by Arthur Slade
I stepped to the other side of the animal, where I found a piece of stained, woolly hide and a pile of broken bones, some small and brittle, others thick and heavy. Vines had grown around part of a rib cage, but most of the bones looked like they'd only been there for a short while. None of the remains appeared human.
"Some psycho must have tied it up and killed it," I said. "Who would do that? And why?"
Fiona shrugged. "I don't know." She bent over and poked at the piece of hide with a twig. "Doesn't this look like sheep skin? Remember those sheep that had gone missing? Maybe they all ended up tied to this stake."
"Kind of a baaad way to go," I quipped.
Fiona rolled her eyes and grimaced. "That's not even funny."
"Sorry," I said. "It's an old habit, passed down from my ancestors. Dad says the Vikings used to make jokes all the time when they were in a tight spot."
"I'm sure they were funnier."
"Probably. How about this one: this Viking guy snuck up on another guy named Thorgeir and tried to kill him with an ax, but he missed, ran away and left his weapon behind. The next time Thorgeir saw him, he planted the ax in his skull, saying, 'You forgot your ax.'"
Fiona smiled slightly. "Now that is funny."
"At least he didn't say, 'You axed for it.'"
She groaned and took a few steps away from the goat. Or me. I wasn't sure which she wanted to avoid most.
A green blur caught my eye. I focused on it, just in time to see a four-foot-long serpent slide into a hole near my feet.
"Snakes!" I exclaimed. "I just saw one."
"Yeah, that's normal." Fiona was kicking the metal pole. It didn't budge. "There are always tons of snakes on Drang. They're not dangerous. Well, except for the rattlers. If you get bit by one you just can't move around too much or you'll make the venom spread faster. My father explained the whole process to me: first you'll feel pain, then nausea, chills, and dizziness. You know, all the same things you experience on a first date."
I forced a laugh. If only she knew how close she was to the truth. It was time to stick to a more comfortable topic. "Dad said this island is known for its snakes."
Fiona nodded. "Some guy named Doc Siroiska came to study them and some other odd stuff on Drang. Last year. It was a big deal cause he was one of them superstar scientists like David Suzuki."
"Oh, yeah," I said, pretending I knew who David Suzuki was. "What was this doctor's name again?"
"Siroiska."
"Hey, I think my Dad mentioned him, too. Didn't Siroiska disappear?"
"Yeah. They figure he fell into a chasm or the water. Or got lost in a cave. They searched the whole island and the surrounding ocean. Never found a trace. Reporters said he probably wanted to vanish. Apparently he was bankrupt." She paused. "But some of the fishermen who pass by this end of the island say they hear his ghost calling out, warning people away from here. Spooky, eh?"
I looked down the snake hole. It reminded me of a ground squirrel burrow. Moist air and a smell of wet dung drifted upwards. There were probably hundreds of serpents nesting down there. I edged cautiously away, even though I knew most snakes wouldn't bite unless they were provoked.
I heard something splashing. I followed the sound, heading toward the edge of the ravine.
There was about a ten foot drop into the water. It would have been straight down, except someone had carved out a slide from the solid rock. It looked like a stone age version of a water slide, but it was about twenty feet in width. Waves splashed against the bottom, making the swishing sound.
I called Fiona over and asked, "What do you think this is for?"
"Beats me." She knelt down and ran her hands across the top edge. "What's all this stuff?" Her fingers were covered with greenish flakes, each the size of a quarter. "It's like fish scales or something."
"The snakes probably suntan there."
"Oh yuck!" She wiped her hands together, trying desperately to clean them. "Look, these things just cling to your fingers."
The slide was worn smooth, as if something had traveled against the rocks a thousand times over. It was a fairly steep slope, one false step and we'd slip straight down.
About a hundred yards away, an immense shape broke the surface of the water then vanished into the blue depths.
"Did you see that?" I asked.
"Yeah, maybe it was the same whale we saw yesterday. I didn't spot a fin, though."
Neither had I. I stared, waiting for it to appear again, but the ocean was calm now.
My eyes were drawn to a black mark on the side of the ravine. It was a twisting serpentine symbol that looked like a snake biting its own tail. The paint reminded me of the stuff that had been used for the graffiti on our tent.
"Jormungand," I said.
"What?"
I walked over to the image. "He's a giant snake from Norse mythology. The Vikings believed he would one day rise out of the ocean and spew venom across the earth and sky."
"Sounds pleasant. Did he ever do it?"
"Yes, but Thor was there to stop him. They'd been enemies ever since Jormungand was born. Thor fought against him three time. Once, as a trick, the giants turned Jormungand into a tiny cat and dared Thor to lift him. He did and was able to get the cat to raise one paw, which amazed the giants because he was really lifting the giant snake. Another time, when Thor was fishing with a giant called Hymir, the giant caught two whales. Thor didn't want to be outdone, so he rowed into deeper water, cast out his hook with a bull's head for bait, and snagged Jormungand. Thor actually pulled him up and tried to pound his skull in with his hammer. But before he could kill the monster, Hymir, who was scared of Jormungand, cut Thor's line. Thor and Jormungand met for the last time during Ragnarok: the final battle of the gods. Thor slew the serpent then died from the poison."
"Kind of a tough way to go."
"Yeah, but when you're a Viking god, you gotta expect that you won't die in your sleep. Most of the gods were killed during Ragnarok, but a new world rose up from the old one, with many new courts and buildings fairer than the sun."
Fiona was giving me an odd look. If I wasn't mistaken, it was something like admiration. "You seem to know a lot about this stuff. You're smarter than I first thought."
I let her insult slip by. "I've been told these tales over and over since I was a kid. My parents are myth junkies."
"So who do you suppose painted this snake thing?"
"Dad said some Icelanders built a settlement on Drang. Maybe they did it; marking this as some kind of sacred place."
"What would they use it for?"
"Well, I'm tempted to say sacrifices, but that just doesn't make sense. Most Icelanders have been Christians for almost a thousand years."
She traced the outline of the snake with her fingers. "When was the settlement here?"
"Dad didn't know exactly. The late 1800's or so. Or maybe that's when they left. I don't remember."
Fiona pointed at the dead goat. "I've got news for you. That has only been here for a week at the most. It could have been killed just last night. I'd guess someone else besides the settlers has a thing for this snake. Or for chopping up livestock."
"I don't know about you," I said, not wanting to sound too frightened, "but I thinks it's time we headed back."
Fiona nodded. "You're right. I've had enough weirdness for one day."
Behind me, something whispered. I whipped around in time to catch a glimpse of the creature that had attacked me earlier. It disappeared into a hole atop the cliff walls.
Fiona saw it too. "Was it that thing again?"
"Yeah, but it's gone. I wish I knew why it's following us."
For the first time, Fiona looked worried. "Let's just get out, okay? I don't want to be here anymore."
I stepped over the goat and started up the path. Fiona followed close behind. After about five minutes of walking she stopped and looked back, her hands on her hips. "I don't think this is the trail we were on before."
"What ma
kes you say that?" I asked. "I'm sure we took the right one."
"We may have started on the right one, but somewhere we took a wrong turn. I think."
"Are we going south?" I asked.
"It's hard to tell. This path is always twisting one way or the other."
"Do you think we should go back and make sure?"
She shook her head. "I don't want to see that mangled goat again. Besides, we've come this far. And maybe we are on the right track, it could just look different going this way."
We trudged on. Once or twice the sun shined down on us, but mostly it was blocked by the rocks and trees. A few clouds drifted through the sky, casting cool shadows. My body and head were still sore and I thought again about when that thing had touched me. Had it given me some disease?
Soon I grew parched and I couldn't stop myself from picturing the water bottle I'd left on my bike. What I wouldn't do to have one sip from it right now.
A noise snapped me out of my little dream. Footsteps. Loud footsteps. Just behind us. I stopped, turned, and listened for a second.
Fiona stopped too. "What is it?"
I heard a bird or two and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. "Nothing," I told her, "just dreaming, I guess."
We climbed up another small hill and onto a plateau. There, laid out before us, were several domes made of piled rocks. The mounds were each about ten feet high. Vegetation had crept across everything, adding a green tinge to the desolate area. A few crooked trees poked their trunks up out of the dirt, looking forlorn and wasted.
"What are these?" Fiona asked, moving to the largest of the mounds, then going around the far side. I followed. There was something familiar about its shape, I'd seen one before or a picture of one. The dome was broken open, huge stones had been cracked to pieces and rolled aside, leaving a gaping hole. The inside of the mound was hollow, dark and uninviting.
And yet, on some level it beckoned to me. I edged slightly forward, not really aware that I was moving. Was there whispering coming from inside that darkness? I felt an urge to get out of the light and go inside.
I slowly stepped ahead, came right to the edge of the opening. It was colder here, but still I moved forward. Did I hear shallow, raspy breathing now? Or was it the breeze whistling through the stones?
I caught a sudden whiff of something long dead and terribly rotten.
14.
The stench was thick and overwhelming. I reeled back and coughed, covering my mouth. My stomach tightened. I felt like I was about to be sick.
"What's wrong?" Fiona asked. She rested her hand on my shoulder.
I shook my head. "It stinks inside," I said, hoarsely. I stumbled a few feet away and examined the dome, warily. Rain and wind had worn the rocks down.
Now I knew exactly what these were; had seen a hundred pictures of them in books on Scandinavian history. "These are cairns: burial mounds." I cleared my throat. "And I think they're pretty old. It looks like thieves got into this one."
"Is this how the settlers would've buried their dead?" Fiona asked. Her voice was a little shaky.
"Maybe." I glanced around. I stepped nearer to the opening of the cairn warily, wanting a better look at the stones. "But there aren't any crosses or markings. Most people would want you to know who was buried here. My ancestor, Grettir the Strong, used to go into cairns like this and fight the ghouls who lived inside."
"Yeah right," she said. The way she rolled her eyes made me smile.
"Okay, so the stories are mostly made up, but you've got to give the Icelanders credit for their superior imaginations. According to the sagas, Grettir would go inside the cairn, kill the monster, and come out with all the treasure. And there was lots of treasure. The greatest chieftains were often buried with their wealth, even with their horses sometimes."
I shuffled a little to one side. The sun was coming from the wrong direction to allow light into the mound, so I couldn't see the interior clearly. Despite that, an object glinted in the darkness. "Looks like the thieves missed something," I said. I moved in closer, holding my breath, wondering if I had spotted an axe or a medallion.
"Don't go in there!"
Fiona's voice startled me. "Why?"
She looked pale. "Someone dead once slept there ... or still is. Just let them rest. It's giving me the creeps."
The glittering blinked out, then re-appeared. It was a circular light, almost like an eye. It vanished again. I edged away. "You're right. Besides it would probably bring me bad luck."
Fiona's face was tight with worry. "Let's find our way home," I said.
We hurried to the end of the plateau and followed another path that lead to higher ground. We climbed higher, patches of grass appeared.
We walked briskly for another ten minutes. Finally, the landscape opened up. We stopped at the top of a rise. The sun was about three quarters of the way through the sky. The heat took some of the chill from my bones. Fiona leaned against a ledge. "Let's have a rest. I'm exhausted."
I inhaled, filling my lungs. Fresh air helped drive away the fear I was feeling only minutes before. I hadn't realized how much I'd needed a good gulp of oxygen.
I took a few steps to the edge of a small cliff and looked down. We were now quite high up. Birds arced through the air below us. Beyond them was a green valley with a small stream meandering through it. But the area looked damaged, like a war had been fought there. Clumps of trees had been knocked down in a haphazard pattern.
"Hey, are those houses down there?" Fiona pointed to a group of tall pines.
I squinted. Camouflaged by the trees were three long log houses with grass roofs. One was almost completely fallen in. Another was missing its door. Only the house in the middle looked like it would last the whole day. The land in front of the homes was overgrown with brush and weeds.
"They're definitely houses," I said.
Something small dropped to the ground behind us. I turned, but there was nothing there, only a pebble rolling across the path. And yet I had the feeling something, or someone, had just been standing a few feet away.
Fiona was still eyeballing the buildings, shaking her head. "Who built those lovely condos?"
"These could be the ruins from the old settlement. The place doesn't looked like it's been lived in for quite awhile."
"Uh oh, I've got some bad news," Fiona said.
"What?"
She pointed to the west. "There's rain coming."
A gray and heavy barrier was moving along the ocean quite a distance away, but I knew it wouldn't be long before it swept across us.
"We better hurry and find a way back," I said. "I don't want to be caught in a downpour. Especially not out here."
We started looking for a path home. The only one we could find led us north, down toward the ruins.
Soon we were out of the rocks and onto grassy soil, thick with nettles and over-sized weeds. I was relieved that it was no longer a struggle to find safe footing, but I didn't like the direction we were forced to travel. Thorny brush made an impenetrable wall on either side of us.
"We have to keep going," Fiona said. "I still can't see any easy way to head south. We may have to follow the shore as far as we can."
The vegetation grew heavier and the land boggier as we descended into the valley. My nostrils filled with the stink of fungus. The smell drifted right out of the ground, growing stronger with every footstep. It was too wet here for normal plants to thrive. Only the ones that grew in shade and on the undersides of things took hold. Large green pads of moss had choked out some of the grass. We stepped over the occasional rotted log.
Fiona pointed at an old pine that had been split in two. A small column of smoke still rose from it. A number of other trees nearby had received similar blows. "This place looks like it was shelled by lightning."
I nodded. The hair on my scalp and arms was tingling as if the electric blast had left a residue of energy in the air. "I'd have hated to be standing in the middle of the storm," I said, "just one bo
lt would've cut my whole body in two."
"I guess that'd give you a split personality," she joked.
"Oh, ha ha! With quips like that, you're working your way up to being an honorary Icelander."
My words were light-hearted, but I was starting to feel nervous. A vicious storm was on its way, so death by lightning seemed a very real possibility. This got my feet into motion. The valley widened. We crossed a small, sluggish stream using algae-covered rocks as stepping stones. I slipped near the far side and soaked my left shoe.
Fiona grabbed my hand, saying, "I think you need a bit of help with your balance."
I stepped, squished, stepped, squished, next to Fiona, enjoying the feeling of holding her hand. Suddenly the day seemed a lot brighter. I could march on for a thousand miles or so, no problem.
Unfortunately, there was trouble almost right away. We were nearing the ruins. They looked even worse than they had from a distance. Beams broken, doors rotted, mold growing along the window sills. Vines had crept up the walls and clung onto every corner. Two of the roofs were caved in as if they'd received a blow from a massive fist. I couldn't see any easy way to go around them.
"We'll probably find a path or two on the other side of this place," I said. "When these people were here, whoever they were, they must have made some sort of trails. Maybe they're not completely grown in."
"I hope you're right."
We walked slowly up to the three houses. It'd been at least a hundred years since anyone had lived here. Maybe longer.
Along one of the houses was a shallow pit. In the pit was a large, flat stone with runes written across it, like the ones I'd seen in books on Norse mythology. The stone was cracked in the center and stained with a splotch of red. It looked like someone had only recently dug it up because fresh dirt was piled over to one side.
I was about to point this out to Fiona when a quick movement at the edge of my vision startled me. Before I could scream a long arm had reached out and grabbed me by the elbow.
"What are you doing here?" a man grunted.
15.