Eviskar Island

by Warren Dalzell

  He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw the pleading look on her face. He knew immediately that whatever it was, she was asking for something she considered very important.

  “Cut my hair.”

  “What? You serious?”

  “Please, Jack, take it off right here.” Her fingers held a lock about an inch above her shoulders.

  “All I have is my pocket knife, Jossy.”

  “That will do just fine, Jack, just fine.”

  * * *

  Spencer was making good time. He was trying to stay more or less at the same elevation as Endicott’s camp, contouring around hills and up gorges, every so often moving higher or lower to circumvent obstacles. He knew that sooner or later he’d run into the field of huge boulders that had diverted him and his colleagues to the south two long days ago. Finding his way around that would be tough, but it was something he’d just have to face when the time came. There were miles to go in the meantime.

  Ahead of him lay one of the kinds of obstacles he was anticipating. Far upslope an impressive waterfall tumbled from high among the coastal peaks. Over eons, water had carved a deep gorge that meandered through the foothills over which he was hiking. Somewhere downstream this stream would flow into the large river coming from the east, the one he, Jocelyn, and Jack had forded earlier. The gorge was too steep to navigate at his present location; he’d have to find an acceptable place to cross.

  Spencer sat for a moment to collect his thoughts and ponder the situation. He looked to the east, to the source of the water, and realized he’d never be able to negotiate the cliffs that rose out of the mist beside the waterfall. That meant he had to move downstream. He didn’t want to descend into the valley itself, with its high heat, humidity and the threat from predators. This stream would also merge with others along the way thereby increasing the size of what was already a formidable hazard. At last he made his decision. He would hike downstream and cross at the first available opportunity.

  Spencer couldn’t believe his luck. At a point where the stream cut between two low hills, a tree had fallen across. It was a large conifer whose roots had been exposed during periods of high runoff. Enough soil had washed away that its base couldn’t support it, and it had toppled over. Unfortunately the trunk didn’t span the entire waterway, but it did form a nice bridge over the faster flowing water beside the near bank. He decided this was it. This was the best place to cross.

  At the water’s edge, Spencer took a deep breath. Seen close up the water was much deeper and faster moving than it had appeared from a distance. Nonetheless, he tightened the chest strap of his backpack, clenched his teeth and stepped onto the log. He tried to focus on the stationary trunk and the placement of his feet rather than the disorienting sight of the foamy water roiling below. Inch by inch he moved across, carefully picking where to place his hands and feet in order to maintain balance on the wet, slippery moss-covered wood.

  Crack! At just over half way his luck ran out. He fell into the creek still holding the branch that had given way. He’d put too much weight on it and the frail limb had pulled right out of the rotted trunk. His left arm slammed into a rock sending a wave of pain through his shoulder, and the shock of ice cold water numbed his senses as he was swept dazedly downstream, unable to stop moving. Desperately grabbing for any sort of hold, he tumbled onward, feeling helpless and out of control.

  Struggling just to keep his head above the surface of the churning water, he caught a glimpse of a large, jagged rock about fifty feet in front of him. Located mid-stream, it was right in the way. He was going to hit it, and hit it hard. Two choices flew through his mind as he catapulted towards it. He could try to deflect off of it, push away with either his hands or his feet in order to stave off a collision, or he could take an awful risk: he could try to grab it. He might be swept directly into it with devastating consequences, but, if he could move to the side at the last second, maybe, just maybe…

  Steeling his arms for impact, he grabbed for the rock as he simultaneously rolled his body to the side. The powerful current yanked at his legs trying to force him onward, but his grip held. It felt as though he were hanging from a chin-up bar with a fifty pound weight strapped to his ankles.

  The strain on his shoulders was incredible. He knew he couldn’t hold on for long, so, summoning all the strength he could muster, he pulled with his arms and kicked with his legs, somehow managing to move his body into the eddy at the upstream end of the rock. The far shore was still more than ten feet from him, but at least he’d stopped moving downstream. Exhausted, he rested for a moment and looked around. Water splashed against the side of his head and into his eyes, making it difficult to see clearly. Staring ahead, he gradually focused on something that protruded out over the water. It was a branch. What he couldn’t make out, however, was whether or not it was attached to anything. If he grabbed it, would it prove to be his salvation, or would he continue his trip downstream with a new piece of rotted wood for company? “I don’t really have a choice,” he realized. He had to get out of the water before hypothermia made it impossible to move. He was going to drown if he didn’t act soon. With a mighty shove, he propelled himself towards the river’s edge and grasped for the branch with both hands.

  It held. He hung there for a moment, clinging to the branch, and rested. Finally, summoning what little strength he had left, Spencer clawed his way along the branch and up onto the bank. The cold, shivering fifteen-year-old lay in a mass of ferns and muck, spent from his labors, but aware, also, that he’d overcome a major hurdle on his trip to get back to Debbie and Marcie. Gone were his spear and his coveted Yankees cap, precious and valuable possessions now given up to the awesome natural forces that ruled this strange land. But once again, Spencer Bowen had prevailed. As he continued to win at this battle for survival, his confidence increased and his resolve strengthened.

  A noise in the foliage startled him and he quickly drew his knife from his belt. A snout soon appeared, followed by a small squat body about the size of his neighbor, Mrs. Benavidez’s, beagle. To Spencer’s relief, its features were benign. It was a small, herbivorous cynodont. The two stared at one another, neither showing signs of either fear or aggression. The cynodont extended its whiskered face until they were nose to nose. It carefully sniffed and analyzed the scent of this odd interloper, this alien visitor to its realm. Spencer was likewise enthralled with the idea of interacting with a living fossil. Months earlier he had been reading about beasts such as this, imagining from pictures of their petrified remains what they might be like. Slowly he reached forward and ran his hand across the animal’s smooth, leathery head, and looked into its amphibian-like eye. The cynodont snuffled once before turning and waddling away.

  Spencer watched the animal disappear into the shadows. Darkness was coming. The Sun, heavily muted by leaden cloud, was marching inexorably towards the high hills to the North and would soon be hidden for the hours that masqueraded as ‘night’ in this odd land high above the Arctic Circle. Cold, tired and wet, he realized he needed to find a tree in which to wait until morning. To continue his journey in darkness would be dangerous and foolhardy. It hurt to stand, but he forced himself onward, trudging toward a small, nearby grove of conifers. Tomorrow he’d get an early start and push himself over the last uphill stretch that, hopefully, would lead him to the cliff below the ridge where this whole ordeal had begun. He’d soon be reunited with Marcie and Debbie—unless Endicott got there first.

  * * *

  Where the heck were they? Endicott re-crossed the river at the place he’d expected Jocelyn and Jack to have forded. Again he carefully examined the muddy bank for footprints—none. He’d dispensed with Spencer quickly enough, and his pace along the trail had surely been sufficient to overtake the others prior to the river crossing. Confused, he stood still and pondered what must have happened. “They didn’t ford here,” he surmised. “That’s obvious. They must have gotten lost and crossed elsewhere.” For the life of him, Endicott coul
dn’t imagine a better place. Upstream the current in the river was just too swift. And downstream? He didn’t know this part of the valley well enough to answer that question. But along the lake and below, it was absolutely choked with vegetation and all but impassable. Unless they were to have stayed at higher elevation and wandered south, they couldn’t cross the valley for some distance. He finally concluded that they were still on this side of the river.

  The sky was darkening. Searching for the two students would be difficult in the fading light. Morning would come soon enough. He’d find them then, and when he did, their unexpected visit would come to an end. Consideration would then shift to the other two, the injured woman, Debbie, and the young girl, Marcie. If Marcie hadn’t wandered too far from the cliff, might it be best to let them live? If she and Debbie knew nothing of the island’s prehistoric character, they might not pose a threat to him. “No,” he abruptly decided, they had to die too. Were they to make it back alive they would certainly report the disappearance of the other three students and a massive search would ensue. All evidence must be removed from the beach and cliff areas to keep rescuers from snooping around that ridge and stumbling into the island’s interior.

  Hefting his spear, Endicott jogged back up the trail to find a place to pass the night. In the morning he had business to attend to, nasty business, but, in the end, it had to be done. This world and the treasures it contained, his treasures, had to be protected. He soon found a nice tree and settled into its lower branches. Unbeknownst to him, less than half a mile away, Endicott’s prey had just finished their evening meal.

  XIII.

  The platform in the gingko tree was littered with patches of blonde hair. Jack Malinowski sat back and closed his folding knife.

  “Oh, how I wish I had a mirror.” Jocelyn was carefully feeling the ends of her hair, trying to generate a mental image of how she must look.

  “You look great, Jossy,” Jack assured her, “It’s the best haircut I’ve ever given.”

  “Really? You’re kidding.”

  “Nope,” he smiled, “It’s also the worst haircut I’ve ever given—it being the only one.” She pouted, but he added brightly, “You look great with short hair, honest.” In fact, Jack couldn’t stop staring at her. At that moment he thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She caught him looking and it made him blush. “Of course, you have to give enormous credit to your barber for that crazy cut. I can see it now. When we get back to civilization, people will see you and marvel at what henceforth will be called the ‘Malinowski Doo.’ All the finest salons will offer it. Hairdressers will be sharpening their pocket knives to give customers that ‘Tarzan-cuts-Jane’s-hair-in the-jungle’ look. I’ll make a ton of money to augment my meager salary as an astronomer.”

  “Very impressive,” Jocelyn noted. “I didn’t realize you had such savoir-faire when it comes to style. So, are you gay?”

  The question stunned poor Jack. “Aw, shoot. All I did was what you asked me to do. I mean, it’s not like I’m into, I don’t know, flower arranging or anything. You wanted me to cut your hair. It isn’t a big deal.”

  She took his hand in both of hers and couldn’t resist a sly smile. She’d put him on the spot, insulted his masculinity, and it was making him squirm. “Sorry,” she swooned, “I guess it wasn’t fair to ask you that…but are you?”

  “What?”

  “Gay”

  “Heck no.” He smiled when he saw the mischief in her eyes, eyes that were pale blue and tinted by the setting Sun, the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. “But, what if I were? Would it make a difference?”

  “Oh no, most certainly not, at least not when it comes to friendship.” Now it was her turn to feel uncomfortable. “You have to admit, however, that if there were to develop any sort of romance between us, then maybe it would be problematic…” She trailed off when she noticed Jack was no longer looking at her. Instead, he seemed fixated on something above them. She followed his gaze but didn’t see anything. What could be more important than her subtle hints about starting a romantic relationship? Maybe he really was as clueless as she’d believed earlier. “A penny for your thoughts,” she sighed.

  He was doing his extended fist thing again, alternately measuring the sky and glancing at his watch. Pointing to a rare break in the clouds he said, “Yep, that’s Deneb. It was tough to identify without being able to see the surrounding stars in Cygnus, but, yeah, it’s him. It’s my favorite star.” Both of them watched as wisps of cloud moved in to gradually cover the faint sparkling image, turning the sky once again into a dull grey blanket. “I say it’s my favorite because it’s truly impressive.” Jack sounded as though he were speaking about an old friend.

  “Really?” said Jocelyn in a tired voice. She admired Jack’s enthusiasm, but she herself didn’t think stars were such a big deal. Sure, it was nice to look up and see them on clear nights, kind of romantic even, but when you got right down to it, they were just faint spots of light.

  “Yeah, really. It’s one of the largest, most luminous stars known. Even though it’s about two thousand light years away, it’s still one of the brightest stars in the sky, one of the three that make up the ‘summer triangle’ asterism. Think about it, Jossy, the light we just saw left Deneb around the time Christ was born! It puts out fifty to a hundred thousand times as much light as the Sun.”

  “So it’s bigger than our Sun?”

  “Bigger? I’d say! Try twenty solar masses. There’s a limit to how big stars can get, and Deneb’s right up there. When one gets to be that size it burns fuel at an enormous rate. Of course that means Deneb won’t live long. It’s maybe ten million years old, give or take, and it probably can’t last more than a few million more before it dies in a supernova explosion. It may already have exploded. If that happened today, we wouldn’t know about it for two millennia.”

  “Yes, it’s very impressive,” Jocelyn said with a yawn, “but I think all the technical talk detracts from the charm of camping out on the beach, or sitting in a smelly gingko tree and looking at tiny lights twinkling against a black void.” The Sun was now lost behind the hills and the air was noticeably cooler. She snuggled up to him. “Sometimes I wish we lived in the past, Jack. Not the 250 million years ago past, but long enough ago to where the stars were a mystery to mankind. The majesty of the heavens has been lost to some degree, now that we know so much about them.”

  Jack put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. “When I was young, maybe ten years old or so, my dad took me camping. We went to some park up in Canada, somewhere in northern Ontario. What I remember most about the trip is the view of the sky at night.” He shifted so that he could see her face. “You have to understand that I was a kid from the city. From my house I’d seen the moon, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn and a few bright stars, but didn’t think much about them. Up there in Canada, my dad pointed out a bunch of stars, the same ones that are above us right now hidden from view, and he told me about the Milky Way and the constellation Cygnus, ‘The Swan.’ And you’re absolutely right, Jossy. As a kid I was awed by the majesty of what I saw and fascinated by what was then a mystery to me. Now that I’ve learned more about stars, they continue to fascinate me, but much of the mystique isn’t there anymore.

  “Now, in ancient Greece the sky was the realm of the Gods. Nothing could surpass the grandeur of what they saw in the heavens, and numerous explanations arose about how the constellations like Cygnus came to be. In fact, Cygnus is one whose lore I know something about because Deneb is one of its defining stars, representing the swan’s tail.

  “One account says that the Gods were so enamored with the poet Orpheus that, upon his death, he was turned into a swan and placed amongst the other constellations. Another claim is that Cygnus was the pet bird of the Nubian princess Cassiopeia. But the predominant Greek myth holds that Cygnus is the image of the form taken by Zeus when he fell in love with the mortal woman Leda, wife of Tyndareus, the King of Sparta.”<
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  “Zeus was more or less the number one God of the Greeks, wasn’t he?” Jocelyn interjected. “What could possibly have made him fall in love with a mortal?”

  “I would presume,” Jack said after a moment of mock contemplation, “that Leda was a great botanist and swimmer. I can definitely see him falling for someone like that. Also, as a young swan Zeus could have needed swimming lessons. That would have given him the excuse he needed to approach her.”

  “Right, right, that must have been it,” she rejoined sarcastically.

  “So, Zeus, who’s now a swan, seduces her and she lays two eggs…”

  “Yuk! You mean she had sex with a bird?”

  Jack again thought for a moment. “Maybe they did things differently back then?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Yeah, me too, but anyway, as the legend goes, Leda bore four offspring, two sired by Zeus; Pollux and Helen of Troy, and two others, Castor and Clytemnestra, fathered by her husband. You probably know the story about Helen, about how beautiful she was. She married the King of Corpus Christi but was terribly unhappy and ran off with her true love, Paris, a stud from Cleveland. Of course things got really ugly at that point. Her husband assembled an army to get her back, and the resulting conflict became known as the Trojan War.”

  Jocelyn gave him a disapproving look. “I remember studying the Trojan War in my World History class and I believe you’re mistaken about a few of the place names. Although I don’t care much for that legend, it would be nice if you would point out the constellation Cygnus to me—once we get somewhere where we can see the darn thing. This eternally grey sky is depressing.”