The Isle of Ilkchild (The King of Three Bloods Book 4)

by Russ L. Howard

  “There would be conditions on such protection and sovereignty beyond the mere gleaning of information.”

  Standing Bull looked dumbfounded. “What more could we possibly give you?”

  The Cha’Kal declared, “You would supply a quota of elk, deer, and buffalo to feed my legions, and you’d also fill a quota of captives, particularly young females. You know, those tending towards the pure type, certainly none without a hymen. Gloomulah will have them no other way.”

  The lean, dark clad spokesman declared. “It is not clear to us from your pathetically small numbers that you have the means of doing such.”

  Lone Dog loudly protested, “These terms are shameful. This is not the way of the Sharaka to exchange captives for gain! We do not traffic flesh, nor are we slave traders. The Thunder Beings will not smile on this!”

  Standing Bull turned on him. “We have no choice. Would you rather serve the white lords who expect us to grovel in the dirt like dogs for their leavings? At least for now we are our own masters.”

  Lone Dog refused to be silent. “We now live among the Klamath People, a proud and noble folk, and if they discover you are dealing directly with the Pitters, I fear we will become a renegade band of outlaws, despised by our own people with no protection for our wives and children. Any who discover us will kill us. Standing Bull, do you not consider these things?”

  Scynscatha leaned closer and hissed at Standing Bull. “It seems to me, your talking chiefs are not with you on this. You had better let them know that the only other option is, that instead of being volunteers and getting the benefits of sharing some of the booty, you are forced to do it anyway under pain of death. Angrar charges us to bring all other peoples into submission to the true worship. Soon, the high desert will be ours to command and it will belong to me, Scynscatha the Cha’Kal. The Sharaka have already fled, and the Quailor have abandoned their lands entirely. You will have sovereignty just like the Eugeners, but you must never forget who your new overlords are. You are too few for any other terms.”

  Still, Lone Dog pleaded with Standing Bull, “It is not too late to choose another path, an honorable path, my brother. Otherwise we shall become outcasts, scorned in every camp and tribe. Our children and wives will be brought to shame. I charge you to think on this before acting foolishly.”

  The Standing Bull grew even more stiff-necked, hardened his heart and resolve and set his face like stone to do his own will against his friend’s counsel. The Sharaka renegade bull had just entered the contract with death.

  “Enough,” Standing Bull said. “We have made our course, and we will live by it. I will do whatever it takes to be chief. Most of our people joined the white lords. I will never do the same. We shall become a mighty people ourselves, not bound by all the laws the white lords or the Klamath Tribe try to impose upon us. They are absurd to think they can ever regain these lands, once the Pitters take possession of them.”

  Dirnetier said, “Maybe a pact with you should not be considered if this is all the control you have over your men. Frankly, it does not inspire confidence.”

  “Lone Dog is my friend. I shall talk to him on this matter when we are alone. Perhaps, Dirnetier,” Standing Bull said, shooting a disapproving glance at Lone Dog, “You have underestimated my worth to you. I know you have spies, but they can only tell you what has transpired. I, on the other hand, can tell you of Sur Sceaf’s plans in advance. In exchange you must include me in your plans and assure me of a high position in your empire.”

  “Your point is well taken if true. Our spies have been sluggish of late, and the information they bring us is of little value, incomplete and too often conflicting. For example, a recent report says the white lords have plans to form a new kingdom on the coast of Ur Ford, but other reports have it they merely wish to lure us into a trap there.”

  The background of crows got louder as another murder of crows joined them.

  “I can get into Ur Ford,” Standing Bull said, “and no one will suspect a Sharaka to be a spy. Tell me what information you want and need, and I can get it for you.”

  Lone Dog dropped his head and shook it in disbelief.

  “Tell me Sharaka,” the Scynscatha said, “What is your reason for betraying the man who now leads your people?”

  Standing Bull’s expression was one of stark hatred. His brow furrowed and his face contorted into a grimace. “Sur Sceaf is my personal enemy. I’ve sworn to destroy him any way I can.”

  “Our holy emperor has elected me to destroy Sur Sceaf. Once Sur Sceaf is eliminated, the Skull Worm and I shall combine to destroy Kanarus, for they are the two horns of the Herewardi ram we are come to break.” The Cha’Kal threw his plate in the dirt and wiped his hands on his tunic.

  Standing Bull said, “Surely, nothing would please me more than helping you pull the horn off this ram.”

  The Cha’Kal smiled narrowly, “I did detect in your face that you may have a personal score to settle with this Sur Sceaf.”

  Standing Bull’s face darkened, “He robbed me of the only woman I ever cared for. It is because of him I was forced to leave my tribe in utter shame.”

  The Cha’Kal grinned his cadaverous grin, “Huh! A woman. Only a fool would ever love a woman. I, too, was once foolish enough to believe as you do. I put my trust in a woman, but I shall never make that mistake again. Dinetra was her name. The bitch hung herself. Women are to be used and discarded. Never married, as you savages glory so much in. If you don’t learn this, you are doomed to defeat. What I want, I rape. If there is wealth to be had, I take it. But, for now, we shall capture young women for the Growlings. Then there shall be girls, booty, and riches enough for all those who submit to my leadership.”

  In the background the legionnaires were lining up for dinner while the murder of crows grew louder and more raucous. Growing ever more impatient, an occasional crow would swoop in for a tidbit that someone had dropped, which led to others chasing it to get the morsel away from them. With a flick of his bejeweled hand, The Cha’Kal ordered, “Do something about those damned noisy birds.”

  The guards ran to their banners and waved them violently in the direction of the crows sending them into the air only to settle a short distance off to protest even louder.

  Dirnetier probed, “Standing Bull, are you willing to do all that my lord commissar requires of you?”

  “If we strike this bargain, and hereafter I will be known as the chief of the desert, then yes, I am.”

  “You don’t bargain,” The Cha’Kal said shaking his finger back and forth. “You are not dead at this moment only because you may have something to offer me, but don’t presume to try me again. To gain even the most menial position in my domains requires that you be proven first.”

  “Then you shall find me more valuable than any other spy you could ever hope to find. Set the task and I shall perform it.”

  “Well, can you obtain a pass into the Herewardi domains anytime soon?”

  “Yes but…but they must not know we have had contact with you, or that would not be possible.” Standing Bull stammered. “If Sur Sceaf or his spy ring should ever discover our connection we would be killed instantly.”

  “Listen well then, all of your communications to me must come through Hamidraca, commander of the Eugene Zonga. The code word you must use on all communiqués is, ‘Black Skull.’ Can you remember that?”

  “Of course.” Then turning to Lone Dog, Standing Bull demanded, “Are you with me on this Lone Dog? I saw you shaking your head.”

  Lone Dog raised his head and squared his shoulders. “I am not with you. I cannot spy on my own people. You said we were merely opening up trade negotiations, and now I find us engulfed in the very darkness our people have so long resisted.”

  “You’re with me or not, Lone Dog. You choose.”

  Lone Dog’s comments went unattended to by the Cha’Kal, as if he were merely a pesky marsh fly of little or no consequence.

  “Dirnetier, give this man a pass
from us. He may just be the arrow that carries poison into the heart of our enemy.” Dirnetier reached down to retrieve a pass with the Cha’Kal’s seal upon it. He handed it to the Cha’Kal who in turn handed it to Standing Bull, “This has my seal upon it. No Pitter shall molest you with this seal upon you. I have more important things to attend to. Be off with you for now.”

  As they exited the tent the murder of crows lifted off the sage. Standing Bull took his men back to their camp set off beside rocks and junipers.

  The Cha’Kal stood up and swatted at the midges. “Damn these marsh flies! They have armor piercing bites.”

  Scynscatha scratched under his tunic then turned to the servant dressed in green a short way off. “Dirnetier, go get Butter Nut Green, and tell him to bring me my bag of noogs. Just being here is ordeal enough, then dealing with this scum, Standing Bull, I need something to make me feel good and to take the foul taste out of my mouth.”

  Scynscatha slapped at a marsh fly that bit him on the neck. The servant that Cha’Kal called Butter Nut Green returned with a small pouch. From the pouch he extracted a handful of what looked like white pearls. As the Hickoryan took back several of the pearls, the Cha’Kal said, “No, give them all to me. I must have them.”

  “I cannot allow it, master. This many would kill you.”

  “Sometimes I hate you Butter Nut, but you’re the only one I can trust to take care of me.”

  “When you took me out of the fighting rink and lifted me to be your personal valet, I vowed, I would protect you until my release back to the circus. Is there anything else, I can do for you, master?”

  “Just lower the sides of the tent before you go. I need my privacy. All I need is my noogs and my whores to calm me, and I know you don’t approve much of either.”

  “I am opposed, because I do not believe in abusing innocents.”

  The Cha’Kal laughed. “That is why I am master and you are servant.”

  The Hickoryan bowed and left the tent. He rolled down the sides of the tent and secured them to the base pole.

  * * *

  Raucous laughter and drinking began shortly after the legionnaires had eaten their fill. The sun was angling toward the horizon and the air was growing marginally cooler. The Pitters had selected a site which accommodated their needs with ample flat ground, but left Standing Bull’s camp in the rocky terrain on sloped ground. As time moved on, they drank more heavily and began slapping or pushing the camp girls around. Soon the sun’s rays disappeared from the skies.

  In Standing Bull’s camp, the renegades were tending campfires and cooking supper. Standing alone, Lone Dog was offended at the debauchery of the Pitters. Lone Dog upbraided Standing Bull. “I will not bring this shame upon my house. I am leaving! At first I believed you when you said we would have our own rule and we would be free from all control, but I should have listened to Mendaka, wise of years, for now I deal in compulsory whoredoms, slavery, and evil medicine. This is not the Sharaka way.”

  Neither Pock Face nor Pays-No-Attention commented, but instead stared at the ground. The other braves waited as silently, but durst not challenge Standing Bull.

  “Are you crazy?” Standing Bull belted out. “We are in this up to our asses now and there is no other way. Have you lost your nerve just because they are roughing up some camp whores and use their noogs? Can’t you see, someday I will be hailed as a great Sharaka chief and every one of our people will see that I was right, and the tribal elders were all wrong. Those who follow me will have glory and wealth added to their names. Think on that Lone Dog, friend from my youth.”

  “I need not think, my heart tells me what is right! Have you not heard of the Pitters atrocities? Did you not hear them brag on how they peel the skin off of the men, and how they have scalped women between their legs. Have you not seen their lies, how they say we are free agents, but only free to pursue their ends with no respect given to us or our ways. Savages are what they call us, and I heard The Cha’Kal call us scum as we left. Have you not seen their abominations this night? I beg you, my friend, turn your heart around before it grows too late.”

  Standing Bull bit his thumb and flicked the spit on Lone Dog, the worst insult one Sharaka can give another.

  Without wiping away the spit, Lone Dog persisted, “No longer may our trails run together. And I will cease to call you my brother. Who shall be their whores tomorrow? My sisters and your daughters! No, I am leaving before I am no longer fit for my own tribe’s society. I go to join the Ndee, a far worthier people than I find in these parts, and I leave the last step of our friendship to die here.”

  “Go then, I give you leave, but in order to do this,” Standing Bull put his hand around his knife, “I bind you with an oath to tell nothing of what you have heard or seen.”

  “I see that it must be so that I may live. So be it.” Lone Dog made the sign and penalty of the oath. “I pledge my silence until your death, in exchange for the lesser life I must now live, but even that shall be more than you are blindly being swallowed by. It grieves me, we are no longer friends, but from this day forward I will kill every Pitter I see. Should you be among them, you too, must die.”

  “Go on the morrow then. When next we meet we will be enemies. We are no longer blood brothers!”

  “Too late, have I discovered this! I thought you more man than you are.” Lone Dog said as he retired to his bed roll.

  Chapter 2 : Off on the Whale Road

  Sur Sceaf was the first of the night sleepers to awaken. The steady beat of the oars dipping into the water blended with the forward motion of the boat. The air was cool and smelled of salt. An early riser, Elf Beard was busy scrimshawing a picture of a hound hunt on a whale tooth while the next shift of rowers began to awaken with the dawn.

  Sur Sceaf extinguished the lantern and then looked out to sea. Great swells of waves heaved the pointed boat over the water hills. Morning sunlight glistened red on the surface of the sea. As Elf Beard began passing out pemmican and hardtack, Sur Sceaf noticed a mass of gulls directly ahead. He stood up for better view. Unlikely as it seemed, the gulls were circling what appeared to be a large smooth rock thrust up from the ocean depths.

  Puzzled by the impossibility of finding a rock out here, he squinted to see better. Suddenly, he realized it was a large grey whale spy-hopping like a cork just to the right of the boat. What had looked like bird droppings and scrapes were scars and tooth rakes on the hoary, old, white-splashed whale.

  “One on the medicine wheel,” Sur Sceaf called out, as the whale leveled off and blew from its spout.

  Ilkchild screamed out as if no one else was seeing it, “Whale, whale, whale!” He signaled Raven’s Tongue on his boat, the Raven, and Makah on the mother ship.

  “All rowers to the oars. And put your backs to her boys, row hearty, row,” Sur Sceaf yelled. He grabbed one of the harpoons, and assumed a ready position, feet braced for the throw.

  Hardly capable of restraining his excitement, Elf Beard leaped up and down. “We’ll be pulling the hair off this sea bear before the day’s done boys. Dang, ditty, dang, dong!”

  The entire crew was electrified. Powered by both excitement and muscle, the boat sped across the surface of the waters, waves smacking against the prow. Briny air filled their nostrils. Perched on the prow, Ilkchild beat the rhythm for the rowers on the rail with his signal flag.

  The whale moved out ahead of him with masses of gulls circling in great swarms and gyrs overhead. The mountainous whale’s tail slapped the water as though beckoning the chase with a challenge. Sur Sceaf’s heart pounded and the excitement of the chase raced through his veins. “Row your hearts out boys. The chase is on.”

  * * *

  The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east with the star Earendil heralding the dawn. The Pitter camp was silent, campfires burnt to a faint glow, with the exception of one which burnt bright. Butter Nut Green stood at one of the open compartments of the chuck wagon, apparently treating the cuts on one of the camp who
res as tenderly as a father would treat a daughter.

  A faint sound from the Sharaka camp drew his attention away from the girl. Lone Dog was sneaking out of his camp. He slowly and quietly led his pony away from the camp, mounted, and then bolted for the east and disappeared. Butter Nut wished him well, and saluted his courageous departure.

  The rest of the Sharaka arose at dawn and went out hunting. By the time they returned with a mess of rabbits and began cooking them, the Pitters were only beginning to rouse from their drunken stupor. Some of the hell-rats were gnawing angrily at juniper fagots in an effort to wear down their continuously overgrown incisors.

  Once the Hickoryan finished tending the girl, he and the rest of the women began preparing the morning meal. It wasn’t long before the Scynscatha emerged from his tent, bellowing, “Butter Nut, bring me my breakfast. Where is my breakfast?”

  The young women by chuck wagon lifted their heads, eyes filled with horror.

  The guards quickly set up a table and brought out a chair for the commissar. Almost as soon as the commissar had settled himself in his chair, the Hickoyan came hurrying up the slight incline with a tray filled with porridge and side meat along with a glass of water. The Cha’Kal scarfed down his food, then started looking around. He yelled, “Standing Bull! Attend me, immediately.”

  Standing Bull hastened towards him. After assessing the braves for a moment, Scynscatha asked, “Where is your other chief? You know the one who whines.”

  Standing Bull sheepishly offered his hands, palms up. “He is no longer with us. He does not have the heart for glory.”

  “By that I assume you mean he was put to death last night.”

  “No, he has cut himself off from us and fled before we awoke.”

  Scynscatha’s dark face turned red. “Fool! You let him leave? You should have killed him on the spot. You better hope this does not jeopardize our mission.”

  “Don’t worry. He is bound to silence by an oath.”

  “Arrrr! And what the hell is an oath, but words some fool spoke and another fool believed. We Pitters do not engage in such foolish beliefs. You better hope your talking chief does!” Scynscatha shot to his feet and kicked the canvas chair into a nearby bush, sending his lieutenant to scramble for it. The Cha’Kal grabbed Standing Bull by the nape of hair, “I am losing patience with you, Mr. Big and Stupid. You have not earned my trust, nor inspired any confidence thus far. ‘Test me! Test me,’ cried the Big and Stupid. Well, then I will give you a test to see if you have the mettle to be my man or not.”