"You understand the Ancient Tongue," he grated.
"Yes! I mean, uh, that's true, Your . . . Eminence."
The old Lemurian gave a start when Bradford replied, but continued in his raspy voice. "I'm disquieted by that, but it's clearly true. I would learn how this can be. But that will wait." He seemed contemplative for a moment, but then visibly gathered himself to speak again.
"I'm Naga, High Sky Priest of Baalkpan. I will tell you of the Grik and of the People. The Scrolls are our ancient history, our guide, our way, our very life, but they are incomplete and there are gaps—great gaps— between their beginning and the now. Hundreds of generations passed between the beginning times and when we learned the Ancient Tongue.
The Truth was passed by word of mouth all that time before it was recorded." He blinked several times in a sequence that Bradford thought signified regret. "Perhaps, much was lost," he continued, "but the Scrolls clearly tell of a time when all the people lived together in happiness and peace on a land in the west. A land vast and beautiful, safe from the capricious sea. A land lush and green and covered with trees and protected by water. And the Maker of All Things, the Greatest of all the Stars above, filled the waters around the Ancient Home with wicked fishes that kept our people safe from the monsters across the water on the western land.
"And thus it was, for age upon age. The People lived and died, but were prosperous and happy and needed only the trees for their homes."
He shook his head in lament and blinked again, rapidly. "But for some, it wasn't enough. The fragile perfection of the People's existence was somehow lacking, it seemed. Some built boats, to range upon the sea and take fishes there. They wandered and explored, and finally it came to be that one of the boats was cast upon the western land of monsters. The Grik," he added darkly. "The Grik slew them and ate them, but then wondered from where did they come, this new prey?"
Bradford translated as quickly as he could, but began to fall behind.
The old priest waited while he caught up, and then continued.
"The Grik built boats for themselves. They copied the very boats delivered unto them. They were poor sailors, and many perished and the flasher-fish and gri-kakka grew fat on their bodies, but there were always more. Finally, they reached the ancient paradise of our People. Only a few came at first, like now." He stopped and looked at Nakja-Mur. "And they were killed and cast into the sea. The People were not warriors and many died, but they were able, for a time, to slay all that came." He paused for effect. "But there were always more."
The party went on, unabated, but a circle of silent listeners had formed around them. The old Sky Priest lifted a copper mug to his shriveled lips and drank.
Bradford turned to Matt. "My God, Captain! Do you know what this means? Madagascar! This `ancient paradise' simply must be Madagascar!
These people are quite clearly related to lemurs—as I've believed from the start! I admit the relation has become somewhat distant . . ."
"Distant!" snorted Sandra. "Most lemurs are no bigger than a cat.
None I know of are bigger than a chimp!"
"That's where you're mistaken, my dear. A species of giant lemur once dwelt on Madagascar, a species almost as large as our friends. I've seen their very bones!" His brow furrowed. "But they were not nearly so . . . humanlike in form. Nevertheless! This gives me almost enough information to advance my theory regarding—" He was unable to finish because the wizened priest spoke once more.
"The war for paradise must have lasted generations. We know not, because the Scrolls do not say. But during that time, the People learned to build great ships—the Homes of the Sea—and so were prepared when the Grik became too many and the People were finally cast out, forced to wander the vast oceans, never to return to our sacred home." Naga paused to catch his breath and allow Bradford time to translate. While he waited, he looked wistfully at the great tree in the center of the hall. "At first, we wandered blindly. We had not yet learned the Heavens—to follow the paths they laid before us. We knew the Great Star, the Maker of All Things who lights the world and brings brightness to the void of night, and we knew his little brother, who washes the night with a cool, sleepy light, but we did not know that the smaller stars yearned to show us things. Many perished when their Homes were cast on unknown shores, and it's said the bones of those ancient wrecks bleach there even still. But enough survived to carry on. Lost and scattered by storm and darkness, our people did survive. Over time, they saw the light in the darkness and learned the wisdom of the Heavens. It was then that they knew the stars for what they are—the bright essence of those who have gone before and watch over us from the sky."
He looked at the humans for a moment and Bradford could have sworn that he blinked in speculation. He continued. "Some settled in the northlands, and others in the south. Some eked out an existence on tiny islands in the middle of the Western Sea, but always, where there was land, eventually there were Grik. The only ones to gain a shadow of freedom from war and fear were those who lived on the sea. Only the sea was safe, for the Grik do not love it and did not know how to build the great floating Homes. With the deep waters between us, where the mountain fish dwell, for a time there was peace and it seemed the Grik had forgotten the prey that escaped them. We found these lands where the Grik did not thrive and those that did were weak and primitive and we made colonies, or land Homes, for the first time in age upon age. A hundred generations passed. More. The people lived well and in peace. Baalkpan and other colonies rose to thrive and prosper and the great Homes of the sea plied the oceans and slew the gri-kakka for his sweet oil and restored contact between the scattered ones so we could become one People again. Different, diverse, and far-flung, but still one People even if languages and beliefs had changed.
"The Grik became no more than a myth, a terrible legend to frighten younglings into doing their chores, but no longer did they haunt our dreams. The terrible enemy that stole our home and nearly destroyed us had become less than a fable. The backward Grik here were hunted and slain, and those on the islands nearby did not know tools and weapons.
On a few islands, some live still and no one ever goes there to stay."
"Bali," Matt said aloud, and the old priest blinked a curious affirmative.
"Then, like a gift from the Heavens themselves, the first Tail-less Ones came in three ships, suffering from storm and loss. They were tired and weak and poor in food, but friendly and rich in wisdom of the Heavens.
We fed them and nursed them and helped them repair their ships and, in return, they taught us that the stars did indeed show the way, but one could see the way only through the Sun, since the Sun alone was the child, and as one with the Maker of All Things. From the Sun we take direction, and with direction, the stars in the Heavens would show us the way from place to place. They told us the names of the stars and the names of places as well, like Baalkpan and Borno and Baali. But the greatest gift they bestowed upon us was the Ancient Tongue by which the Scrolls were drawn and written at long last, and in which we now converse."
"My God," whispered Matt. "The stars are `ancestor spirits,' the son of the sun is the sun . . . Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."
Sandra nodded. "Whoever came before left behind more than they thought."
"Yeah, I'd hoped the `Scrolls' weren't so deeply incorporated—" Naga interrupted. He'd watched their varied reactions, but he didn't pause for long. "At last there was a way for all the People to understand one another again, and to go from place to place without ever having been there, and in safety!"
"What happened to them? What did they look like?" Bradford asked quietly. His face remained impassive, but when he glanced at Captain Reddy, his eyes were intent.