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

by Russ L. Howard

  “We will carry harpoons and spears. I would advise you to take your weapons. Caves are a known haunt for beasts. Keep your axes sharp and those kukri knives Govannon made at your sides. Have them ready at all times. Surely cutting yourself out of the belly of that niccor has taught you the value of that.”

  “We’ll be alright, Father,” Ilkchild’s big smile showed even from a distance. He called down, “Fairchild, bring enough torches, and spare flints. We’ll need them.”

  Sunchild held up the kukri, “We’ll be armed with the ‘knives of the gods’.”

  “I cannot emphasize enough,” Sur Sceaf warned, “do not let your guard down. Keep them always with you. This is a strange land with still many an unknown danger.”

  Muryh examined his elf blade, turning it in his hand, feeling its sharp edge and added, “As spake Govannon, ‘Where blade and spirit are one, no enemy may prevail.’ If it breathes it bleeds. But I wore the clothes of a younger man when last I had to ply such a blade. This will prove to be most interesting.”

  * * *

  The sun melted through the fog like a hot coal on paper as the Raven headed northward, paralleling the great granite cliff which went on mile after mile without a break in its sheer face. For hours they rowed, trading off every two hours, and telling jokes and stories to keep their spirits up. After the third trade off, the men began laying down bets as to when the towering rock wall on their left would ever come to an end.

  Midway into the fourth shift of rowing the tedium was broken when both Makah and Turtle Duck simultaneously spotted a column of smoke in the distance.

  Cheers went up and Herman said, “Someone’s got to be there. Where there is fire, there is man, but I don’t know if it will be Sur Sceaf.”

  With renewed vigor they applied the oars, moving the Raven along at great speed.

  Shark-Moon-Boy yelled, “Look! There’s the Honey Bee on the shore. It’s on its side. I believe it must have wrecked.”

  Long Swan rushed to the other side of the boat. “There’s no one there. I don’t see a single soul. This does not bode well.”

  Makah posited, “Shouldn’t we go inspect it?”

  “No,” Raven’s Tongue ordered. “We’ll go to where the smoke is. If no one is there we go back to the boat.”

  As they drew nearer they saw the smoke was rising from a great rock out-cropping a short distance from shore. Jagged monoliths and enormous boulders rose like a castle from the sea and just beyond that, the land began curving to the left into a deep bay.

  Standing in the prow, Raven’s Tongue was able to make out the signal fire and next to it a crude totem of a bird, made out of driftwood at approximately two man-lengths high. “That is definitely man-made.”

  When the prow cut into the shallows and sand to stop, Raven’s Tongue ordered the crew to pull the Raven ashore and secure it while Turtle Duck, Yellow Horse, and Long Swan waded though the surf to the totem.

  “Look,” Long Swan pointed up and cried. “There’s a message cask in the beak of the bird.” The nagging fear that he had been trying to ignore changed to hope.

  “I’ll get it,” Yellow Horse belted out as he shimmied up the crude totem pole and grabbed the cask. After tossing it down, he followed.

  “Well, what does it say,” Long Swan eagerly asked as Raven’s Tongue pulled out the contents revealing a sheet from the Captain’s Log.

  The rest of the crew joined them in time to hear Raven’s Tongue declare, “A message from Sur Sceaf. Says they were ship wrecked, all are safe, they’ve set up camp in a sea cavern just above us, and they’re here, hail, and hearty. Message says they’ve gone up to the headlands to the northwest.” He fell silent for a moment as he read on. “Ah! And there’s a warning with lightning bolts scribbled beside it. Sur Sceaf says, ‘Be cautious, as there are trolls in the land.’ Something about a beast larger than three bears with a lion’s mane. It reads that they’ll meet us here at the cave in three days time.”

  The crew members looked at each other in surprise and began firing questions at Raven.

  Raven’s Tongue held up his hand. “I’ve told you all I know so far.” He looked up at the yawning cavern mouth and the cliffs bending around the north of the island. “We’ll just have to wait till we join them for the answers we all want. Let us go up to the sea cave and scout it out before we haul our gear all the way up there. Then we can fill our bellies and after that, by god, go searching for them. For I’ll be damned if I’m going to wait around here for three days twiddling my thumbs and sun bathing like some Citriodoran gentleman.”

  Govannon appeared dazed. “I can’t believe, just as I saw in my scrying, a jeweled isle in the deep.”

  “What did you say?” Raven’s Tongue asked.

  “Nothing,” Govannon answered. “Nothing you need to hear just yet.”

  “As you wish,” Raven’s Tongue said, “We must remain on our guard. This voyage is not unfolding as I expected. First, the Honey Bee disappears into an unusually dense fog bank and then in searching for Surrey and the others, we fetch up on an island that no one even knew existed.”

  Makah threw back his strands of long black hair. “Perhaps the old tales of monsters, mermaids, and strange lands as told by our ancestors are true. It’s like we entered a dream trance ever since we entered the fog bank yesterday. Now we are where all manner of strange creatures now reside.”

  El Yid postulated, “This troll they speak of, Sur Sceaf warned about, may simply be a grizzly, and those are truly ferocious. Yet, I have never heard of one having a mane. Perhaps they spotted it while it had something in its mouth.” He frowned, “Or mayhap it is truly a grass beast, same as my father said struck the Sixes River area ten years ago.”

  Makah appeared unnerved. “My people have tales of encounters with a beast very much like they describe. It is bigger than a grizzly, more powerful than buffalo, more voracious than a wolverine. We planted enough spears in it to make it a porcupine and nothing dropped it. Only flaming arrows drove it away and forced it to run from us. Such creatures are not strangers to the wild north.”

  Turtle Duck said in his gravelly voice, “Then there must be one of them here. Be on the look out for any tracks or scat.”

  Raven’s Tongue had half the crew wait by the boat, while the rest of them, armed with harpoons and whaling spears cautiously headed for the sea chamber above. He placed Coyote, the tracker, in the lead to detect anything unusual. Long Swan and Turtle Duck both walked beside Coyote, with their whale spears at the ready.

  The wind was growing stronger, blowing the smoke out to sea. An afternoon mist hung over the cliffs. The sea chamber proved to be empty after all. Sur Sceaf’s cargo was neatly stowed against the wall and was intact. In the center of the large cavern, a campfire lay banked.

  Coyote placed his hand close to the ashes, and discovered the coals beneath still smouldered. To the side, driftwood and bamboo culms were neatly stacked. His sharp eyes narrowed. Coyote turned in a complete circle critically surveying the area. He walked a few paces toward the back of the cavern and picked up one of the bamboo culms. After studying the scene for a moment, the Apache let out, “Look at these culms. It appears to me that these bamboo pieces have been gnawed upon by some creature and then tossed aside.”

  Yellow Horse grinned, “Maybe the grass beast uses toothpicks.”

  Makah frowned, “You jest now Joker, but if you ever lay eyes on this beast, you will cringe and be bleached whiter than a pale face with fear.”

  Turtle Duck tossed some culms on the coals and began to blow. “I know of no creature that eats culms, but I always feel safer in the presence of fire so let’s kick the fire up.”

  After the culms caught flame, Herman heaved an enormous trunk of driftwood next to it and tossed up some more culms over the fire.

  Coyote continued to study the scene. “bamboo does not grow in a cave. And I saw no evidence of it anywhere outside of the cave other than up on the cliffs beneath the palms. Something or someone
brought these here. And I doubt it was Sur Sceaf. After all, I’ve never known him to eat bamboo and they weren’t here long enough to get that hungry.”

  Long Swan said, “Then you don’t know my brother.” But his attempt at easing some of their fears fell flat.

  Raven’s Tongue declared, “Yellow Horse signal for the others to bring up the provisions. Build the fire bigger. We’ll fill our bellies and then go look for this wandering prince, Sur Sceaf.”

  * * *

  What initially appeared as a narrow game trail, gradually widened until seven men could walk it abreast with room to spare. Occasionally, they encountered overhanging gorse that forced them to go double file. To their right the land sloped downward seven man’s length before falling away abruptly. Far below, the sea shone a kelpie green. To their left was a solid wall of granite running up a thousand feet or more. It was difficult to see any tracks on the hard stone path, although, Mendaka did his best to find any. The sun beat down on the gorse and its sweet coconut-peach fragrance was heady on the warming breeze. From the brush came choruses of bird song.

  Mendaka said, “Look. That looks like wisent hair hanging from that gorse bush.” He grasped the hair in his fingers feeling its coarse texture and said, “It’s not wisent and it’s not grizzly. It’s something I’ve never encountered before. Almost like long cat fur.”

  Elijah winced. “This old man has slaughtered his share of big boars in his day, but I doubt I’ll be of much use for anything bigger than that.”

  “Great, so now this is where the master builder becomes bait for you hunters.” Muryh said.

  Mendaka admonished. “This is no joke Muryh. From Xelph’s description, we need to take extreme caution. Xelph wouldn’t have exaggerated. Be alert and ready for anything that might come up or down this trail.”

  “Mendaka is right,” Sur Sceaf agreed. “It is better to assume we will eventually encounter this beast. Khem, Crooked Jack, and I are in front with our whaling spears. We will strike the beast in the upper chest. After our initial strike you two will fall back and I will remain. Then Mendaka and Red Fox employ their harpoons. Hartmut, you and Elijah cover our rear. If this does not stop it, then everyone will have to use whatever means you can devise to survive, even if this means to skedaddle, if that would even be possibile on this high cliff ledge.”

  Elijah glanced over the ledge and looked around nervously. “Hartmut and I certainly are not warriors, Sur Sceaf. We are of little use to thee.”

  Sur Sceaf put a hand on his shoulder. “On the contrary, my friend, you’re strong from all of your farm work. You’ll be covering our rears. Just look at it like slaughtering a bull, one strong hammer blow to the head and it’s over.”

  “But I don’t have a hammer, Sur Sceaf.”

  Red Fox took his back-pack off, pulled out an ax and said, “Try this Elijah. Bring it down right between the monster’s eyes.”

  Elijah took the ax, tested its weight and balance and declared, “That makes me feel a lot more comfortable.”

  “Hartmut, do you remember when we had mock battles in our youth? You were pretty damned good with staves, spear, and sword. Surely, you still have those skills.”

  “I remember that thou didst teach me to confront a battle as if I had already died and then make it the costliest death an enemy could ever inflict. But in all honesty, I’ve never had to slaughter a charging bull, nor especially one with teeth and claws.”

  “The gods want us to possess this land, I feel it in here.” Sur Sceaf struck his breast. “But that also means they want us to prove that we are worthy of such a prize.”

  Once in attack formation, they proceeded cautiously up the gorse trail. After going another plough length they encountered a small streamlet running across the trail. There in the mud and all along its side were the deep wallows of something very large.

  Mendaka examined the tracks. “Although the footprints are not completely distinguishable, the breadth and width of each one is terrifying in its dimensions. The mere space between them indicates a creature of great weight and enormous stride. It’s for sure; this is something we’ve never before encountered.”

  Crooked Jack examined the tracks closer. “I can’t even decide whether this creature goes on two feet or four.”

  Mendaka said, “The mud does not allow us to determine that. I can’t even determine if this creature is going one way or the other. Maybe the tracks overlap each other from both directions. If it has claws like a bear, they are retracted when walking, but I know of no bear that can retract its claws.”

  Coyote said, “I see no muddy tracks on the path ahead, so I think it should be safe to go on.”

  “I agree,” Sur Sceaf said, “But for safety’s sake, we will proceed slowly.”

  Beyond the stream, the path took a rise for a plough length and then angled around a bend to the left.

  “Keep a sharp eye,” Sur Sceaf ordered.

  Moments later, a pack of six coyotes came running down the path at full gait. When the leader spotted them in the middle of the path they veered into the gorse and scurried down, slipping and sliding down the steep incline rather than reverse course back up the path they had just come down.

  Sur Sceaf was now hyper-vigilant. He sensed that something wicked lay just ahead. “Get ready,” he shouted.

  They stopped with weapons ready and braced for the attack. No sooner was this done, than the grass beast came lumbering around the bend about fifty yards in front of them. It stood up erect and as tall as three bears. Its nostrils sniffed the air. It tore branches from the gorse, as it swung its arms from side to side and let out its challenging roar. The strong odor that preceded the troll smelled of horse piss and cat piss and other strong herbal smells, like juniper and wormwood. Its breath gushed out in rank gusts before it. Each bellow revealed saber length canines.

  Sur Sceaf’s heart thundered in his chest. Khem muttered a prayer, “God help us all.”

  Crooked Jack gave a quick glance. “Stand firm men, if it breathes, it bleeds, and it can be killed.”

  When the beast stood thirty feet ahead, it dropped to all fours and with a bellow charged.

  Chapter 11 : The Grass Beast

  The air of the caves gave off a musty smell reminescent of Ilkchild’s autumnal forays with his sister Faechild for mushrooms and truffles. Somewhere behind him one of the crew dislodged a boulder that went tumbling down into the stream. He called a halt to allow Fairchild, his half-cyn, to paint a rune with red ochre on the cave wall, so as to mark their path and show the way back.

  Eerie shadows from their torches cast grotesque shadows on the walls of the damp cavern. From the very first, Fromer walked in Elf Beard’s shadow like a frightened child. When Fairchild was finished, Ilkchild resumed the steep climb upward.

  Sunchild cursed. “Damn it, it’s a slippery trail in these moccasins.”

  Another boulder went tumbling down into the stream again sending echoes reverberating throughout the labyrinthine caverns.

  Elf Beard grunted disapproval. “Sure as Hell are a noisy lot of young bloods. If there is a dragon in here, then he damned well knows we are here too. Any of you boys ever stalked an elk before? Because if you did, I’m sure you didn’t eat any.”

  Ilkchild gave an understanding grunt. When they finally reached the top, Ilkchild called a halt so that Fairchild could paint another rune with ochre along the cave wall.

  “Do you think we will encounter anything unusual, Elf Beard?” Fairchild asked as he tucked the chunk of ochre back into its pouch on his belt.

  “Nah, my boy, won’t see nothin but aels, brim-wylfs, and other dark and dire foes with teeth, claws, and venomous bites. Throw in a couple of trolls and if we are really unlucky, maybe even a mother-in-law or two of mine and you’ll have a full house.”

  Fromer gasped, “Are you speaking of demons and schnallygasters?”

  The young bloods laughed.

  “No, Fromer,” Elf Beard said, “those creatures are simply myths
of our folk, I’m thinking the worse we could encounter is a bear, and we’re equipped to handle that. But so far I haven’t seen a single sign of bear or anything else for that matter.”

  They ceased conversation as they traversed a stretch of trail that was even more slippery, taking great care to plant their feet securely. After about ten body lengths, the ceiling pressed increasingly lower, crowding down on them.

  As they slowly approached the tight passage, Xelph worried aloud. “Ilkchild, it looks like the ceiling gets too low to go without bending or crawling. I can bend for a while but I sure as hell don’t feel like crawling.”

  Ilkchild called a halt. “Elfdane, you are the most flexible. You take the lead and we will follow. Tell us if we should turn back.”

  The soil gradually changed from red clay to a grey limestone clay mix and then turned into a fine powdery dust. The soft powder underfoot coated Ilkchild’s moccasins as he tread. Occasionally, they came across raccoon tracks in the soft mud near the stream, but nothing alarming.

  “Tracks show up very well in this grey limestone and clay mud, boys. It’ll give us warning if we see any bear tracks in there,” Xelph pointed out.

  By the time the cavern opened into a higher ceiling, Ilkchild’s back ached and Elf Beard was mumbling like a troll behind him. He straightened slowly before looking up. Ahead they saw curtains of blond stalagmites and white ribbons of crystal along the ceiling. Here and there the ceiling was made black with clusters of hanging bats that repositioned themselves from time to time.

  “This cave is a veritable labyrinth of caverns and chambers. It appears,” Ilkchild noted, “as though some of these caverns may run back out to sea and others are running down from up hill. The stream ought to be running up above the cliffs and where ever it enters the cave that will be our exit point. So let’s stick to this larger cave next to the stream. Though slippery, we can at least walk erect. I for one don’t want to look like Crooked Jack when this is all over.”

  With Elfwin Elfdane once again lighting their way with his torch, they followed the meandering route up the stream. Sometimes, the cave would diverge from the stream and then rejoin with the stream up ahead so that most of the time they walked on the dry ground and volcanic pumice. At other times, a low ceiling forced them to traverse the wet cave and slippery rocks.