False Gods

The ship’s log would state that Captain John Tanner was the first to set foot on the newly discovered lands. This was not the case. Tanner was a shrewd and sometimes cunning man. He prioritised survival over the flim-flam of bravery, chivalry and honour. He had a head on him and he used it. His crew, those who were lucky enough to live through the depravations of numerous long and treacherous voyages, would have likely referred to him as dependable. The word would be qualified, but not expanded upon. Not that anyone would have asked the opinions of the braggards and criminals conscripted into the navy, they were mindless scum and barely fit to be sailors.

The voyage to these unchartered lands had seen two in every ten of the crew expire. Most of those deaths had occurred in the weeks preceding landfall. Scurvy took many a sailor and although there were clever minds seeking to address this economic issue, their discoveries were thwarted by the thick and choking gases of ignorance. The establishment of facts has always been a tricky business, in a world where opinions and beliefs rule.

From the outset, it was clear that these lands were inhabited. The signs were there, but most of all, the men could feel scrutinising eyes upon them and so precautions were taken. Muskets were loaded and knives and swords delicately and covertly brandished. There was no way of establishing whether the natives were friendly. Everything would ride on the first encounter. Those tasked with first contact were well aware that the guns of the Albatross were trained on the beach and the treeline beyond. This was cold comfort. Cannon balls cared not as to whether they met friend or foe.

The interlopers landed on the sandy shore and dragged their boats out of the lapping waters. Once this work was completed, they formed a line and waited. The wait was tortuous, even for the sailors watching from the comparative safety of the Albatross. Not all the men were friends. There were conflicts and disagreements aplenty, even before a word was said and some of those would never be resolved, such was the nature of men. Nonetheless, there was a bond they shared. They were one and they were about to face outsiders. The desired outcome was one of triumph and conquest. The empty hold of the Albatross could not remain so, and the prospect of leaving these lands empty handed carried with it a bleakness that spoke of death sentences for many, if not all of them.

The natives were in no rush to make themselves known. Their absence, and the pregnant silence that accompanied it, carried a warning far more intimidating than war drums. Everything could turn in a moment and even the comparative safety of the big ship could not stave off the growing anticipatory fear of the unknown lurking beyond the treeline.

When the warriors of the tribe stepped forward, it was something of an anti-climax. The men were fierce and self-evidently strong, but they carried with them primitive weapons and they stood a full foot shorter than the swarthy sailors. Any fight would be one-sided. Simple lambs to a beachfront slaughter.

The two rows of men faced each other, sizing each other up. Any apparent deadlock was avoided then the largest of the natives lowered his head to listen to words from a wizened, dishevelled and strangely garbed man at his side. Having considered these words he nodded, raised his spear above his head and spoke a few words. In response his warriors lowered their weapons and he and his old companion stepped forth.

Frampton, Tanner’s second in command, also stepped forward. With him was Baker, the ship’s cook. Baker had been lumbered with cooking duties when the original ship’s cook was taken a hold of by melancholy, stole a sizeable quantity of the ship’s rum and jumped overboard one evening three months back. Despite his lacklustre culinary skills, Baker had a way with languages that leant itself well to this encounter. He was also a head taller than Frampton, making up for the officer’s slight build and timid demeanour.

Words were exchanged and gestures made. It was apparent to all who witnessed it that the natives were curious and rendered friendly in their curiosity. All was well and before the sun had fallen in the sky, a second group of sailors had disembarked and the visitors were treated to a welcome feast.

Within a week of the Albatross’s arrival, a series of deals had been made and these included agreements for future trade. The tribe had accumulated a sizeable pile of animal furs that would fetch a good price back home. They sold these cheaply, exchanging them for a small number of useful tools that fascinated them so deeply, the crew suspected that they would become items of worship and never see another day’s work.

When it came time for the Albatross to leave, there was an impasse with regard to the level of provisions the natives were willing to part with. No deal could be reached here because, as the chief of the tribe explained with a series of gestures and lines drawn in the dirt, Winter was approaching and many of the tribe would starve to death were they to part with such a large proportion of the food they had put aside so they could last out past the thaw.

Displeased with the prospect of inadequate rations for the voyage home, Tanner took himself off to the Albatross. There, awaiting him on deck was Frampton. Without a word, Tanner bid his number two accompany him to his quarters. Tanner had a look about him that would not be denied and Frampton fancied there was murderous intent in the eyes of his captain. He shivered with a premonition of bloodshed as he trotted along behind him.

With the door shut, Tanner indulged in the unexpected, pouring Frampton and himself generous measures of rum. He downed his first glass and refilled it before handing Frampton his rum. Frampton raised his glass as a prelude to sipping delicately at the rough and burning liquid. His eyes watered and he fought the urge to gag. 

Tanner eyed his man thoughtfully, “there is a solar eclipse the day after tomorrow, is there not?”

Frampton, resisted the temptation to nod agreement thoughtlessly. Whereas it was wise to defer and please his captain, getting anything wrong could cost lives, his own included, “Higgins has spoken of such.” He thought for a moment, “I asked if it was to be a partial eclipse, but he was adamant that this one would blot out the sun in its entirety.”

The captain nodded and smiled a sly smile, “then we will use this to our advantage.”

Frampton nodded, said nothing. He knew better than to question the captain. The atmosphere in the cabin then drooped and gave itself over to an ominous quiet. This was how Tanner dismissed his men. Frampton gazed down into his glass of rum sorrowfully. Damnation lay below the surface of that cloudy liquid, and it also stood above it. He could not leave his drink, that would not do. He stifled a sigh as he brought the liquid up to his lips and poured it in its entirety into his mouth. He held it there for a moment and almost choked as he sent it on its way.

That evening, Tanner dined with the chief. In attendance was the old man who seemingly never left the chief’s side. Tanner did not like that man. He was filthy and smelt, but there was also something knowing about him. Tanner had caught him staring on more than one occasion and the man never averted his eyes. He had no sense of decorum or shame even, and those staring eyes went right into the very centre of Tanner as though the old man were reading the truth of his very soul.

As had been the case from the very first day, Tanner was accompanied by both Frampton and Baker. Had Baker been a gentleman, Tanner would have preferred him as his second in command. Sometimes, Tanner found himself at odds with the notion of birth-rights. Frampton may have been born of a gentleman, but he lacked most, if not all of what it took to be one. 

The group sat around a fire and having eaten, they smoked their pipes. An agreeable activity that aided digestion. Tanner was the first to break the silence, parting the aromatic smoke with his words.

“We need those provisions,” he said tersely.

His meaning was clear and there was no need to interpret his words.

The chief shook his head. Whatever he said equated to a single word; impossible.

“Our gods will it,” Tanner stated.

Baker stutter-spoke in tracts of the native language and used hand gestures to help convey meaning.

The old man shook his head and smiled. Tanner suppressed his own smile. He had anticipated this. In fact, the old man had inspired his plan. Moreover, the plan had the added bonus of Tanner settling the score with him and addressing Tanner’s dislike of the grubby and insolent thing that dared seat itself before him.

“If you do not acquiesce to our requests for food,” Tanner said across the fire, “our gods will blot out the sun to show you their displeasure. This will be a warning that you would be foolhardy not to heed as our gods are all powerful and they will not be denied.”

He placed increasing emphasis on each word and when finished he nonchalantly brought his pipe to his mouth and relaxed into his smoking. His point had been made and he effected an air of detachment, even as he studied the response his words would have as Baker relayed them.

He was rewarded with looks of shock and of fear. The old man babbled words into the chief’s ear. Tanner looked askance towards Baker, but the man only shrugged in reply. But then Tanner knew all he needed to as the old man skuttled off, giving the captain a swift, churlish backward glance before opening the flap of the tent and retreating into the night. Victory was Tanner’s, and now he revelled in the old man’s defeat.

The chief spoke briefly, and then he too left his own tent.

“What did he say?” Tanner asked Baker.

“They want to see just how powerful our gods are, sir.”

“Then they will,” replied Tanner before rising and returning to the Albatross.

The following day, the entire ship’s crew formed on the beach and as the time of the eclipse approached Tanner gave forth a rousing speech. His timing was impeccable. Just prior to the moon drifting across the sun he raised his arm theatrically and bellowed “Behold!”

The men fell into an awed hush. Sailors are a superstitious lot. The sea is a cruel mistress and they do their very best not to displease her. There were many signs of the cross and whispered prayers as day fell to an unnatural and unwelcome darkness. 

Disconcertingly, as the last of the sun succumbed to the shadow of the moon, the tribesmen broke into an unholy hullabaloo. They wailed and they screamed and they danced around small fires waving torches as they jigged this way and that.

“They’ve lost their minds!” exclaimed Frampton.

“Wouldn’t you in the circumstances?” replied Tanner.

“Well, yes. Quite,” said Frampton, but he was taken with a notion that did not quite fit with the captain’s plan and would have voiced that notion had he had the good fortune to spot the look on the old man’s face in that very moment.

As the light of the sun returned, the chief approached Tanner and bowed. In his hands he held a ceremonial pipe. This he offered to Tanner whilst remaining in a pose of supplication and humility.

Tanner took it from him and gave thanks.

The chief spoke.

“What did he say?” Tanner asked Baker.

“They want to hold a feast in your honour,” Baker told him.

Tanner nodded, the tide was turning. His plan had worked. These primitive natives now believed that Tanner’s gods had the power to turn out the light of the sun. He cast an eye around for the old man, but was deprived of the sight of him. He smiled at the thought of the defeated old man skulking off in the aftermath of his defeat. Good riddance to him. He was nothing to Tanner now. A busted flush.

In a matter of minutes a procession of tribesmen returned with food. Pride of place was a roasted bull, the sight of which prompted a cheer from the crew of the Albatross. The prospect of a fresh cooked meal was always welcome, more so when the men knew they were about to embark upon the return journey home. A journey that would necessitate many hardships, including the consumption of food not fit to grace the trough of a hog.

As the light of the day waned, gourds were produced as though from nowhere. 

“Seems they want to toast our gods,” smiled Tanner as he clapped Frampton on the back, “tomorrow we will take our provisions and leave this place. We will return home and we will both be men of means.”

The gourds were passed around from native to sailor and there was much coughing and spluttering as the coarse spirit was downed by the sailors. It seemed that even the most hardened rum drinker found this native delicacy to be potent and none quaffed it with any semblance of ease. The tribesmen however had no such trouble.

The chief handed Tanner an ornate gourd and urged him to drink. Tanner looked about him as a sudden quiet descended upon the assembled party. Solemnly, he raised the drinking vessel and made a point of drinking well from it. Try as he might, he could not hold his composure and he coughed and spluttered as though his chest would burst. The sailors gave forth with a loud and raucous roar of appreciation of their captain and through tear filled eyes he saw his men beaming at him. In that moment he experienced a feeling of companionship like no other. He wanted to capture that feeling and hold onto it for as long as he possibly could, and so as it dissolved all too soon, he experienced a crushing sense of loss.

In that fugue of loss the old man appeared and with him he brought an inexplicable feeling of dread, even before he smiled a sickening smile at Tanner. Something was very wrong here. So very wrong. 

“Something is afoot,” Tanner said the words but they stretched and contorted and made no sense as they tumbled from his gummy mouth. He raised a hand to his lips as though to make sense of what was happening, “Frampton?” he said with a milky meekness that shamed him.

It was with much labour and strife that he manoeuvred himself into a position to view his number two. What he saw undid him further. The man was there, but he was not there. He was taken with a vacancy that horrified Tanner. He tried to distance himself from the absence of the man, but his limbs no longer obeyed him. There was commotion about him, but he could make no sense of it. The world was slowing to a stop and in the moment that it ceased all motion, a moon eclipsed the light of the dying sun. It was the pockmarked face of the old man, and now, as this man spoke, Tanner understood every word.

Our gods are strong and they are knowing.

With the only movement left available to him, Tanner fell backwards so that he was lying on the sands of the beach, staring upwards into the heavens. With unblinking eyes he bore witness. He bore witness as the earth began moving backwards. He felt the movement underneath him and then it crept inside of him and possessed him. 

He sensed the approaching darkness more than saw it and he understood what it meant even before the sun was blotted out once again. He had lied in an attempt to gain what he thought he had an absolute right to. He had committed heresy and demanded the sacrifice of these people. Now they and their gods would make him and his crew pay for those lies and that heresy. There would be a sacrifice, but it would not be the natives of this land who gave their lives, it would be the entire crew of the Albatross.

When the moon face of the old man loomed over him one last time, it was not his face that Tanner observed but the wicked blade that he gleefully brandished. His fears of a cut throat were unfounded though, the old man would afford him no such mercy. His gods demanded a much higher price than that and he would exact it with zealous fervour. 

Although numbed by the liquid he had been invited to drink, the pain he experienced at the hands of the old man was amplified a thousand fold. Before his mind eventually broke and turned in on itself, he found himself wondering how it was that they had all drunk the same poison and yet the tribesmen had not been affected.

The answer came to him before the darkness of the second eclipse fell upon the land. Their gods demanded a sacrifice and those gods would choose who lived and who died via the imbibement of that magical and holy liquid. He felt it inside him now. Invading and manipulating him. Consuming him from within. Tendrils slipping upwards into his brain and playing with his thoughts and memories until they crashed into each other in a chorus of exquisite pain and madness.

And then the sun was no more.