Eviskar Island

by Warren Dalzell

  “Mmmm…this is superb.” Jack hadn’t been able to wait any longer. The steaks had cooled enough to handle, and he was savoring his first taste of cynodont. Spencer took the hint and dove into another piece of meat.

  Despite her hunger, Jocelyn held back. Convincing herself that the boys made good guinea pigs, she thought she’d wait to be sure the food was safe. If it didn’t cause them any gastric distress, she would eat some herself. No use taking chances. But harbored deep within her psyche lay the real reason she was reluctant to taste the cynodont: she’d seen the animal when it was alive. Knowing that’s what she would be eating was affecting her appetite. It had looked so terrified and helpless back there on the river bank moments before Endicott had dispatched it, and now a portion of it was sitting in front of her, grilled to perfection, smelling wonderful, sort of like the pork chops her mother prepared. Oh, knock it off, she chided herself. The animal was dead now. Cows, pigs and chickens probably look the same before they go to slaughter—except perhaps the chickens, she reasoned, after all, they were just birds—but all consumers ever see are dismembered cuts sitting on display in the meat section of the supermarket. And what about the fish she caught in the Gulf? She was never squeamish about eating the snapper or the reds she and her friends caught.

  “You better dig in, Jossy,” Jack said when he noticed her staring at her dinner. “But if you aren’t hungry, just pass your steak down to me. I could eat a horse.”

  “Unlike the rest of you heathens, some of us say Grace before we eat,” came her specious excuse as she picked up her portion and began to nibble. It was surprisingly good. Whatever her jumbled thoughts had led her to expect, this was different. Cynodont, she decided on the spot, would be tops on her list of favorites if they were available back home. Its taste was a delicate blend of chicken and pork, not gamey at all, and very tender. She slowly forgot about the source of the food, and concentrated on her own hunger. Within minutes she was done, her earlier trepidation replaced with the opinion that she’d just had the most remarkable meal of her life.

  “So tell me again what this thing is and where it came from. By that I mean what time it came from, you know, how long ago.” Jack was working on seconds, talking with his mouth full. He’d made a sandwich by putting cynodont meat between two small pieces of cycad “bread” and topping it with what Endicott had called, for lack of a better term, ‘cress,’ a nondescript but tasty water plant.

  “Go easy on the cress,” Endicott warned, “or you’ll be up all night. It has a mild laxative effect.”

  The warning caused Jack to pause in mid-bite.

  “”Yeah, you better not eat too mucha that grass,” Spencer laughed, “we don’t want you runnin’ into the bushes every five minutes on our hike tomorrow.”

  Jack made a face and reluctantly pulled the cress from his sandwich. It would have made for a tastier meal, but he figured it best not to take chances.

  “Our repast this evening, Jack, comes from a beast that hasn’t changed much, if at all, for perhaps 250 million years,” said Endicott.

  “No offense, but I have trouble putting that into context,” Jack replied. “I’m afraid my knowledge of geologic time is rather limited. Jocelyn knows when this world originated because of the plants that exist. Spencer happens to be an expert because he’s so darn smart. I think he reads encyclopedias or something. And you—you’re one of those professional guys who studies dinosaurs, what do you call ‘em, proctologists?”

  “Paleontologist,” Endicott offered. “I’m an archeologist, actually, PhD from McGill in 2002. My thesis research dealt with primitive cultures of the northeast Canadian seaboard, and the flora and fauna of the time. That explains why I became involved with the Eviskar dig. Prior to that, however, I had strong interests in geology and paleontology. I took numerous courses in both of those subjects during my undergraduate years in Halifax.”

  He crossed his arms and sighed, “I wish I were more knowledgeable in so many areas. Sometimes I feel that I became trapped here through divine providence, that instead of feeling cursed I should embrace the extraordinary scientific good fortune of being able to live amongst these ancient beasts and plants, and to study them in the most intimate manner. Many of my colleagues would give almost anything for such an opportunity, but, frankly, after having spent so much time here, I just want out. Already too much of my life has been spent in contemplation of how in Heaven’s name this place came to be. All I think about now is how much I crave a cold glass of beer and a good hockey game.” Endicott turned to Spencer. “Before we retire for the evening, Spencer, would you care to enlighten me and our friends here with your thoughts about this bizarre place? I personally would like to hear the objective opinions of another knowledgeable human being who has experienced this world.”

  Spencer couldn’t believe what Endicott had just suggested. Here was a distinguished scientist asking for his opinion, the views of fifteen-year-old Spencer Bowen, a High School student from Brooklyn. After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he began his discourse by addressing Jack:

  “Like I said before, 250 million years ago there was a major extinction event, the most extensive die-off of life the planet has evah known. Among the higher land-based life forms to have survived the cataclysm were tetrapods, animals that paleontologists have divided into two distinct sub-groups: sauropsids and therapsids. That archosaur we met yesterday was a saurapsid. They eventually evolved along two lines: dinosaurs and birds on one branch, ‘an crocodiles on the other.”

  “Wait,” interrupted Endicott, “did you say you encountered an archosaur the other day?”

  “Yeah, he chased me up a tree, almost ate me, why?”

  “You’re one lucky fellow, Spencer. Those big archosaurs rule the western part of the island. Fast and lethal, there is no question they occupy the very top of the food chain. The climate down there is much more to their liking, the abundance of geothermal vents keep it warm and moist, decidedly more tropical than these parts. I’ve long felt that the cynodonts that live up here may be warm-blooded, at least to some extent. The archosaurs and dicynodonts that thrive in the swamps to the south and west are much more reptilian. They need the constant eighty degree environment down there to maintain reasonable body temperature. When I say you were lucky, I mean it in two ways. You were fortunate to survive, that’s obvious, but you were also blessed to have seen one. If they could exist in these cooler regions for any significant length of time, they would decimate the populations of all reasonably-sized prey. Even within the narrow confines of this island universe, there are well-defined separate ecosystems. It would be fascinating to study so much of this world if I didn’t bloody well have to live here.”

  “So, getting back to what Spencer said,” Jack interrupted, “archosaurs are related to dinosaurs?”

  “Yeah, according to analysis of their fossils, dinosaurs evolved from sauropsids…archosaurs…within fifty million years or so. The therapsids, the other main group to have survived the great extinction, existed in three main types: dicynodonts, cynodonts and therocephalians. Therocephalians went extinct pretty fast ‘an the dicynodonts, like the one the archosaur went after in the river, they went extinct in the Triassic. It’s the cynodonts that were the important line. While dinosaurs, birds ‘an crocodiles evolved from archosaurs, cynodonts were the progenitors of mammals.”

  All four individuals were silent for a moment, contemplating what Spencer said.

  “I think I get it now,” Jack admitted. “This world is perhaps 250 million years old, predating the time when dinosaurs ruled. And it was a dinosaur ancestor who almost turned you into lunch yesterday. The critter we ate tonight, and the guys who ate his guts in the ravine, are our distant ancestors.” He paused before adding, “That makes a lot of sense to me now. Those cynodont lizard wolves bear a striking resemblance to my Uncle Fred.”

  Outside it began to rain, a gentle drizzle bringing a chorus of soft plops from the leafy thatch covering of the hut. End
icott covered the coals with ash from the periphery of the fire pit and closed the smoke hole in the roof.

  “Tomorrow will be a monumental day,” he announced soberly. “You’d best make ready and catch some sleep. We’ve got quite a distance to cover.”

  Jack yawned by way of assent. Crawling to a corner of the one-room shelter, he draped a cynodont hide over his tired frame and used another as a pillow. “Boy, when this is over, when Debbie is tended to and we all get back to the archeological dig, the first thing I’m going to do is disappear into my nice warm, comfy sleeping bag and sleep for twenty-four hours. Then, I’m going to write down everything that’s happened to us on this island…” Suddenly he was asleep. No sooner than he’d lain down, Spencer too was sawing wood. Neither boy had slept much in the past two nights, and their overwhelming fatigue, coupled with a full and satisfying meal, had abruptly caught up with them.

  Jocelyn was just as tired as her companions, but sleep eluded her. Something she couldn’t logically comprehend bothered her. It had to do with Endicott. Just before Jack had dozed off, she noticed Endicott staring at him. The look on his face was hard to define because of his thick matte of facial hair, but his eyes for a brief moment were cold and disapproving, almost hateful. The man was an enigma. As someone who was good at reading the moods of others, Jocelyn found the Doctor’s personality to be impenetrable. At times he was jovial, willing to engage in stimulating conversation and eager to discuss his life in exile. Often, however, he’d turn cold and spiteful, a man lost in gloomy thoughts and bad memories. Right now, in this remote shelter and in the presence of this unpredictable man, Jocelyn knew she wouldn’t go to sleep. There was danger here, she could feel it, sense it. For the sake of herself and her two friends, instinct compelled her to stand guard.

  Endicott slept on a straw-lined bed against the wall opposite from where the students lay. The interior of the hut was only as dark as a night illuminated by a full moon. The glow from the Sun that lay just beneath the mountain peaks filtered through gaps around the door and windows, enabling the occupants to observe one another in silhouette. For a while Jocelyn sat on a woven mat made of course reeds and leaned against the rock wall. Rhythmic snoring resonated from where Spencer and Jack lay, their minds peacefully wandering into dreamland, secure in the knowledge of an imminent return to the civilized world.

  After sitting for perhaps half an hour Jocelyn stood and made her way to the door. As she passed Endicott she whispered that she was stepping outside to pee. Regular, heavy breathing emanated from the prostrate form. The good Doctor was asleep. Leaving the door wide open, she turned the corner and squatted out of view of Endicott, but she maintained a direct line of sight to where the boys lay. Upon her return she left the door partially open. Her eyes were now sufficiently dark adapted to allow for a closer look around the residence.

  There wasn’t much to see. A leather poncho and the now famous spear were located just to her left. Otherwise the only item of note was a pile of what looked to be homemade clothing or hides resting on a chair near the back of the hut. She tiptoed over to inspect. Cautiously she lifted the top skin. Underneath were a small backpack made of nylon and a steel pot of moderate size. She was about to lay the cynodont hide back into place when she noticed something else. Something reflected the weak twilight streaming in through the open door. It was tucked into the main pocket of the pack. A glance in Endicott’s direction reassured her that he was indeed sound asleep, so she reached inside and pulled out a book. The corner of the dust cover was what had reflected the light. Holding it up for view she read the title: ‘The Vikings—Canada’s first European Immigrants.’ It was a large, profusely illustrated history of Viking settlements in North America. Jocelyn frowned. Certainly this was a volume likely to be in the possession of an archeologist like Endicott.

  A rustling noise off to her right made her start. Turning quickly she was relieved to see that it was just the professor rolling over in bed. She returned the book to the pack and replaced the hide that concealed it. In doing so she happened to notice yet another item that lay beside the pack. Small and dry, she couldn’t identify it at first, so she walked to the door to examine it in better light. It was a desiccated apple core. Jocelyn’s brow knitted in concentration. This wasn’t the sort of item one expected to see in a primitive, prehistoric world. Again she replaced her find exactly where she’d found it and quietly went to shut the door.

  Intrigued by what she’d discovered, Jocelyn Delaney felt her way towards the back of the hut and to the thin bed where she would wait out the night. Without realizing where she was, she stubbed her toe on one of the rocks lining the fire pit. Dropping to one knee, Jocelyn grabbed her foot and grimaced in agony. ‘Sonofabitch that hurt!’ She mouthed the words. She wanted to cry out and tell the world, in very explicit terms, how that stupid rock, in this stupid place, had, without provocation, attacked her poor little toe. But she couldn’t. Slumping to the floor, she stayed where she was, massaging her foot until the pain subsided to a tolerable level. “At least I don’t have to worry about falling asleep now,” she told herself in a tone dripping with irony. She finally let go of her throbbing appendage and leaned forward to inspect the damage.

  If fate hadn’t led her to trip over that rock, she never would have found it. In the dust beside her toe, half buried by the rock that had attacked her, another object glistened in the weak light coming through a crack in the door. She picked it up and knew immediately, from its reflectivity and its weight, what it was.

  Most High School girls, especially those who pay attention to their looks and personal adornments, know real gold when they see it. This was a large bracelet. It appeared to be very old. The surface was slightly pitted, indicating the presence of impurities, and it was covered with small hammer marks. Due to the darkness she couldn’t tell if it had a jeweler’s mark, but there were certainly no large engravings or inlays of any kind. It was a very heavy, very simple piece of gold.

  Jocelyn put the bracelet back under the rock and carefully walked back towards her sleeping mat. The items she’d seen were, to say the least, curious. What to make of them?

  Baffled by her discoveries, Jocelyn was lost in thought as she turned to sit. Out of the far corner of one eye, something else caught her attention. Endicott’s head seemed to be raised, silhouetted against the lighter background of the wall behind him. A quick glance was all it had been. She may have been mistaken. Had he really been propped on his elbow, watching her, studying her while she snooped through his stuff? She looked back in his direction, and saw that his head was on his pillow. He appeared to be sound asleep. She stared for a while and then lay down, passing off the vision as a figment of a paranoid imagination. Her premonitions about Doctor E. were probably unfounded, she tried to convince herself. Despite the man’s idiosyncrasies he had accepted them into his abode, hadn’t he? He’d fed them a decent meal and in the morning he would lead them away from this horrible place. And the objects she’d found? There was undoubtedly a logical explanation for everything. Chiding herself for being so suspicious, she relaxed to let some of the pent-up anxiety of the past two days melt away. But not all of it. The one thing she needed most, a good night’s sleep, was something she knew she wouldn’t get.

  The “coffee” made from roasted cycad seeds was surprisingly palatable, if not a tad more bitter than the real thing. Even with syrup made from rendered tree sap—a precious and difficult to produce commodity in which Endicott took tremendous pride—the students didn’t consume much. They did, however, bestow numerous compliments regarding the exotic beverage. Doctor Endicott was in a chipper mood and his guests weren’t about to say or do anything to change that. They ate a sumptuous breakfast of cold cynodont, coffee, cycad biscuits and a fleshy vegetable, a tuber of some sort, somewhat akin in taste to an overripe pineapple. Endicott took his time, relishing what he considered to be the last meal in his camp of the past year. The other three hungrily wolfed-down their food, barely taking the
time to savor and chew. They wanted to get started. Images of Marcie and a suffering Debbie clouded their thoughts and lent urgency to preparations for the trek to the inhospitable cliff where their comrades were enduring another cold, damp morning.

  Jack was the first to stand and grab his backpack. “I’ve got plenty of room in my pack,” he announced to no one in particular. “Load me up and let’s move out.”

  Jocelyn stood and stretched. “Sounds good,” she said brightly. She was exhausted but didn’t dare show her fatigue. To satisfy her curiosity about her recent find, she “accidentally” kicked the rock under which the gold bracelet lay. Bending down to pick it up, she examined it thoughtfully, as if for the first time.

  “Ah, I was wondering where that was.” Endicott took the object from her and smiled. He nodded with satisfaction and added wistfully, “Randrup’s good luck piece.” Despondency crept into his tone as he ran his fingers over the pitted surface. “Aage Randrup. You may recall he was one of my two colleagues who died in our tragic fall of a year ago. He recovered this from the Eviskar dig site. From the moment he found it, he exhibited a profound attachment to it. Viking gold. He wore it on his wrist henceforth, wouldn’t even take it off to bathe.”

  “That’s stealing,” Spencer noted. “It’s an archeological artifact. He had no right to just take it like that.”

  “You are entirely correct, Spencer. His actions were decidedly improper. Of course everyone knew what he’d done, but…” Endicott heaved a sigh in remembrance of his former friend. “Most of us excused what he did. You had to have known him to understand why. Aage was a proud Greenlander, a complex man who treasured both his Inuit and Norse ancestries. This bracelet, it, well—it represented his Scandinavian heritage, his Viking roots. His attachment to it was obsessive. It was as though he drew some immense inner strength from its presence; it established a link to its former owner, a Norseman of obvious stature due to its size and weight.”