The Bok of Syr Folk

by Russ L. Howard

  “I’ll bet they are Friscans.” Stone-Face posited. “They know the seas better than anyone not of our people.”

  Rags disagreed, “More than likely they are Mexus pirates. Mexus go barefooted a lot.”

  Coyote chewed on a piece of jerky. “I had a chance to examine the tracks more closely which are not Quailor, Sharaka, Herewardi, and definitely not Pitter. The Friscans simply are not venturesome enough to be out here and the Mexus pirates got so badly whipped by Pyrsyrus that they won’t pass the Baja.”

  Despite his flat affect, Stone-Face demanded, “Then damn it, who are they?”

  No one could give a satisfactory answer.

  Chapter 7 : The Blues

  Several weeks after his return, Hartmut was escorted by the steward through the door into the Great Hall where Sur Sceaf, Brekka, and Muryh sat in a meeting with Jon Dee Lee and his son, Custus Ruhm Lee. All had been invited to finalize plans for the extension of a road system from Godeselle to the other settlements. Brekka who had been Sur Sceaf’s shadow ever since their conversation in the secret crypt, was receiving her training in governing.

  As Hartmut entered, Muryh was saying, “I can get you all the cobblestone you’ll need, but I can’t spare anymore of my laborers until the temple interior is completed.”

  “That won’t be a problem, master builder,” Jon Dee replied, taking off his wide rimmed grey hat. “I’ll find the laborers.”

  “Then it’s a deal,” Sur Sceaf said. “I can’t bear another winter with these mud roads.” Then turning, he acknowledged Hartmut’s presence. “Hartmut, please join us for a little celebratory drink on a deal we just struck with Jon Lee.”

  “I could use a drink about now.” Hartmut said.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Hartmut glanced around. “Am I free to talk about it here?”

  “Yes, unless you’d prefer my private chamber?”

  “This place is fine.” Hartmut took off his black hat and laid it on the table.

  Muryh rose and walked to the side board where a number of krugs, barrels, and bottles awaited. “What will it be, Hartmut, wine, bee-ur, or ale?”

  Hartmut smiled, “Do you have any of Govannon’s ale?”

  “Govannon’s ale it is.” Muryh took a mug over to the tap, filled it and passed it to Hartmut, who thanked him before sitting in an empty chair across from Jon Lee.

  “And what’ll you young ones have?” Muryh directed his question to Brekka and Ruhm and Ruhm’s two companions, Eldon Seamisch and Arnold Loosestrife.

  “I’ll have a bee-ur,” Brekka said.

  “I’ll take the same.” Ruhm said.

  Seamisch said, “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to try that ale.”

  “Me too!” Loosestrife took off his grey hat and looked expectant.

  Muryh held up two fingers on each hand, “Two bee-urs and two ales for the younglings.”

  Muryh got them each a bee-ur and Sur Sceaf noticed how many glances Brekka and Ruhm Lee shot at one another. There was something magic going on between them and thought maybe Brekka wouldn’t be a lady knight after all.

  “And I know what Sur Sceaf and Jon prefer,” Muryh said, placing a mug of ale before each of them.

  Sur Sceaf waited until Muryh resumed his seat before turning to Hartmut. “What news do you bring us, Brother Hartmut?”

  Hartmut took a deep drink. “As you know, I’ve been at the Quailor settlement for three days, asking questions and keeping my eyes and ears wide open. In addition, I met with Fromer and Lenny, who denied any wrong doing. I then showed them the Rules of Government as was laid down by the Martyrs.”

  “Excellent,” Sur Sceaf remarked, and the others nodded.

  “How did the two miscreants respond?” Jon Dee Lee inquired.

  “As I expected,” Hartmut said with a grimace. “Not well. So, using the authority that Sur Sceaf had granted me, I called a special public meeting and explained the violations of Syr Folk law perpetrated by Fromer and Lenny as well as their usurpation of Habraham’s right of leadership in Elijah’s absence. Once I explained that not only had Fromer encouraged unlawful settlement, but he had ignored the ban on cutting down the protected agathis trees. The majority of those in attendance found their guilt to be undeniable. Since Habraham is still quite ill, the high priests voted in a temporary leadership until Elijah returns. It will consist of Friedrich, Franz, and Rudolf as the acting provisional government.”

  Sur Sceaf raised his glass. “Friend and brother let me commend you for pulling this thorn out of my side and restoring your community to sanity once again.”

  The others joined in the toast.

  Hartmut’s smile showed some rough edges. “I thank you for the salute, but it’s no longer my community.”

  Muryh looked puzzled as did most of the others. Sur Sceaf certainly had no idea what Hartmut meant. Muryh exclaimed, “What in the hell do you mean, you’re going to leave it after you saved it?”

  “No, I did not leave it. It left me.”

  Sur Sceaf was shocked. “You mean you were excommunicated?”

  “Precisely,” Hartmut took another swig of ale. “And that was in a ‘Court of Love’ presided over by none other than Brother Fromer. He said for ‘cohabiting with the devil’s daughter, for exhibitionism, and for attending pagan rites.’ I had to laugh. It chust all seemed so comical and absurd. Here I was in this petty court being judged by petty men, all with an agenda to have me removed because they could not endure my new-found happiness.”

  Brekka was elated. “Oh Hartmut, this fulfills the prophetic dream Meny had where the serpent would squeeze the hat off your head.”

  Hartmut appeared mystified. “I never heard of such a dream.”

  “Then you must ask Meny to describe it to you. It was very telling.”

  * * *

  Mendaka woke, stirred and alert. The dream of romping with Little Doe in the Skeenah Pots up in the Umpqua Forest was replaced by an urgent feeling of danger. He sat up quickly, his gaze searching the darkness. He glanced up at the stars and noted it was in the third watch. The air was cooler, but not cold.

  Coyote who was keeping watch, whispered urgently, “Did you hear that, Mendaka?”

  Before Mendaka could answer he heard strange whimpering sounds, like that of coyotes, but followed with a laughing song that was eerie and piercing to the bone. The hounds began to strike until Mendaka silenced them with a swift command, but one or two continued to whine. He heard the others starting to stir.

  Coyote said in a low voice, “I sure wish we had a fire about now?”

  “This darkness kind of drains you of the ability to stay calm, doesn’t it?” Elijah said, “What if these creatures are like the grass beast?”

  “You make a good point,” Mendaka conceded. “Men, I think it’s time to light a fire. Perhaps the previous campers will think their campfire has simply rekindled.” Mendaka lit a lamp that he had set next to him for just such a contingency, his men were crawling out of their sleep rolls, some already gripping their weapons. Seeing no immediate threat in the near vicinity, he carried it over to the makeshift corral of his donkey, Lullabelle. She saluted his approach with a snuffling sound.

  “It’s alright, Lullabelle,” he whispered as he untied her. “You stay near me.” Lullabelle was one of Sur Sceaf’s prized mammoth jennets. As she was both exceptionally sound and sure-footed, he had sent her with Mendaka as a mark of his confidence in his friend’s leadership. Although she stood nineteen hands high and was probably capable of protecting herself, he intended to keep her safe no matter what.

  The others were gathered around the ash pit when he returned to the smoldering campfire. He tied Lullabelle to a clump of buck brush nearby where she chewed the grasses and snorted her protest at the intruding howlers and yelpers that seemed to be moving in ever closer.

  The crew quickly threw more wood on the fire from the leftover wood pile. Almost immediately, the laughing, snarling, snorting sounds retreated, but
every now and then a laughing sound came from the brush where the leftover carnage of butchered animals still lay. The hounds could not resist sending up their cries. Mendaka had to remind the dogs that they were to stand down. At his command Shark-Moon-Boy and Elijah gathered up the hounds, mules, and asses to bring them closer in. Elijah was using Ruby, another one of Sur Sceaf’s mammoth jennets as his pack animal and she was all wide-eyed and snorting her indignation at the strange intruders in the dark.

  Mole Finger said, “Look, just on the edge of the light from the fire!”

  Mendaka narrowed his gaze whereon he was startled to see grotesque masks of demons milling around the carcasses. Devils with bodies like large hunchbacked dogs with well delineated faces of blue and red. Their long fangs flashed in the dim firelight as they fought and squabbled over the carnage and darted through the brush like spirits. He estimated that there were roughly seventeen of the trolls. It came to him that he was no longer surprised by anything he saw on this isle.

  Shark-Moon asked in an urgent voice, “Dak, should we kill them?”

  Mendaka took a tighter grip on his kukri. “Better to wait for judgment. We can’t take any chances with these trolls, but so far they only seem interested in feeding on the left over carnage and scraps. If we begin killing them, the others may turn on us before we can kill them all. Everyone be alert and ready for fight if they attack.”

  Ruby gave a loud snort and Govannon hissed, “We should have known better than to camp near this carnage. It’s brought the trolls in to us. It’s my belief that these strange creatures are going to stop at nothing till we convince them we’re not to be messed with.”

  Rags and Mole Finger nocked their bows while Stone Face strung his. One of the trolls grabbed a bone from the bone pile and came charging toward Mole Finger. Without waiting for Mendaka’s permission, he let fly his hissing arrow which swiftly found its mark. Shark-Moon grabbed his bow nocked an arrow and sent it hissing toward one particularly hideous looking demon. The troll dropped its bone, then whimpered off in pain somewhere inside the dense brush, followed by the others.

  “By the gods!” Govannon exclaimed. “What a monster that was.”

  “A monster that flees from an arrow,” Mendaka reminded him.

  “I fear we were just lucky this time.” Govannon held his green Eye of Howrus amulet that hung from his neck and looked down at its gold and lapis lazuli stone and offered up a prayer to Woon.

  By now the hounds were chomping to get into the action, but Coyote the Ndee signed wait, “No, we do not know what we are up against. These hump-backed devil wolves have the appearance of being hell-born creatures, the spawn of Dark Elves.”

  They waited, bows and blades at the ready, but all was quiet. Now and then, spine-chilling laughter came from a great distance. Finally, judging that the danger had eased, at least for a time, Mendaka assigned Stone Face to keep watch while he and the others got some rest.

  Although he returned to his blanket, he slept shallowly and suspected the others did likewise. When dawn came, the morning star was brilliant and the moon shone with a bluish cast.

  After a swift breakfast of oat flakes mixed with kefir, Coyote led out by Mendaka’s order, following the trail of the mysterious campers. He described their personalities from the track patterns. “This one appears to be very drunk. See how his footsteps wander all over the place. And see here how deep these feet push into the sand? This man’s tracks—if he is a man—is very large, maybe three hundred pounds or more, even heavier than Herman. I deduce from their erratic tracks they are celebrating the hunt, and from the alternating depth of tracks, it appears some are packing the meat out on drag poles or a travois of sorts.” They walked for another plow length before he cried out. “Ah ha, look at this one. We have a dancer here and this one looks just like Shark-Moon-Boy. I can tell because he’s always picking his nose.”

  Boy responded, “Oh, great tracker you are. Well, I too, can read tracks and this big one here is just like you. Full of bull shit!”

  Had anyone been near, the laughter would have been heard from three plough lengths away.

  Biting back a laugh himself, Mendaka said, “Please keep it hush,” he ordered. “We don’t want to give ourselves away.”

  Around midday, they discovered a skin flask laying on the trail which still had some of its contents remaining. After examining the skin which was well made with a boar’s head carved into it, Mendaka poured a little of the clear liquid on his two fingers, took a tentative taste and then spat it out.

  “It tastes sickening! Like a combination of whale oil and hard liquor.”

  He poured out some in a cup and lit it with a flint. It gave off a blue flame. “No wonder they are drunk, they may even be brain dead. This should play in our favor.”

  An hour or so later after following the winding trail through the grass and brush land, they passed a manure laden stretch where the many herds had trampled the grass. From the signs, Coyote deduced that the mysterious strangers had taken a break in this same spot.

  As they stopped to allow Coyote to examine the tracks, Mendaka caught a whiff of smoke. Glancing around, he spied a swirl of blue smoke which appeared to be four plough lengths to the south.

  Mendaka signalled for Stone Face to hang back, keep the hounds quiet, and wait for his orders.

  “It appears they have stopped,” he said. “This may be our chance to get a glimpse at who they really are without being seen.”

  They followed the smoke to a hill and as they crested the grassy slopes of the hill they realized the smoke was coming out of a large bowl of land in the center of which was a large pond.

  Mendaka said to Elijah, “Wait here just below the hill, hold the asses and mules back while Coyote and I go take a look and see what we are up against.”

  They stealthily made their way through a field of blue lupines. They hunkered down and crept closer down the slope to the encampment of men.

  Mendaka whispered, “Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Or did the contents of that flask affect me?”

  On the north shore of the pond there were blankets hung over bushes where some men slept. Other men were moving slowly about their campfire while spitting meat over the fire.

  Coyote said, “I didn’t touch any of that stuff and I’m seeing blue men!”

  Their skin was bluer than the deepest blue sky, the color of monks hood or delphinium. They had every appearance of being a party of men, only they were blue, clad only in loin clouts, except for one who wore a white lavalava (a wrap around garment). He was enormous, the one Coyote had guessed weighed in at three hundred pounds or more. Their long dark hair was cropped squarely at the shoulders.

  A quick count said there were approximately thirty of the strange blue men. Their compatriots appeared to be sleeping. Only the heavy one and a few young men were up and moving. One was feeding their enormous dogs which were raven black, with red facial markings, red socks, and sharp ears, but stood as tall as a pony. Dak knew he didn’t want those beasts chomping down on him.

  Mendaka and Coyote exchanged a look, then Mendaka signed they should retreat. Moving quickly and quietly they retraced their steps. When they reached the others, Mendaka quickly related all they had seen. After discussing various strategies, he decided the best approach would be a more direct confrontation.

  Elijah argued, “They may be peaceful and no threat at all.”

  “On the other hand,” Coyote countered, “they could be as vicious as the Skin Eaters in the Poisoned Lands.”

  Yellow Horse asked, “Did you see any weapons?”

  Coyote said, “Only rudimentary spears and bows. No shields and they were scantily clad. None wore shoes.”

  “Alright,” Mendaka said. “Let’s assume they are peaceful unless they prove otherwise. Coyote and I will go in to meet them. The rest of you stay at the rim with your bows on the ground, so that if they are not peaceful you can let them feel the sting of our arrows, but await my signal before firing—un
less they should attack Coyote and me.” He looked in Rags’ direction, and said sternly, “That means you, Rags. I don’t want to approach them in any threatening manner, especially considering those red-faced hounds from hell they have.”

  At least the dogs the Blue Men had were leashed and staked, but should they be set loose and attack, Mendaka suspected the result would be bloody, and very costly in lives.

  By the time they reached the bowl and were in position, many of the Blue Men were awakening. But from their lethargic and ponderous slow movements they appeared to be suffering the after-effects of too much of that vile liquid they drank. Others continued in their drugged sleep.

  Mendaka signaled for Elijah to announce their arrival by giving a blast on the Quailor horn. With the blast reverberating around the bowl, their black dogs exploded into barking and straining at their ties.

  By the gods, I hope those leashes hold.

  The Blue Men that slept awoke startled and confused. Many ran for their weapons and formed a group behind the large man in the white lavalava.

  When Mendaka and Coyote were within ten feet they halted with hands out front and palms turned upward showing they intended no harm. The Blue Men approached them suspiciously. The large man, whom Mendaka assumed was their leader, watched them with a mixture of both caution and curiosity. The dogs continued to bark until one of the Blue Men signaled for them to be quiet. They instantly obeyed their master’s command.

  Mendaka raised a hand in a traditional Sharaka greeting and smiled. Their leader, called out in a lilting unusual English, “Do ya come for battle or in peace?”

  Mendaka was glad to hear them speak a type of English, but in an accent he could have mistaken as Hickoryan.

  “We are come in peace,” he answered. “We be friends.”

  The Blue leader walked up to Mendaka. “My name is Elmer. I am Chief of Apalala. But who are you? You have the color of our enemies when they are born. It has been told that there is a tribe among them of sand colored skin, for it is said they are all born the color of sand then they turn green when they are of mating age. Are you of such tribe, then?”