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"The Kings In the Crypt"
May. 21st, 2022 06:33 am"The Kings In the Crypt"
2/22/1973
I.
He was running for his life in the wrong direction. Fred Hogarty hurtled along the great sluggish brown river Nyatowa, heading away from where his two-seater seaplane was moored. But he could not help it. Close enough that their ferocious howling could be heard was a war party of the Acerimos. Their voices were getting louder as they gained on him.
The saw-edged high grass was cutting through his corduroy pants and khaki shirt, both soaked through with sweat from exertion in this hot humid climate. At thirty-four, Hogarty was in good condition but this situation was calling on more than he had to give. Holstered at his hip was a big Colt .44 with five bullets in its chambers but if he had to use it, he knew it would be best to put the barrel in his own mouth.
He had seen these Acerimos skinning captives over hot coals while screams echoed out over the trees. The Jaguar Ghosts, the xenophobic tribe called itself. They thought they were the only true people in the world and everyone else was prey.
There was no way to escape this. His legs were beginning to tremble. Soon he would fall, the Acerimos would seize him and carry him off with gales of triumphant laughter. That night, the stew pots would be extra tasty for these devils. Fred Hogarty felt not terror but sorrow... regret for all that he would never get to do in life. And so many had warned him not to venture into this Green Hell on the border of Venezuela.
Behind, delighted shrieks rang out. A dozen Acerimos burst into view and quickened their pace. These warriors had sleeky glossy skin with a distinct coppery red tint. They were tall and gangly, with long arms and legs. Their heads were mostly shaven, with caps made of jaguar fur. And they carried spears and short swords and clubs with pieces of sharp stone embedded in the heads.
Seeing them from the corner of one eye, Hogarty wheeled toward the riverbank twenty yards to his side. He would still be killed if he dove in. Spears would pierce his body, but maybe the current would carry him away so at least he would not be eaten. Small comfort.
A different note of confusion echoed in the tribesmen's voices. Fred Hogarty had a brief glimpse of something made of shiny gold flashing past him, heading toward the Acerimos. Despite all his instincts, he slowed and turned back to see an astonishing whirlwind of violence.
At the center of the mayhem was a short stocky Asian man. Not more than five feet six inches tall and stocky, he had a wide face and a nose that had been broken at some point. The man was in his late forties, his head was almost shaven with just a black bristle covering it. He wore boots and leggings of soft leather, but his loosely-sashed tunic was of a beautiful gold silk that glimmered in the late afternoon sunlight. In black on the back of his tunic were those Korean ideograms for 'gold' and 'sun.'
Incredibly, the newcomer moved through the savage spear thrusts and furious clubbing as if the Acerimos were trying to miss him. His co-ordination and deftness were that skilled. At every opening he saw, the man crashed out a fist or foot with murderous precision. He seized a warrior's arm by the wrist and pulled it out straight, at the same time kicking up into the man's armpit to dislocate that arm with torn tendons. In an instant, four of the Acerimos sprawled dead in the damp grass and three were reeling back with crippling injuries.
One of the spears came hurtling straight for his face at point-blank range. The Asian snatched it out of the air as if grabbing a vagrant butterfly, then snapped the thick shaft without apparent effort. That broke the warriors' nerves. Those still alive spun and ran, the wounded following as best they could.
"Ah ha ha! Golden Sun has taught you manners!" taunted the man. He threw the spear fragments aside and whirled to make the nerve-stricken Hogarty jump. "You! The American Fred Hogarty from Northwest University. Come with me and your chances of living are much better."
"Ack. Eeee, Erk," was all he could manage.
"Come on, man, get hold of yourself." Golden Sun grabbed Hogarty's shirt front and started him off at a trot. Despite his near exhaustion, the explorer managed to keep up.
After a few minutes at that steady pace, Hogarty caught his breath enough to ask, "Who are you?"
"Ah, curious eh? Not surprising. I am Chong Kyu Sung from a little town north of Seoul. Everyone calls me Golden Sun. I am the first Tiger Fury in a hundred years, the first man that Teacher Chael has dignified as recognizing as a Master of Kumundu in a full century."
Seeing the blank reaction, Sun continued with disappointment, "That means nothing to you, does it? Ah well. I suppose Tel Shai is not common knowledge. We're almost at the camp. When you meet my partner, he'll explain better what a mess you have thrust yourself into."
The man called Golden Sun slowed to a halt, listening. He nodded in approval. "Jaguar Ghosts, they dare call themselves. They run more like Rabbit Ghosts. Come on, Mr Hogarty. Andrew Steel is waiting."
( The rest of the story )
2/22/1973
I.
He was running for his life in the wrong direction. Fred Hogarty hurtled along the great sluggish brown river Nyatowa, heading away from where his two-seater seaplane was moored. But he could not help it. Close enough that their ferocious howling could be heard was a war party of the Acerimos. Their voices were getting louder as they gained on him.
The saw-edged high grass was cutting through his corduroy pants and khaki shirt, both soaked through with sweat from exertion in this hot humid climate. At thirty-four, Hogarty was in good condition but this situation was calling on more than he had to give. Holstered at his hip was a big Colt .44 with five bullets in its chambers but if he had to use it, he knew it would be best to put the barrel in his own mouth.
He had seen these Acerimos skinning captives over hot coals while screams echoed out over the trees. The Jaguar Ghosts, the xenophobic tribe called itself. They thought they were the only true people in the world and everyone else was prey.
There was no way to escape this. His legs were beginning to tremble. Soon he would fall, the Acerimos would seize him and carry him off with gales of triumphant laughter. That night, the stew pots would be extra tasty for these devils. Fred Hogarty felt not terror but sorrow... regret for all that he would never get to do in life. And so many had warned him not to venture into this Green Hell on the border of Venezuela.
Behind, delighted shrieks rang out. A dozen Acerimos burst into view and quickened their pace. These warriors had sleeky glossy skin with a distinct coppery red tint. They were tall and gangly, with long arms and legs. Their heads were mostly shaven, with caps made of jaguar fur. And they carried spears and short swords and clubs with pieces of sharp stone embedded in the heads.
Seeing them from the corner of one eye, Hogarty wheeled toward the riverbank twenty yards to his side. He would still be killed if he dove in. Spears would pierce his body, but maybe the current would carry him away so at least he would not be eaten. Small comfort.
A different note of confusion echoed in the tribesmen's voices. Fred Hogarty had a brief glimpse of something made of shiny gold flashing past him, heading toward the Acerimos. Despite all his instincts, he slowed and turned back to see an astonishing whirlwind of violence.
At the center of the mayhem was a short stocky Asian man. Not more than five feet six inches tall and stocky, he had a wide face and a nose that had been broken at some point. The man was in his late forties, his head was almost shaven with just a black bristle covering it. He wore boots and leggings of soft leather, but his loosely-sashed tunic was of a beautiful gold silk that glimmered in the late afternoon sunlight. In black on the back of his tunic were those Korean ideograms for 'gold' and 'sun.'
Incredibly, the newcomer moved through the savage spear thrusts and furious clubbing as if the Acerimos were trying to miss him. His co-ordination and deftness were that skilled. At every opening he saw, the man crashed out a fist or foot with murderous precision. He seized a warrior's arm by the wrist and pulled it out straight, at the same time kicking up into the man's armpit to dislocate that arm with torn tendons. In an instant, four of the Acerimos sprawled dead in the damp grass and three were reeling back with crippling injuries.
One of the spears came hurtling straight for his face at point-blank range. The Asian snatched it out of the air as if grabbing a vagrant butterfly, then snapped the thick shaft without apparent effort. That broke the warriors' nerves. Those still alive spun and ran, the wounded following as best they could.
"Ah ha ha! Golden Sun has taught you manners!" taunted the man. He threw the spear fragments aside and whirled to make the nerve-stricken Hogarty jump. "You! The American Fred Hogarty from Northwest University. Come with me and your chances of living are much better."
"Ack. Eeee, Erk," was all he could manage.
"Come on, man, get hold of yourself." Golden Sun grabbed Hogarty's shirt front and started him off at a trot. Despite his near exhaustion, the explorer managed to keep up.
After a few minutes at that steady pace, Hogarty caught his breath enough to ask, "Who are you?"
"Ah, curious eh? Not surprising. I am Chong Kyu Sung from a little town north of Seoul. Everyone calls me Golden Sun. I am the first Tiger Fury in a hundred years, the first man that Teacher Chael has dignified as recognizing as a Master of Kumundu in a full century."
Seeing the blank reaction, Sun continued with disappointment, "That means nothing to you, does it? Ah well. I suppose Tel Shai is not common knowledge. We're almost at the camp. When you meet my partner, he'll explain better what a mess you have thrust yourself into."
The man called Golden Sun slowed to a halt, listening. He nodded in approval. "Jaguar Ghosts, they dare call themselves. They run more like Rabbit Ghosts. Come on, Mr Hogarty. Andrew Steel is waiting."
( The rest of the story )
