The Tirnano - Book 1 'FINN'

by Peter Emmerson

  My occupation in that idyllic landscape was game warden. My responsibility; the well being and security of the highland deer on the royal estates. A markedly different profession from that which a few years earlier, had seen me in the fore front of battle fields in 'hot spots' throughout the world.

  I have decided to place on these parchment pages a short and hopefully concise record of the early days when and how I came to be in this place. I look back not in anger nor praying for hindsight but simply to record some of my deeds and those of the wonderful creatures (people) with whom I have come to live these moments of my life.

  I know not whether I am on another planet, in the far distant future, or in some unfathomable past long before the beginning of time.

  To create this paper upon which I am writing, I have attempted to reproduce a method used by the ancients of my world. I have used young reeds which have been split, flattened, woven together, pressed and dried, and as you are reading this; you can see the result is functional. For a pen I carved a shin bone of one of our beasts, long since passed into many full bellies. For ink, I dip into a mixture of dried blood mixed with milk; the result is pungent but practical.

  But to make things right and in the correct chronological order, I should start at the beginning and tell my tale so that all may understand what became of me.

  I was eighteen years old in 1973 when I joined the British Army as a regular soldier. Signing up for nine years, to serve my Queen and country. Being tall, I was accepted into and was proud to wear the uniform of the Coldstream Guards. I had longed to be a soldier for almost as long as I could remember. As children, my brother and I would play - there had always been wars somewhere in the world, those wars had heroes, we pretended to be those heroes.

  My brother when he grew up however had not followed my example of joining the forces.

  I retired from the regular Army in 1998, after serving in the warzones of Bosnia and the Middle East, my military career was long and varied in content...

  ~

  I followed the hooded, buckskin clad man through my binoculars, the sight of his little bow and quiver full of arrows concerned me, but I was carrying my shotgun so was not overly worried. Moving quickly across the ground which was familiar to me I closed on him; he seemed unaware of my presence even though he had glanced twice towards my concealed position.

  I followed him through what appeared to be a tear in the fabric between our worlds. I don't understand what magic was used. Suffice it to say some Brosynans have the ability to move from their world to ours with no more difficulty than I would have, say, pushing through one of the plastic curtains seen at the warehouse doors of large department stores.

  I walked straight into an ambush. The hunter had been aware of my presence, probably even before I clocked him. As soon I moved through the curtain I was his prisoner, I managed to resist for a while, but when the remainder of his party arrived, surrender seemed my best option.

  They allowed me to follow them to their camp, without even bothering to restrain me. Knowing that I had nowhere to run, they seemed confident in their ability to recapture me should I even attempt it.

  They were short, the tallest amongst them not even reaching my waist. But they were all powerfully built; even the females who were obvious in their sexuality, had muscular frames. They wore similar clothing and each carried the deadly looking short bow that I had perceived earlier.

  Our pace through the tall grass, was swift, they moved as though they would at any moment fall prey to an unseen predator, their eyes constantly scanning the sky and the horizon. I took it upon myself to crouch as low as possible; they seemed to appreciate my efforts.

  I heard no words pass between them; however they appeared to be communicating through the use of hand and finger shapes, augmented with finger clicks and snaps. For distance communications they employed a complex series of whistles and hoots. They were well rehearsed in their actions, which appealed to my military mind. On our trek we passed vast herds of fierce cattle with long horns and shaggy coats, herds of wild horses and many hogs rooting in the grasses close to streams.

  In the distance I could see a range of mountains, towering over them was a volcano, smoke issuing from its summit. I named it Benachee, after a mountain in my homeland, what the group of creatures called it, at the time I knew not.

  It took five days to reach the foothills of Benachee, it had been like a beacon calling us onwards, I felt as though we were coming home. By the time we reached its foothills it filled the southern sky, however it still took us another three days to make our way around the snow capped mountain.

  That was when we came upon a tribe of like creatures. From the welcome the warriors received I could only guess that they were returning from a sortie.

  There were at least five hundred individuals, some in a sorry state, at least ten of them badly injured. Being versed in field medicine, I could see those with the worst injuries were in mortal danger. With gestures and signs I managed to get them to allow me to treat those worst cases.

  I cleansed and bound horrific wounds, using soft hide and compresses made from the grass heads. The injuries were reminiscent of claw marks, and horror of horrors, of viscous sharp teeth, although what manner of beast could have inflicted such wounds was beyond me.

  It was not long before I found out.

  Once I had tended as well as I could to the injuries, though with the limited resources I had available, other than perhaps making them feel a little better, I felt my ministrations had not been worth a great deal. I took time to inspect the camp. All around me were low tents almost filling a wide hollow in the ground. I was not surprised to see guards posted all around the camp, hidden in the grasses.

  The tents looked as though they could be erected or collapsed in moments. Everything including the clothing they wore, created from the animals they followed across the plains, even the fires they built in front of each tent were fuelled by dung, collected and dried.

  The fires were both for cooking and heat, at night the temperatures fell below freezing. The snow showers which fell before dawn and the strong winds which blew across the plains continuously were reason enough for the camps being built in natural dips in the ground.

  The tents were low and dome shaped, primarily used for sleeping. The creatures, for they were not truly human, slept in hide bags. There was a lack of cleanliness in the camp, they were all seriously unwashed. Even though I had not washed properly for over a week, my nose wrinkled at the pungent aromas which wafted at me from all directions. Any rubbish that accumulated was disposed of by burning. Bodily waste disposed of wherever they chose, both sexes hunkering down in a squat in the high grass whenever they felt the need.

  They were difficult to age, although I noticed quite a few babies and young children amongst them. There were none though who showed signs of middle or old age, I was at pains to discover why, perhaps their lives were too harsh.

  It was a short while later when a group of them came towards me, I expected the worst. What looked like a shaman or witch doctor led like the group, he circled me, sniffing and prodding at me with his fingers. Then, horror of horrors he shot out a long forked tongue and began flicking and touching me across my face. It took all my self control to stop myself from recoiling from the gruesome appendage.

  He turned and clicking his fingers moved to a fire which had been set in the middle of the camp. One of his entourage beckoned for me to follow, this I did. All around me I could feel eyes on me, a curiosity or an enemy, I knew not at this stage.

  The shaman's two followers seemed intent on keeping their status at the top of the tree, and were free with kicks and blows aimed at any who were lower in the social ladder, and those foolish enough to get their way.

  I was motioned to sit by the fire, a platter fashioned from a shoulder bone and piled with roasted pork and small onion like vegetables was handed to me by a young female. Although the hunters had given me food to eat on our journey, I a
dmit I was famished, and disregarding the obvious remnants of a previous meal eaten from the platter, I wolfed the succulent offering.

  I watched as the older members of the tribe devoured the meal with their hands, tearing the meat from the bone and throwing scraps at youngsters behind who fought over them, they must have been starving.

  I noticed that behind me stood a couple of youngsters waiting expectantly for anything that I should deem to gift them. In disgust at the practice I turned and passed my plate to them. “Share,” was all I said, they seemed to understand and indeed rather than fight over the meal, shared as I had bid them.

  The shaman and his minions were outraged and two of them leapt up, their intent, either beat the children or me; or both. I stood up, I was easily taller than the tallest of the lieutenants, towering above them, but they were stocky and obviously strong, but they fought as bullies do, with fear being their greatest weapon. Little did they know that I had an intimate knowledge of incapacitating or even killing an opponent with my bare hands.

  “I challenge any man here to a fight, anyone who can beat me can keep this knife,” I shouted my voice dripping with sarcasm; I drew my knife from its sheath and stuck it in the ground, whether they understood me I could not tell. My stance and the obvious challenge should have been universal.

  The challenge was not lost on the shaman, who whistled at the two approaching me. He clicked his fingers loudly, the entire group around the fire fled to the safety of their huts, leaving just the bullies and the leader who had a strange grimace on his face; I assumed it was a grin.

  I noticed from the corner of my eye, arrows being notched by some of the hunters who had accompanied me for the last few days. They watched closely as the pair rushed at me. It would seem they had decided that one to one hand fighting was not to be their chosen form of combat tonight, bone knives appeared in their hands. I saw little bows being raised, whatever happened I was determined to sell my life dearly. The remainder watched as they stoically waited for me to die, it was obviously not an uncommon happening, dissenters could expect no less from their leader and I had usurped the shaman’s position by practicing healing.

  I stood my ground as they came at me hooting, if they expected me to run they were mistaken, I disarmed them easily and threw their unconscious bodies on a nearby rubbish heap. I picked up my knife and began to walk determinedly towards the leader who whistled in fear and clicked his fingers loudly. Not one member of the tribe moved, the hunters were training their arrows on the Shaman.

  Without his lieutenants to protect him, he took to his heels and began to run. There was a whistling sound and he fell on his face, an arrow protruding from his back. Any other followers were herded from the fire, collecting the two bullies from the rubbish heap, they were chased from the camp, hoots of derision, who could mistake that sound, and a hail of thrown missiles followed them as they were banished.

  I discovered later that ‘my’ group of hunters had been away from the settlement for over three months, scouting for a permanent home for the tribe. In that time the shaman and his cronies had seized power violently from the previous leader.

  ~

  It has been three years now since I arrived in this place, so much has happened; I feel I must record a few memories lest they be lost forever.

  It was but a few days after the shaman had met his end and his lieutenants had been banished, that the next nightmare unfolded. We were attacked by a new set of horrors. They came just after nightfall, snorting and snuffling around the perimeter of the camp. Making prisoners of us from dark to dawn, howling and shrieking as they patrolled, initially the open space outside of where the hunters stood their spears constantly ready.

  Sleep was impossible in those days; the clan took to snatching moments during the daylight hours. We attempted to move as far as possible during the day, before preparing as secure an encampment as possible for our overnight stop.

  But the horrors found our camp each night; for I’m sure it was easy enough for them to follow the scent of five hundred. We were unable to travel at night, or for many nights after that. The first night, there had been but a few of them, but after that, they came in ever increasing numbers.

  On the fourth night they attacked, breaking through the outer ring of sentries, killing and mauling, eating and spoiling everything. Personal belongings that had been lovingly carried were ruined. Any stored food spoiled or eaten, spare buckskin clothing ripped apart, and everything fouled with their evil smelling urine.

  The clan had no response; the hunter’s arrows were in the most ineffective, unable to penetrate the massive shaggy pelts. Deaths amongst the weak and young were many.

  After the first appearance of the horrors, I tried, by waving my arms, pointing and demonstrating, to communicate with the clan leaders, initially they took little notice but by the fourth night, in desperation for any relief they endeavoured to take notice of me. Unable to communicate I did the next best thing, with a stick I drew in the sand.

  My drawing of a stockade with sharpened stakes facing outward was quickly agreed upon and implemented. It took three days of hard work, with the nights spent fending off the bears with long spears.

  I say Bears; for that is the closest I can get by way of an attempt at identification. But these were larger and more ferocious than any grizzly. They were nocturnal in their habits, thankfully disappearing as the sun rose. Hopefully the sharpened stakes would dissuade any climbers, for we angled them outwards, with luck they would pierce any climbing creatures. It was obviously effective for the Bears made no attempt to climb them.

  I began to learn as well as I could the sign language with which they communicated. The two youngsters who had stood behind me at the feast had assigned themselves to me, taking on the role of teachers.

  The only problem that my plan threw up was that now we were under siege; the nomadic clan were forced to remain static behind our protective walls, whilst the herds they had traditionally followed moved on. Food became short, but thankfully the creatures, now unable to obtain easy pickings moved on after five more nights. The first night without the cacophony of screeching and hooting was pure bliss.

  As part of our settlement daily routine, teams would inspect the inner and outer stockade walls to ensure that the Bears were not tunnelling to gain access, or had been able to damage the posts in any way. One morning after the hunters had moved out in the direction of a passing herd of cattle, we came across six new creatures; they had fallen into a ditch which we had dug around the camp, they could only have come from the river which flowed to our south. They seemed incapable of climbing out of the ditches.

  With six long spindly legs, waving two others in front of their heads, which were armed with the sharpest most dangerous looking pincers; each snapping pincer was almost an arm long; one snap of those huge blades could easily cause serious damage to an unlucky recipient.

  We were quick to attack, rushing round the bewildered horrors, stabbing at them with long spears, initially our thrusts were ineffective, the spears unable to pierce the hard carapace which covered most of the creature’s upper bodies. A blow to one in the middle of its circle of eight eyes proved to be the answer. In moments all six were dispatched.

  With much effort we pulled and pushed the creatures from the trenches. The creatures were a bright pink in colour, they reminded me of lobsters, but these were no small scuttling creatures, these stood taller than I, and considerably taller than the clans-folk.

  On an impulse, hoping against hope that I was not about to poison myself, I drew my knife and cut a piece from the soft under abdomen. Placing it on a sharp stick, I grilled it over a nearby fire. I took a taste, it was delicious, gesturing my enjoyment to my two teachers, they tentatively tried a small piece each, and immediately began hooting and whistling in extreme excitement to others who stood watching in interest.

  Once they had tasted and approved, they became, what could only be described as a ravenous pack, falling upon the fo
ur creatures, tearing off lumps of flesh, and stuffing their mouths full of raw succulent pink flesh. To many who had been on an almost starvation diet since the Bears’ appearance, It was truly manna from heaven, well the river anyway. The six creatures were enough to give most of us a small meal; it was good to feel food in my stomach again.

  Somehow we had to discover where they came from, for capturing them in sufficient numbers would provide us with a suitable and sustainable food source.

  We kept watch on the river for three nights before we discovered the pink creatures came from a distant stream, discernible only when the moon was overhead, we could see it in the distance, it flowed close to a large clump of flat topped trees

  It seemed they only moved at night, and then not every night, they followed the stream, moving with it towards the north, we noticed the Bears too, but they moved in the opposite direction to the lobsters, when they met, the ferocious creatures would viciously attack the pink ones killing and eating them with importunity, the pink creatures scattering.

  Occasionally if they became totally confused, some would make their way towards our settlement, sporadically if luck was with us, it would be blindly towards our trenches.