He made himself a late lunch, then finally got around to having a wash and changing out of yesterday's clothes. He made a decision then that if he was going to have a new source of funds now – however dodgy that source might be – he wasn't going to be a slob any more. He was going to start acting and dressing how he used to when he was a banker and had some self respect. He decided to begin his new life with a brisk walk to blow the cobwebs out of his head after being up all night. He picked up his keys and prepared to go out. As he did so, he impulsively picked up the ring and put it in his pocket. It felt warm and comforting there, and he didn't feel that he wanted to be parted from it after going to so much trouble to get it.
Martin left his cottage and walked down the short lane that led to the main road through Kirk Michael. He turned along this road and passed quickly through the small village until he approached the corner by the pub and school. Here, his eyes were immediately drawn to a piece of paper lying in the gutter. Surely that couldn't be? … Yes, it was! He stooped quickly and picked up the twenty pound note before it could blow away. What a lucky day this was turning out to be! He was thirty pounds better off already! He knew how it was: often, people left pubs in such a state that they didn't notice money falling from pockets where they'd clumsily stuffed it earlier in the evening. But it was still extraordinary to find anything as large as a twenty lying in the gutter, especially at this time of day. But extraordinary or not, he was going to be properly grateful for it.
Martin followed the road towards Peel for a short distance, then ducked through a gate and took a leisurely walk through Glen Mooar, making his way down to the Spooyt Vane waterfall. He sat down on a rock in this peaceful place and considered the change in his fortunes. He had expected to feel happy and relaxed, but a strange restlessness was over him. He could understand being excited at his find, but it was more than excitement; it was almost like a hunger growing inside him, an urge that needed to be fulfilled. The problem was, that he couldn't work out just what that urge was at the moment, it remained an undefined subconscious drive. But it was growing, and made his extremities feel peculiarly agitated. He could swear he felt his palms itching. Putting it down to tiredness as a consequence of having been up all night, he headed back to the village.
Before returning home, Martin popped into the general store to treat himself to the ingredients for a decent meal with the money he had found. There'd be no beans on toast tonight! He fancied steak with mushrooms, onion rings, mushy peas and chips. Just the thought of it was making his mouth water. He walked around the store, his appetite gnawing at his stomach. He made sure he bought enough for a very large portion.
Once he was home, Martin dumped his shopping in the kitchen and went through to the living room, where he switched on his laptop. He opened his web browser and searched online for a grappling hook with rope and a better metal detector. They would be invaluable in his next expedition to the castle at night, helping him to scale the wall quicker and more easily, and giving him a much better chance to locate treasure. He added the items to his wish list, intent on buying them when he had sufficient money from the sale of the ring.
He swore as his fingers slipped clumsily off the keys as he typed, racking up a series of spelling mistakes. His hands felt numb and leaden, presumably a result of his tiredness and his physical labour digging the ring free from the earth. Perhaps he should have an early night after his meal?
Thoughts of dinner made him realise how ravenously hungry he was. He turned the computer off and stumbled through into the kitchen. His feet felt clumsy and poorly coordinated, which he assumed was also a result of his tiredness. Never mind, a little food would set him right, followed by a good night's sleep.
He lifted the shopping bag onto the work surface to begin preparing dinner, but was startled to find that it contained only meat. Instead of potatoes, peas, mushrooms and onion rings, there was only the steak and then more steak. No less than five packets of steak were packed in the bag.
But this was simply impossible! He could distinctly remember picking up each of the separate ingredients and placing them in his basket. But no … no, he couldn't. When he cast his mind back, the whole time in the store seemed vague and woolly and he couldn't visualise what had happened at all well. He had intended to purchase the separate ingredients, but he had no recollection of actually picking them up, even though he thought he had. Could he really have been in such a daze that he simply picked up meat and more meat? The evidence would suggest so. This was the last time he would pull an all-nighter, if this is what it did to him! Hopefully, when he got his new metal detector, he'd be able to find his treasures faster and get home in time for some proper sleep. He might even be able to afford a car to help him get back and forth faster and easier.
But for now … That meat sure did look tasty! He began to salivate as he looked at it. He removed the plastic wrap and inhaled deeply, savouring the raw, bloody smell. Who needed chips and mushrooms anyway? Lots of steak, pure and simple, would fill his belly just as well, and ease the hunger he was feeling. Oh yes, he'd eat the lot!
He turned the hob on, sloshed some oil in the pan and tore the other steaks out of their wrapping. He then waited for the pan to reach its heat, drumming his fingers impatiently. Finally, he threw as much meat in the pan as could possibly fit, groaning hungrily at the sizzling sound and the rich aroma that followed. The steaks were barely warmed around the edges before he forked them out onto a plate and replaced them with the next two. He shoved the partly cooked meat into his mouth, chewing furiously and swallowing great lumps of it while he waited for the second batch to cook.
He didn't even bother trying to cook the final steak, but crammed it in his mouth raw and bloody, moaning in ecstasy.
At last, he had gorged so much that his gullet hurt, but he felt full and satisfied. He then lurched up the stairs to his bed, where he threw his shoes off and climbed in between the sheets fully clothed, falling asleep almost instantly.
Martin woke up the next morning soaked in sweat and tangled in his sheets. His head was pounding and his throat was dry. It took him a couple of minutes to free himself from the twisted mess of bedclothes. He had obviously endured a rough night.
When he finally managed to restore a vague semblance of comfort, he lay back in his bed groaning, wishing his headache would pass. It was no use, he'd have to get up in a moment to take something for it. He cast his mind back, wondering what he had been dreaming about that could have caused him so much distress. He couldn't remember any details, just a vague sense of perpetual darkness thrust through with raging fires and a feeling that he needed desperately to escape from somewhere, as if he had been imprisoned for a long time.
His headache and his need to urinate quickly compelled him to get up. He coughed and spluttered, wincing as his throat felt as if he was gargling razor blades. Maybe it was because he'd eaten all of that partially raw meat last night. Hell's teeth, did he really eat that much steak!? He was lurching unsteadily on his feet; they felt heavy and clumsy and curiously numb. His palms were also itching like crazy. Maybe he was coming down with something?
He shuffled into the bathroom and took a couple of aspirin, washing them down with great gulps of cool water, which soothed his burning throat somewhat. He noticed that the skin on his hands was very rough. It was to be expected, really, he was surprised they weren't calloused after that digging in the castle grounds. Or maybe they were? When he looked closely, he could see lots of little flakes and lumps of hard skin all over his hands and fingers. There were no two ways about it, he would have to take things easy for a few days.
Martin decided he would shower later and fix some breakfast first, something that would hopefully compensate for his carnivorous excesses of the previous evening. He hobbled downstairs, still unsteady on his feet and picked the post up off the doormat on his way to the kitchen. He made himself a coffee, prepared a bowl of cereal and poured some orange juice, then sat down at the kitchen table to open t
he mail.
There was little of interest. The largest item was a copy of an Institute of Bankers magazine. He had never got round to cancelling his subscription after being fired from his job. The other three envelopes looked to be bills at first glance. The first two were just as suspected: the phone bill and a gas reminder. But when he opened the third, he just sat and stared at its contents for several long minutes, scarcely breathing in his shock. He read it again and again and again, but there could be no doubt, there was no ambiguity in what it was telling him: he had just won ten thousand pounds on the premium bonds.
Martin carefully laid the precious envelope aside and sat back in his chair to digest the news. After a few minutes, he took his coffee through into the living room and sat in a more comfortable armchair. But even here, grounded in his own favourite chair, it just wouldn't sink in.
He couldn't be bothered getting dressed; he was in too great a state of nervous excitement. Instead, he fetched his laptop and switched it on, browsing the forums to see if anyone could shed any light on the ring since he had posted a description and photograph.
There were a lot of comments along the lines of “Wow, man! Cool ring!”, or simply “PHAT LEWT!” He scrolled rapidly past these. There were a few more thoughtful responses, which pointed out that the symbolF was a Viking rune. In fact, it was the first rune in the sequence of letters, equivalent in sound to the English letter F. It was a magical sign which signified both wealth and fire. It was often used in magical rites to attract money. The placing of eight such runes around the interior of the ring served to call money from all directions to the owner of the ring.
Martin was curious. Could such things really work? He had certainly gained money since he came into possession of the ring, each amount larger than the last. It still might all be coincidence, though.
None of them had yet suggested a provenance for the ring, though, nor suggested what its true value might be. Purely in weight of gold, it had to be worth a lot. But Martin suspected its worth to a collector of Viking Age curiosities would be considerably higher than its base sum. He left the web page open while he went upstairs to take a shower and get dressed.
Martin was concerned to note in the shower that he seemed to be covered in a light rash all over his body. Parts of his skin itched terribly, while other parts seemed rough, thick and deadened. “It appears my good luck at winning all that money has been balanced by the bad luck of catching some virus or other,” he muttered to himself. “Still, it's a happy trade.” He resolved that if the rash hadn't cleared up in a couple of days, he would go to see his doctor. In the meantime, he smeared a soothing ointment on himself after he had dried.
He got dressed and went downstairs, fully intending to go for a pub lunch to celebrate his good fortune. But as he happened to glance over at his computer, he noticed that a fresh comment had been posted in reply to his query about the ring, and it looked like an uncharacteristically long one, certainly not one of the usual one-liners. He sat down and began to read it:
Although items inscribed with runes for magical purposes are not rare finds in Viking hoards, I have never heard of a ring similar to yours having been discovered before. I would be very interested to learn where you obtained it?
The mark repeated on the ring is, as several other commentators have noted, fe, the F-rune. This rune was associated with ideas of money and gold and was usually employed in magic to increase a person's wealth. It might therefore be presumed that this ring is intended to be a money-attracting talisman, drawing funds to its owner.
Interestingly, there are two rings with this purpose mentioned in the Norse myths. The first was Draupnir, a ring belonging to the God Odin. Forged for him by the dwarfs, this ring would multiply itself periodically, creating duplicates which would thus increase his reserves of gold. However, Odin's ring was jealously guarded and was certainly not the relatively plain band you have shown us, since it was a demonstration of dwarfish skill and intricacy.
The other mythic gold-attracting ring was part of the Nibelung treasure hoard, which fell into the clutches of the dragon Fafnir. Fafnir himself fell victim to the curse, when he was slain by the hero Sigurd. Then Sigurd too lost his life through the envy of others for the gold.
It is possible that this is the cursed ring: the rune standing for 'Fafnir' and 'fire' as well as 'gold'. If so, I would urge you to get rid of it immediately. Bury it deep, or throw it into the sea. But lose it before you yourself are lost to the curse. Only a dragon may wield Fafnir's ring, but even such a one will be ultimately doomed by it.
This was all very fascinating, and Martin couldn't deny how lucky he had become financially since finding the ring, but he was no believer in curses. To his great surprise, no one had suggested a value for it, nor made an offer. Though to be honest, he no longer wished to part with the ring. He knew it was silly, but part of him was superstitious enough to wonder that maybe it really did have something to do with his recent luck. Also, he had become unaccountably attached to it, and felt anxious if he could not keep it in his close possession. No, the ring was his, and he would keep it. He no longer needed to sell after the premium bonds win.
On Wednesday evening, Martin walked to the pub to meet David as they had agreed. He was clean shaven, his hair was neatly trimmed and he was wearing new clothing. He was aware that some of the regulars were staring at him, wondering what had happened to the scruffy little fellow who usually ventured in. He turned his back to them, angry and dismissive, while he waited for David to arrive. That's when he saw the slot machine.
Martin stood up and moved across to stand in front of the gambling machine. He had watched the videos on YouTube which explained how such machines were rigged so that they would only pay out a fixed percentage of money taken over time. But it wasn't as if he couldn't afford to lose a couple of pounds at the moment, and he was very curious to test his financial luck again in light of his recent windfalls and what he had read in the comments to his forum post. He hadn't played a slot machine for several years and he had to admit to being a little nonplussed by the contraption that was in front of him. It was all flashing lights and flickering buttons. But he knew that these things were all smoke and mirrors, with no real effect upon whether the machine would pay out or not. He made his decision, popped a coin in the slot and banged the button to set it in motion.
The lights flickered, prompting him to press buttons. He did so carelessly, without thinking about it. Bells rang and music played. Then everything blared and blazed at once and the jackpot paid out, spewing coins all over the floor. Martin just stood and watched, processing what had happened. He had half expected this, but it was still absolutely astonishing. Everyone in the bar was turning and watching, but he just stood there in the pile of money, stock still. Finally, he knelt down and began to scoop up the coins, filling his pockets. Perhaps he would have offered a celebratory round of drinks if they hadn't all stared at him so rudely when he entered.
David arrived a few minutes later and did a double take when he saw Martin sitting there.
“Not you as well,” said Martin. “I had enough of that when I walked in, with these arseholes all staring at me. So I bought some new clothes and had a shave and a haircut! Big deal! I won some money on the bonds, is it so surprising that I want to make myself look a little smarter? I used to dress well all the time once, didn't I?”
“I don't think it's your clothes they were looking at,” said David quietly. Have you looked in the mirror today?”
“Hey, I'm good,” shrugged Martin. “I've been a little under the weather, but there's a lot of it about. I just won the jackpot on that slot machine. Can you imagine that?”
“Congratulations,” said David, his voice still very low, “but stop changing the subject. You'd better come with me.”
“Where?” asked Martin. “You haven't even got a drink yet!”
“I will,” said David, “but first you're coming to the toilets with me – or the washbasins, to be more
precise.” He stood up and walked out of the bar, heading towards the gents' toilets.
“Damn it, David!” swore Martin. But his friend was already through the door. He grimaced, fighting with his obstinacy for a moment, then grudgingly followed.
“What the hell is the matter with everyone today?” Martin demanded as he entered the gents' washroom.
“Just take a look and see,” said David, indicating the large mirror above the basins.
Martin glanced over and saw himself reflected, smartly dressed and perfectly presentable. “See what?”
“For God's sake, will you look at yourself, Martin!”
Perplexed and hurt by his friend's tone, Martin looked again. He saw … wait, what did he see? It was as if a glamour had been removed from his eyes, so that he was seeing himself properly for the first time in days. He looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips were dry and cracked. His hair was falling out. Oh sure, it was neatly trimmed and combed, but great clumps were missing. Now that he saw it, he seemed to have a fuzzy recollection of his barber expressing concern. How had he forgotten about that? How hadn't he even noticed till now? As for his skin, it was yellow and flaking, almost scaly in its texture. His hands were crusted and calloused. He also seemed to be hunched over, standing with a pronounced stoop.
The Eldritch Isle Page 2
