Just then Elf Beard bent over the edge of the ship again, making loud groaning sounds. Sur Sceaf could not resist teasing, “Boys, now you know why we call him Old Grokk. These were the exact sounds he made after the morning of a long hunt during which he drank too much ale.”
Elf Beard raised his hand in a stop motion and said, “Worse, -- much much worse.”
“Perhaps,” Khem said, “we should call him Old Grokk the Hurler.” Laughter rang out around the ship.
Elijah offered, “Mayhap a few swigs of ale would do thee good, Brother Elf Beard.”
“Please, I’ll try anything,” Elf Beard, the Old Grokk said. Sur Sceaf quickly procured a bottle of ale from the store’s locker under his hinged bench and handed it to his old friend.
Fromer scoffed, “It’s just about control of one’s thoughts. Thou shouldst not think on sickness.”
“Bravely spoken,” Elf Beard replied, “by one who isn’t sick.”
Sur Sceaf laughed. “Here we are, two adventuresome lots of men discovering the new world of the great western sea of Aurvandil, only now navigable, after hundreds of years of turbulence, earthquakes, and upheavals. Do you all realize what promise, what riches lay out there before us?”
“Well, when we find the riches, I want you to promise me I’ll never have to do this again.” Ilkchild begged.
“We’ll talk about it again after we’ve proven we can actually succeed at this.”
Hour after hour the crew members of the Honey Bee took turns resting and rowing. When the sun rested in the west, Sur Sceaf called for a halt to the rowing and ordered the sail to be lowered. The sail was made from woven wool coated with linseed oil. They folded it, and placed it in its niche above the harpoons lashed to the curved sides of the boat. They got out what food they would consume, re-tarped the remaining food, and stowed the oars to the side for safe keeping. Hartmut tossed out the drag and made the usual preparation for bedding down for the night.
When the food was brought out on the center board, Fairchild was the first to grab a wood plate.
“Well, it’s about time. I am famished from all that rowing. My shoulders feel like they’re going to fall off.”
Ilkchild, still standing at the rail, raised a hand and shook his head. “Please stop talking about food.”
Elijah passed out the hard tack, salted fish, and pemmican. Elfdane went around the boat struggling for balance as he poured the ale into mugs, sometimes on their person. Sur Sceaf took the first watch and then retired to a restful sleep. He awoke the next morning, their fourth day at sea, to the chatter and banging of the crew going through their usual rituals of eating and getting ready for the sea. They set out farther to sea bearing southwest along the coast searching for whale spouts in the morning sunlight.
Suddenly, Ilkchild cried out and pointed to the starboard, “Whales! Look! Look!”
Sur Sceaf made his way over to Mendaka, Elf Beard, and Ilkchild in the prow of the boat. The sea mist was in the air and in the distance was a solid bank of fog heading their way. But between them and the fog bank was a pod of whales beckoning them with their flukes like flirtatious mermaids.
Sur Sceaf drew his sword ‘Snake Fang’ and held it up to a flock of sea going birds as he both prayed and prophesied, “Guide us to triumph over our enemies, Holy Ones! Grant us to be masters of the sea that we may stop the Pitter Empire from crushing us.” Then turning to his crew, ordered, “Be men of the Sea! Put your backs into those oars. Let us seize this day of holiness, and let our children and the rune singers declare this day unto untold generations. May the Great Sire of the Tribes of Man hear the words of my mouth. We have come to conquer these seas.”
The crew shouted, “Shape it so!”
Old Grokk poured mead and danced. In between sips, he encouraged the rowers with his barks and yeows urging them to take the whaler ever closer. “Can you not feel it? The hunt is on boys. Break those backs! The hunt is on!”
The wind whipped up the brine. The bow sliced through the water throwing up foam into Sur Sceaf’s face and drenching him as he stood on the prow, eyes fixated on the whales. The wind whipped up the brine. The men, with the exception of proud and vainglorious Ilkchild, quickly donned their oilskins and tied bandanas on their heads to stop their hair from flying and blinding them.
“I wish we were closer to shore. Raven’s Tongue, is trying to mirror us as much as possible, but we may lose them in this fog. It’s just the chance we have to take.”
Ilkchild held up the bright red banner with its black ewe footprint and green eye peering from between. He was attempting to maintain visual contact at all times, but like the rest of the crew the focus was ahead at the beckoning whales.
Sur Sceaf took up a harpoon with a rope attached to it and stood in the prow, eagerly waiting til they were close enough for a kill. The rowers were plying all eight oars, speeding the whaler ever westward, gradually closing the distance on the whale pod. “By the gods and Holy Elves,” Sur Sceaf said, “I think it’s Old Nick, the same tooth-raked whale we lost yesterday, boys.”
Elf Beard shouted, “What about Hrafn? Should we wait for him to catch up?”
He decided that losing the whales again would be a worse blow to his men’s morale and confidence than the risk of losing sight of the Raven. “We will continue on the Whale Road, Old Grokk.”
They hurriedly followed the whales ever south and westward even as they became swallowed by the thick enveloping fog.
“I have to assume Raven’s Tongue will attempt to follow us,” Ilkchild announced, “because we’ve already lost visual. I attempted signing, but the fog grew too dense and I have no confidence they were able to read.”
The whaler was getting tossed about by the growing waves and those who were not rowing held on.
“Do you think he can follow?” Old Grokk asked, darting glances ever backward.
“Raven’s Tongue marked the direction we are going. He has a sunstone to guide him. I’m sure he will keep his men following, but it is useless to signal, the sea fog has become too dense.”
Muryh said, “This is ridiculous. We have no idea where we are going and need to stay in touch with the Raven. None of you are true seamen. Stop right now, Sur Sceaf.”
“I disagree,” Elf Beard said, “With the excitement of a first hunt,” Elf Beard said, “I don’t think it wise that we curb the thrill of this hunt, my lord. It’s better to give the crew their head and have at one hell of an exciting hunt. Even if the Raven never finds us, I’m not about to give up.”
“Your protest has been noted Master Builder, but I have to agree with the master of the Hunt.” He shouted out, “To the hunt you sea hounds. To the hunt! Bring this mountain down.”
Tying his own wind swept hair back Sur Sceaf took a swig of mead from Elf Beard’s krug and smiled at his old friend. “It appears the mead has either calmed you or the thrill of the hunt has overruled your seasickness, comrade. Maybe you should give Ilkchild some of that mead. He’s still looking a little green under the gills.”
“Pass it over, I’ll try anything,” Ilkchild cried, before taking a sip.
As the boat closed distance on the whales, Sur Sceaf felt like a lurcher running down a wolf. The exhilaration of the hunt was upon him and permeated his crew like electricity. The briny air and the blasts of the whales’ spouts fanned the excitement of the chase. Indeed, it had much the same thrill of a wolf hunt and the crew was sounding off like hounds with yells and cheers, Sharaka cries, and barking as they closed in. Elf Beard was now laughing with his mouth wide open. Sea mists sprayed their faces. Eyes sharply fastened on to their prey as Old Nick rose like a mighty mountain out of the water and fell with a mighty crash, splitting the waters like a huge timber.
Old Grokk shouted above the wind. “I estimate we passed over the bend in the sea long before we came upon that fog bank. We’ve gone about fifty leagues into the deep by now, maybe more.”
Ilkchild yelled out, “But isn’t this where the great mou
ntains of ice are that open and close their jaws like beasts?”
“I haven’t seen any ice mountains of late. In fact, when I was training with Pyrsyrus we did see what appeared like a large ice mountain, but it was so large and so far off that we would see it long before we hit such.”
“If you say so,” Khem yelled as he plied his strong arms to the oar, “I argued with fishermen when we were training that there was clearly a stable ice mountain out there, but they claimed it was just a giant iceberg caught on a rock under the sea.”
“The rest of you young bloods need to know that in days past we would have been dead by now had we ever ventured out this far,” Elf Beard declared, downing some more mead. He jerked swiftly to catch himself from a fall, his beard flapping in the sea air. “We’re well into the danger zone now my lads and I see no sheets of ice, only fog and the sweet, sweet teat of Mother Sea.”
Farther, farther to sea, Sur Sceaf pursued the pod, league after league, coming very near Old Nick several times only to have him dive and disappear once again. Sur Sceaf called out. “Elf Beard, that one is our whale! Yeow, by the gods that one is Old Nick! I’m sure.”
As if a timber was springing up out of the deep, the enormous whale rose towering above their heads then plunged back beneath the surface. A sheet of sheer water engulfed them, soaking them to the core and nearly capsizing the boat. As soon as they were steady again, they followed in Old Nick’s wake. Closer now, Ilkchild reached forward and prickled the flukes of the closest whales with his spear as Raven’s Tongue had told them it should be done so that they would run ashore. To Sur Sceaf’s surprise, the whales shifted direction.
Hartmut shouted, “Look, it’s working. They are veering toward shore.”
Exhilarated, Sur Sceaf began singing the song of thanks that Raven’s Tongue had taught him must be sung before the killing of the whale so as not to offend the sea god.
After Sur Sceaf finished his song he cried out, “Can anyone see the Raven?”
Fairchild shouted, “This fog is too damned thick to see anything but the whale, my lord.”
Old Grokk shouted back, “No! No one has seen him for a long while, but these whales are obviously heading back for shore, so we will probably overrun the Raven’s crew any moment. Damn, this is as good as any wolf hunt, boys!” He could not refrain from jumping up and down and shouting, “Yeow, yeow, yeow!” His steel grey hair and beard flapping in the wind as gulls circled their ship in ever thickening swirling droves. Usually the indication that Old Nick was about to emerge from the watery depths at any given second.
Muryh who had sat in silence since Sur Sceaf had denied his request to stop, blurted out. “What in the hell are we doing? We don’t know the first thing about this business?” He still showed obvious signs of his nausea by his crunched slow movements. “What damned business has the Builder on a whaling crew? If I ever touch land again, I swan swear, I shall not easily leave it. Some seer you are, Sur Sceaf. Methinks you should have stuck with archery.”
“Drink some mead,” Old Grokk ordered, “and then Builder, you won’t be so damned crotchety and grouchy. Get into the hunt.”
Sur Sceaf realized all of a sudden that the shore felt too close. Something enormous lay before them. Something like rock in the sky obscured by all the fog. There were large megaliths in the water as he let his harpoon fly. It plunged into the whale’s back causing streamers of blood to pour out from its point of entry.
Old Nick dove deep. The harpoon line jerked and the boat careened wildly. The bow tilted downward and the surface of the water turned red from the spurting blood. With one more twisting jerk from the whale, the boat spun and hurled forward at great speed. By dark chance, Ilkchild was thrown into the bloody, frothing, sea brew, followed by Sur Sceaf, Mendaka, and Elf Beard. Sur Sceaf was instantly baptized in blood and brine. Holding his breath, he struggled to swim in the churning water for the surface.
The men left aboard were full of fright, being pulled through the waves and rocks like a bob on a fishing line, pulled by a bronco whale driven mad by a harpoon in its flesh.
The Honey Bee crashed into a large rock thrust out from the bay, ripping the prow off from the sheer tork the whale exerted at one end, and the displaced weight of men and cargo at the other end. Men and cargo hurled into the smashing, churning sea. The whale swam off with a fragment of the vessel, pulled by the harpoon jutting up from its back. The waters were red, with whale blood spreading along its foamy surface.
Ilkchild swam for the shore line amidst the bloody froth of the whale’s wake, only to be lifted up out of the water at great speed. Pushed up by a writhing column of monster flesh, he rose out of the water twenty or thirty feet into the air.
Chapter 8 : The Cat Queen, the Wyrm, and the W-OS-E
In the early morning hours Wose and Va-Eyra sat down together in the Queen’s Hall before breakfast. He felt a strong connection with the queen. It was as if their spirits were merging even though they avoided discussing their conversation of the previous night. Wose reflected on what it would be like at some future date to sit with this noble queen every morn to breakfast. There was something gripping in her voice that always soothed him. Her eyes reflected the intelligence and spirit he had come to love. He wanted to stay, he wanted to believe he had completed his vows, but deep inside, he knew he had to defend his Lord Sur Sceaf at all costs including the costs of his own happiness, or life if required.
It wasn’t long before the hall started filling up with the morning staff preparing breakfast for the many guests. As the stewards began setting up the tables, the queen rose, picked up her rose-rood and said quietly, “Shall we stroll through my private garden before I call for breakfast? There is a beautiful blue hawthorn I go to commune with when I seek peace.”
“I would be delighted.” Wose said. He rose and offered his arm, “I love the Albespiene tree, especially when it is in full blow. It is after all, the tree of elves.”
They strolled out of the Queen’s Hall and through the ante chamber door into the garden. To the left, half hidden by clematis, was a gate behind which was the queen’s secret garden. Once inside they strolled leisurely through a drift of alyssum and crab apples blooming in pink and white blossoms ateam with busy honey bees. They arrived at the elf tree, and the blue hawthorn dominated the garden as center stage. Underneath the boughs was a beautifully carved bench with colorful cushions. To one side was a swing for Syr Elf and a sandbox where Wose and Rusyrus had played war games with marbles like children when the young prince was a toddler in former times.
Wose waited til the queen took her seat on the bench and then eased down beside her. “When the Albespiene is in bloom it always reminds me of how beautiful love can be.” She smiled. “But one must always beware of its thorns.”
“That is why it is called the Herewardi tree,” Wose said. “When I was a child, mother told me that the Elf Mother and the Elf Father took the blossoms of the hawthorn and cast them into the night sky to make the path of stars.”
“I heard like tales, only my mo mo said they took the haws and made the worlds with them. And she said, the thorns represent our defense against a hostile world of Pitters. I only hope we do not have to endure more reports of Pitter atrocities on the Hickoryan refugees in our land. Do you anticipate many survivors from the Redmond attack?”
“I gather that the attack was staged to appear like a Pitter attack.” Wose adjusted the scramasax on his calf where it had been rubbing against the bench. It occurred to him that his scramasax was his thorn. “It was a smoke screen that Standing Bull put up. The real motive of the renegades was to kidnap the women. I suspect there were not many casualties, but the terror it induced probably produced chaos and was costly in terms of assets.”
Wose began to relax, and drank in Va-Eyra’s beauty, but then realized soon he would be leaving.
As though reading his mind, Va-Eyra inquired, “What will be your next move, Wose?”
“I will follow the trail of the
renegade, Standing Bull, and the Pitters under Cha’Kal. They were forced to ride double on their horses to the Klamath Basin. Believe me, they will be easy to locate. When I catch up to them, I will pursue them to the enemy camp of the legions in Copperopolis. I plan to gather intelligence for Surrey and eventually stow away amongst slaves to determine how it is they plan to kill him. The Cha’Kal plans to unite there with the Growlings from the Poisoned Lands. Once we know the specific details of their plan, we can plan a counter maneuver and take them by surprise instead.”
Va-Eyra frowned, “I have heard that the Skull Worm is deploying his armies away from the White Mountains and coming to the aid of the Cha’Kal. Merchants who have stopped here in the past moonth report they have seen Pitter ambassadors negotiating for large numbers of ships from the Friscans. I have passed this on to the king, but thought it might give you a bigger picture.”
Wose said, “Ah, I had not known that. It’s the one drawback to operating alone in the wilderness with little contact with our forces. I know the fear has been that the Pitters are somehow increasing their forces by luring the Mexus into their camps through the method of dispensing noogs to them. If I could just amass a team of irregulars composed of men like Ilker and Kane, we could wreak total havoc on their legions. But with this news that they are purchasing ships, it appears as though they may have formed a new strategy and will attack us from sea.”
Va-Eyra tracked the flight of a golden eagle flying south. She sighed, “This is distressing news, because one of the premises we have operated from is that the Pitters do not like the sea. That’s partially why we moved the settlers to the coasts. The only way they could pull off an attack on the coasts is to have Mexus pirates transport them in great numbers.”
“This makes my mission to gather intelligence even more vital. I should be able to ferret out the information we need for Surrey by going into the heart of their encampment. Faeimp told me that Sur Spear’s spies are not yet positioned to glean the information we are going to require. It’s imperative that I go into Copperopolis for intelligence.”
The Isle of Ilkchild (The King of Three Bloods Book 4) Page 10
