, it was too late
to undertake much, and I was unwilling to cause my dear partner
uneasiness by passing another night on-board; I therefore
determined to bring away only what could be obtained with ease and
speed: in this resolution we searched hastily through the ship for any
trifling articles that might be readily removed. Jack was up and down,
every where, at a loss what to select; and when I saw him again, he
drew a wheel-barrow after him, shouting and rejoicing at having
found such a vehicle for the convenient carriage of our potatoes. But
Fritz next disclosed still better news, which was that he had
discovered behind the bulk-head amid-ship, a pinnace (i. e. a small
craft, the forepart of which is square) taken to pieces, with all its
appurtenances, and even two small guns for its defence. This
intelligence so delighted me, that I quitted every thing else to run to
the bulk-head, when I was convinced of the truth of the lad’s
assertion: but I instantly perceived, that to put it together and launch
it into the sea, would be an Herculean task, which I relinquished for
the present. I then collected some house utensils and whatever else
I thought most useful; such as a large copper boiler, some plates of
iron, tobacco graters, two grinding-stones, a small barrel of gun-
powder, and another full of flints, which I much valued. Jack’s barrow
was not forgotten; two more were afterwards found and added, with
straps belonging to them. All these articles were hurried into the
boat, without our stopping to eat, or in any manner refresh ourselves,
and we re-embarked with speed, to avoid meeting the land wind that
invariably rises in the evening. As we were safely and happily
drawing near to shore, we were struck with the appearance of an
assemblage of small figures ranged in a long line on the strand, and
that seemed to be viewing us attentively: they were dressed in black,
and all uniform, with white waistcoats and full cravats: the arms of
these beings hung down carelessly; now and then, however, they
seemed to extend them tenderly, as if they wished to embrace or
offer us a token of friendship.
 I really think, said I to the boys, who were steadfastly gazing at so
novel a spectacle, that we are in the country of the pygmies, and
that, having discovered us, they wish to form a friendly alliance.
Jack. Oh, no! father, they are certainly Lilliputians, though
somewhat bigger than those of whom I read the description in
Gulliver’s Travels.
You, then, child, said I, consider those travels as true; that there is
an island of Lilliput, and inhabited by dwarfs?
Jack. Gulliver says so. He met also with men of an immense
stature, besides an island inhabited by horses.....
And yet I must tell you that the only reality in all his discoveries is
the rich imagination of the author, whose taste and feeling led him to
resort to allegory for the purpose of revealing grand truths. Do you
know, Jack, what an allegory is?
It somewhat resembles a parable, I presume.
Right, one is very similar to the other.
Jack. And the pygmies you mentioned, are any to be found?
No more than there are Lilliputians; they exist only in poetical
fiction, or in the erroneous account of some ancient navigator, in
which a group of monkeys has been fallaciously described as
diminutive men.
Fritz. Such probably are the mannikins that we see now stretching
out their arms towards us. Ah, now I begin to perceive that they have
beaks, and that their arms are short drooping wings;—what strange
birds!
You are right, son, they are penguins or ruffs1. They are of the
stupid species; Ernest killed one soon after our arrival. They are
excellent swimmers, but cannot fly; and so confused are they when
on land, that they run in the silliest way into danger; catching such
birds as these, is a fit sport for none but the indolent.
While we were talking I steered gently towards shore, to enjoy the
uncommon sight the longer; but the very moment we got into shallow
water, my giddy boy Jack leaped out of his cask up to his waist into
it, and was quickly on land battering with his stick among the
penguins before they were aware of his approach, so that half a
dozen of them were immediately laid flat; they were not dead, but
only stunned: the remainder, seeing they were so roughly accosted,
plunged into the sea, dived, and disappeared.
Fritz murmured audibly at his brother for having frightened them
away before he could fire. I could not help laughing at this perpetual
shooter of guns, who was so disposed to waste his powder on
animals which were to be taken with the hand without resistance: I
also taunted Jack a little for having jumped into the water at the risk
of being drowned. While I was making these observations, the birds,
that had been merely stunned, gradually recovered, rose upon their
legs and began a tottering sort of march with a gravity which
irresistibly excited our laughter. I did not allow Jack’s game to
escape; I took hold of them, tied their legs together with reeds,
without hurting them, and laid them on the beach while we were
landing our treasures. But as the sun declined, and we despaired of
finishing before night set in, each of us filled a barrow in order to take
home something. I requested that the tobacco-graters and iron
plates might be in the first load; to these we added the penguins
living and dead, and then set out. As we drew near Falcon’s Stream I
heard with pleasure the watchful dogs proclaim our approach with
loud barking: they no sooner saw us than they ran up with lively
demonstrations of joy, and in the midst of their rough greetings
completely overset poor Jack, who was wheeling along his barrow
with difficulty and some ill-humour, and to this he gave vent by two or
three lusty cuffs of his fist, which were divided between his friends
Turk and Ponto, who so little thought of resenting them, that they
sprang upon him as often as he took his barrow, and thus renewed
the contest to the no small amusement of his brothers, who ran up to
disengage him. My wife was highly pleased with the wheel-barrows
and for the most part with their contents, but she had no partiality for
the tobacco-graters.—In the name of Heaven, said she, what is the
use of these graters? Are our four sons to become snuff-takers?
Luckily for my fears, said she, the article is not to be obtained in our
island.
No, dear wife, I replied; and pray do not be uneasy about them;
these graters are not for the gratification of our noses; I am too
happy in having myself abandoned the bad and filthy habit of snuff-
taking, to permit my sons to use it. Come, children, said I, pointing to
the penguins, look after the new-comers to the poultry-yard. I then
directed them to fasten the birds one by one to a goose or a duck, as
a means of taming and inuring them to the society of their
companions. This essay, however, was tedious and inconvenient to
our feathered animals, who were but slowly reconciled to their
singular companions. My wife now showed me a good store of
potatoes which she had got in during our absence, and a quantity of
the roots I had taken for manioc, and in which I was not mistaken: I
much applauded her diligence and foresight, and gave Ernest and
little Francis their share of approbation.
Papa, we have worked very hard indeed, said the latter; what will
you say when we have a fine crop of maize, melons, dates, and
gourds? Mamma has planted all these in the potatoe holes.
I must tell you, master Francis, exclaimed his mother, you are a
little thoughtless babbler. Why did you tell my secret? you have
spoiled all the pleasure I promised myself in surprising your father
with my new plantation.
Father. I am sorry for this, my dear; but be assured I am not the
less gratified for hearing of your kindness in this unexpected manner.
But tell me, I beseech you, where did you procure all these seeds
and grains, and how came you to think of so extraordinary a plan?
Mother. I took the grain and seeds from the bottom of my
enchanted bag, and your thirst after fresh booty and your endless
trips to the wreck are the sources of the resolution I formed to
increase the number of your comforts at home, and thus render them
the less necessary. I determined then during the fine season to fit up
a kitchen-garden, and to sow as much of it with seed as I was able to
dig and put in order; at the same time taking particular care to leave
all the smallest-sized potatoes in the ground, that they might produce
us a full and abundant crop.
Father. This was well thought, my love; but we must not despise
the trips to the vessel neither; this very day we unexpectedly
discovered in her a new and handsome little pinnace, which at some
time or other may be of the greatest service to us.
 Mother. I cannot say that this discovery gives me very much
pleasure; I have no desire to trust myself again on the sea; but
should it at any time be absolutely necessary, I must confess I
should prefer a well made solid vessel to our miserable raft
composed of tubs.
Father. Well, this you shall possess, if you will consent to my
returning once more to the wreck; in the mean while, let us have
some supper, and then we will retire to rest; and if my little workmen
should be industriously inclined to-morrow, I shall reward them with
what to children is always a source of pleasure—the novelty of a
new trade to be learnt. This did not fail to excite the curiosity of all;
but I kept my word, and made them wait till the following day for the
explanation I had to give.
 CHAPTER XX.
The bake-house.

I waked the boys very early, reminding them that I had promised
to teach them a new trade. What is it? What is it? exclaimed they all
at once, springing suddenly out of bed and hurrying on their clothes.
Father.—It is the art of baking, my boys, which at present I am no
more acquainted with than yourselves; but we will learn it together,
and I am much mistaken if we shall not be able to produce an
excellent batch of bread, which will be the greater luxury, from our
having been altogether deprived of it during our residence in this
island. Hand me those iron plates that we brought yesterday from
the vessel, and the tobacco-graters also.
Mother.—I really cannot understand what tobacco-graters and iron
plates can have to do with making bread; a good oven would afford
me much better hopes, and this, unfortunately, we do not possess.
Father.—These very iron plates, the same you looked so
disdainfully upon no longer since than yesterday, will serve the
purpose of the things you are now wishing to have.—I cannot, it is
true, promise, in this early attempt, to produce you light and
handsome-looking bread; but I can answer that you shall have some
excellent-tasted cakes, though they should be a little flat and heavy;
—we will immediately make our experiment. Ernest, bring hither the
roots found underground: but first, my dear, I must request you to
make me a small bag of a piece of the strongest wrapper linen.
My wife set instantly to work to oblige me; but having no great
confidence in my talents for making cakes, she first filled with
potatoes the large copper boiler we had brought from the ship, and
put it on the fire, that we might not find ourselves without something
to eat at the time of dinner: in the meanwhile I spread a large piece
of coarse linen on the ground, and assembled my young ones round
me to begin our undertaking; I gave each of the boys a grater, and
showed him at the same time how to rest it on the linen, and then to
grate the roots of manioc; so that in a short time each had produced
a considerable heap of a substance somewhat resembling pollard.
The occupation, as is always the case with novelties, proved
infinitely amusing to them all, and they looked no further into the
matter; one showed the other his heap, saying in a bantering tone:
Will you eat a bit of nice cake made of grated radishes?
Father.—Make as merry as you please, young gentlemen, on the
subject of this excellent production of nature, which ere long you will
acknowledge to have yielded you a most palatable kind of food; a
food which is known to be the principal sustenance of whole nations
of the continent of America, and which the Europeans who inhabit
those countries even prefer to our wheaten bread. I must tell you,
there are many kinds of manioc; one of these shoots rapidly, and its
roots become mature in a short time; a second sort is of more tardy
growth; and there is another, the roots of which require the space of
two years to be fit for use. The first two kinds have pernicious or
unwholesome qualities when eaten raw, but the third may be eaten
without fear: for all this, the two first are generally preferred, as being
more productive, and requiring a shorter time for being fit for use.
Jack.—One would think only madmen could prefer those that are
pernicious: we cannot to be sure but be overwhelmed with gratitude
for some cake that is to kill us (and the young rogue threw his grater
from him as he spoke)! who shall tell us that our fine roots here are
not of the same pernicious kind?
Father.—At all events we shall not eat them raw; as nearly as I
recollect, the tardy kind, like these we have procured, grow in the
form of a bush; while the other two are creeping plants. However, to
be quite sure, the first thing we will do, shall be to press the pollard.
Ernest.—For what end, father, shall we press it?
Father.—Because, even in the pernicious kind it is only the sap
which is hurtful; the more substantial part being when dried
extremely wholesome and even nourishing. But that we may act with
the greatest possible prudence, we will give some of our cakes to the
fowls and to the monkey, before we venture to eat of them ourselves;
if they do them no harm, we may then proceed to feast on them with
safety.
Jack.—Thank you, father; but I have no fancy to let my monkey be
poisoned.
Father.—You may be perfectly easy, Jack, for the preservative
instinct of your monkey is such, that he would not touch it if it were
poisonous; animals are in this respect better treated than man, who
is called upon to use his reason in supplying the deficiency: at all
events, however, we will give him so little that no harm can possibly
ensue.
Upon this Jack picked up his grater, and with the others began to
grate the roots with new alertness: dread of the poison had for an
instant palsied every arm; but a very short time was now sufficient
for producing a considerable quantity of ground manioc. By this time
my wife had completed the bag. I had it well filled with what we
called our pollard, and she closed it effectually by sewing up the end.
I was now to contrive a kind of press: I cut a long, straight, well-
formed branch, of considerable strength, from a neighbouring tree,
and stripped it of the bark; I then placed a plank across the table we
had fixed between the arched roots of our tree, and which was
exactly the right height for my purpose, and on this I laid the bag; I
put other planks again upon the bag, and then covered all with the
large branch, the thickest extremity of which I inserted under an
arch, while to the other, which projected beyond the planks, I
suspended all sorts of heavy substances, such as lead, our largest
hammers and bars of iron, which, acting with great force as a press
on the bag of manioc, caused the sap it contained to issue in
streams, which flowed plentifully on the ground.
Fritz.—This machine of yours, father, though simple, is as effectual
as can be desired.
Father.—Certainly. It is the simplest lever that the art of
mechanism can furnish, and may be made extremely useful.
 Ernest.—I thought that levers were never used but for raising
heavy masses, such as blocks of stone, and things of that degree of
weight; I had no notion that they were ever used for pressing.
Father.—But, my dear boy, you see that the point at which the
lever rests on the planks, must always be the point of rest or
compression; the point at which its extremity touches the roots of the
tree would no doubt be that of the raising power, if the root was not
too strong to yield to the point of the lever; but then the resistance at
the point of compression or rest is still stronger, and presses
effectually, as you see, the contents of the bag. The Negroes,
however, have another manner of proceeding; but it would have
been much too tedious in the process for us to imitate. They make
tresses of the bark of a tree, and with it form a kind of basket of
tolerable size; they fill it with manioc, and press it so tightly that the
baskets become shorter, and increase in breadth; they then hang the
baskets to the strongest branches of trees, and fasten large stones
to them, which draw the baskets again lengthways; by which action
upon the manioc, the sap runs out at the openings left by the
tresses.
Mother.—Can one make no use of this sap?
Father.—Certainly, we may: the same Negroes use it as food, after
mixing with it a considerable quantity of pepper; and, when they can
procure them, some sea crabs. The Europeans, on the other hand,
leave it to settle in vessels till it has formed a sediment; they then
pour off the liquid part, wash the sediment with fresh water, and
place it to dry in the sun: in this manner they obtain from it an
excellent sort of starch, which is used for clearing linen. I must tell
you that the potatoe also contains the same sort of substance, which
may be put to the same use: for the rest, the latter is less nourishing
than the manioc.
Mother.—But pray tell me, are we to prepare the whole of this
manioc at once? If so, we have at least a whole day’s work, and a
great part must be spoiled at last.
Father.—Not so, my dear; when the pollard is perfectly dry, it may
be placed in casks, and being shut closely down, it will keep for
years; but you will see that the whole of this large heap will be so
reduced in quantity by the operation we are going to apply of baking,
that there will be no cause for your apprehension.
Fritz.—Father, it no longer runs a single drop; may we not now set
about making the dough?
Father.—I have no objection; but it would be more prudent to
make only a small cake, at first, by way of experiment, which as I
said before we will give to the monkey and the fowls, and wait to see
the effect, instead of exhausting our whole store at once.
We now opened the bag, and took out a small quantity of the
pollard, which already was sufficiently dry; we stirred the rest about
with a stick, and then replaced it under the press. The next thing was
to fix one of our iron plates, which was of a round form, and rather
convex, so as to rest upon two blocks of stone at a distance from
each other; under this we lighted a large fire, and when the iron plate
was completely heated, we placed a portion of the dough upon it
with a wooden spade. As soon as the cake began to be brown
underneath, it was turned, that the other side might be baked also.
Ernest.—O how nicely it smells! what a pity that we may not eat
some of it immediately!
Jack.—And why not? I would eat some without the least fear; and
would not you, Francis?
Father.—Hah, hah! What is then become of our terrible fear of
being poisoned, which made you even throw your grater from you?
Ah, I see how it is; the passion of gluttony is stronger than your fear.
—However, I certainly believe that in this case it might be gratified
without doing you an injury; nevertheless it is better perhaps to wait
till the evening, and not run a greater risk than the loss of one or two
of our fowls and of the monkey; and we may say this trial of the cake
will be the first service he has rendered us.
As soon as the cake was cold, we broke some of it into crumbs,
and gave it to two of the fowls, and a larger piece to the monkey,
who nibbled it with a perfect relish, making all the time a thousand
grimaces to testify his content, while the boys stood by envying the
preference he enjoyed.
 Fritz.—Now tell me, father, how the savages manage to grate their
manioc, for surely they have not, like us, an instrument fitted for the
operation:—and tell me also, if they call their composition by the
name of cake or bread, as we do?
Father.—The savages having no such article as bread in their bill
of fare, have consequently no word in their language to express it. At
the Antilles, the bread from the manioc is called cassave; the
savages make a kind of grater with sharp stones, or shells; or when
they can get nails, on which they set a high value, they drive them
into the end of a plank, and rub the manioc upon it. But now, I pray
you, good wife, give us quickly some dinner, and we will afterwards
resume the baking trade, provided our tasters show no signs of the
colic or swimming in the head.
Fritz.—Are these, then, the only effects of poison, father?
Father.—At least they are the most ordinary ones: there are
poisons which paralyse and induce a heavy sleep; such are opium, if
taken in too large a quantity; hemlock, &c. &c. Others are sharp and
corrosive, attacking the stomach and intestines: of this class are
arsenic, sublimate, and the pernicious sorts of mushrooms. If, when
either of these has been swallowed, there be not immediate
assistance procured, the human machine stops, becomes
disorganized, and the patient dies.—I will take this occasion, my
dear children, to caution you against a kind of fruit extremely
dangerous in its nature, and the more so from the remarkable
attraction of its external appearance. This fruit is frequently found in
America on the banks of rivers or in marshes, and you may perhaps
meet with it in this island. Its aspect is agreeable to the eye,
resembling a handsome kind of yellow apple with red spots. It is,
however, one of the strongest poisons in the world: it is even said to
be dangerous to sleep under the shade of the tree which produces it.
Be very careful, therefore, should you happen to meet with it: it is
known by the name of mancenilla. Indeed I cannot too seriously
exhort you not to venture on eating any thing you may find, however
alluring in appearance, till you have first consulted me. Promise me
this, children, one and all of you.
 Jack.—I promise you heartily, father; and still further, I will keep my
word more faithfully than Adam did towards God, who had forbidden
him to eat of a certain apple.
Father.—You will do well in this; but do not so presumptuously and
so readily blame that in another which under the same
circumstances you would have done yourself; I would lay a wager
that you would be the first to be led away by any worthless knave
who should come and tell you that I had been laughing at you all the
while, that the mancenilla is the finest apple in the world, and that by
eating it you would be rendered as strong as a lion; that ready
appetite of yours, and that little vanity we now and then discover in
you, would make you, I fear, forget my advice, and greedily devour
the apple.—But this is enough on the subject; instead of thinking
more of poisons, let us resort with confidence to our plentiful dish of
boiled potatoes; perhaps, dear wife, you have some little relish to
add to them to day:—what, I pray you, may there be in that boiling
vessel yonder?
Mother.—It is the penguin that Jack killed and brought home.
To say the truth, we did not take a fancy to the dish, the bird being
of a strong and fishy flavour. Jack, however, was of a different
opinion, and he was left at full liberty to regale himself to his
appetite’s content.
The first thing we did after dinner was to visit our fowls. Those
among them which had eaten the manioc, were in excellent
condition, and no less so the monkey, who gave us sufficient proofs
of life and health in the multitude of gambols and grimaces he
exhibited. Now then to the bakehouse, young ones, said I—to the
bakehouse as fast as you can scamper. The grated manioc was
soon emptied out of the bag, a large fire was quickly lighted, and
when sufficiently fervent, I placed the boys where a flat surface had
been prepared for them, and gave to each a plate of iron and the
quantity of a cocoa nut full for them to make a cake apiece, and they
were to try who could succeed the best. They were ranged in a half
circle round the place, where I stood myself, that they might the
better be enabled to observe how I proceeded, and adopt the same
method for themselves. The result was not discouraging for a first
experiment, though it must be confessed we were now and then so
unlucky as to burn a cake; but there was not a greater number of
these than served to feed the pigeons and the fowls, which hovered
round us to claim their share of the treat. My little rogues could not
resist the pleasure of frequently tasting their cake, a little bit at a
time, as they went on. At length the undertaking was complete; the
cakes were put in a dish and served in company with a handsome
share of milk, to each person; and with this addition, they furnished
us an excellent repast: what remained we distributed among our
animals and fowls. I observed with pleasure that the penguins which
I had preserved alive, accommodated themselves perfectly to this
kind of food, and that generally, they began to lose their former timid
behaviour; I therefore indulged my inclination to compassionate their
captive state, and ventured to disengage them from their comrades:
this indulgence procured me the pleasure of seeing them seemingly
in a state of newly acquired content.
The rest of the day was employed by the boys in making several
turns with their wheel-barrows, and by myself in different
arrangements in which the ass and our raft had a principal share,
both being employed in drawing to Tent-House the remaining articles
we had brought from the ship. When all this was done we retired to
rest, having first made another meal on our cakes, and concluded all
with pious thanks to God for the blessings his goodness thought fit to
bestow upon us.