by Arthur Slade
Dad drew us away from the wall.
"Who's out there?" Fiona gasped. Her eyes were wide and wild.
"Stay calm," Dad commanded, his voice cracking. "We've got to stay calm. What'd you see, Michael?"
I rubbed my throat. "J-just an eye. And then a hand. I couldn't tell who or what it was."
"Well, I guess we've got more than wolves to worry about," Dad said, sounding desperate. He barked orders like a general. "Grab a piece of wood or a rock. Keep your eyes open, tell me if you spot anything. We can only hope we've scared him off."
I didn't think so. Not after looking into that pool of anger. And why didn't he cry out when he was stabbed? Didn't it hurt? And if that didn't hurt, then what would?
I found a long stick, thick enough to deliver a substantial blow. Fiona had picked up a similar piece. We gathered in the center of the house again, keeping as far away from the walls as possible.
"We might have to make a run for it," Dad said. "If it's just a man, maybe we have a chance. I haven't heard the wolves for awhile, whoever it was must have scared them away."
"Where do we go?" I asked.
"Toward the boat," he answered. "I'll lead the way."
"But—" Fiona started.
A booming crash cut off her question. Something had landed on the roof and was stomping around up there, pounding on the wood. The timbers shook, splinters and sod rained down. The noises ended suddenly.
Then came a thud as if a heavy weight had hit the ground. The door at the front rattled so hard it nearly fell off. Then the shaking stopped.
"He's playing with us," Dad said, softly. "It's just a game for him."
Our attacker started pounding on the walls, chunks of wood flew across the open area, one of the wall boards snapped in two and I glimpsed a shifting figure. Then silence.
But not complete silence. Now there was the sniffling of an animal and a low growl reverberated through the interior of the longhouse. Finally, a word, whispered so deep it was really little more than a rumble: "Ormr."
Dad sucked in his breath. The word had some meaning to him, but he didn't share it. "We have to get out," he whispered.
Something began moving along the floor at the front of the house. A long thin apparition. It appeared in the light, then disappeared. Followed by another and another, coming out of holes in the ground. Ebony-skinned shapes that slithered across the floor toward us.
I heard a rattle, like a baby's toy. Shaking back and forth.
"Snakes," I whispered.
A second rattle shook. A third. Serpents were advancing in waves.
"Get out!" Dad yelled. "Out the back!"
We ran. I was first to the door, pulling off the piece of wood that I'd put there to block it. A dark shape shot from a nearby ledge, latched onto my right wrist. Pain burst in my flesh, burned all the way up my arm. I looked down to see the green glowing eyes of a serpent staring into mine.
18.
Its fangs were sunk deep into my wrist and it was trying to wrap its ink-black body around my arm.
I screamed. Shook my arm until the snake flew off and landed on the far side of the hut.
Then Dad pushed me into the open.
We ran blindly, out behind the longhouse and up a small embankment made treacherous by the soft rain. Dad led us higher, through bushes, our feet pounding madly in the earth. I grabbed at branches, using them to pull myself up. I looked back. No one seemed to be following us.
We didn't dare slow down. My arm ached with a numb pain that was spreading from joint to joint. Hadn't Fiona said something about staying still if you got a snake bite? How movement would hurry the poison through your veins?
We charged on. Dad was only a few steps ahead, breaking the path, but I had to struggle to keep up. His legs were so long I started to lose ground. We cut through a series of low hanging trees, I covered my face with my arms and crashed through them into the open.
A dark figure was right in my path, arms stretched out and its mouth wide. It was one of those creatures we'd seen before, but this one was even larger than the last. It hissed, loudly. I fell to one side trying to avoid touching the beast, rolled over and looked up to see that it had vanished yet again. I was alone. Dad had run ahead without me.
Fiona cried out from a long distance away. I'd lost track of her and somehow she'd lagged behind. She yelled again, her voice echoing, making it hard to tell where it was coming from. She sounded like she was in pain.
I spotted a flash of her red hair in the mist. "Dad!" I shouted, hoping he would somehow hear me. "We've lost Fiona. She's still back there!"
I ran toward her, over rough land, past dead pine trees. I found her on the ground, pulling at her foot. It had been jammed between a rock and a twisted, thick, tree root. "Help me!" she yelled.
I bent down, started yanking on her leg until she let out a cry of pain. "You're gonna break my ankle!"
"Can we undo your boot?" I asked, quickly looking around for signs of danger.
"I tried. The laces are double-knotted. They're too slippery to get a grip on."
"Then hold on. We have to do this the hard way." I grabbed onto her shoulders and tugged, digging in with my feet. She grunted, pushing with her other leg. Finally, her foot broke free and we landed in a heap. I scrambled to my feet and helped her up. "Can you walk?"
She nodded and looked around. "I nearly tripped over one of those stupid little creatures. Then suddenly I was caught in this root. The thing laughed at me, then went running back toward the cabin."
"I saw one, too," I said. "They seem to be all over the place."
Rain was now tapping heavily against the leaves. The drops were getting bigger. Branches snapped in the distance.
"Where's your father?" Fiona asked.
"He mustn't have heard me call to him. He's probably up ahead, looking for us."
We hurried back across fallen trees and up to the top of the valley to where I'd last seen Dad. There was no sign of him.
"I think this is the way to the boat. He must have gone there," I whispered. "I hope that's where he went."
"Should we keep going?"
I looked back. There were rows upon rows of trees, fog twisting through them. He could be anywhere. "I don't know," I admitted.
Then a shifting sound, a shuffling in the mist that rolled toward us, growing thicker. A shadow lumbered forward through the haze; a man-like shape. Dead trees fell and live ones shook as each step sent a shock wave through the ground.
A voice reached us; a strange eerie singing.
"Hullabulla lullabulla
bones and red blood
in a dark flood."
Each step he took made the pain in my arm double. Every note in his song mesmerized me. I felt drawn toward his presence. An ever-widening circle of power, getting nearer and nearer.
"Hullabulla lullabulla
heart in red blood
in a dark flood."
Fiona was standing as still as a deer caught in a car's headlights.
Then from another direction came a different man, dressed in rags, shambling out of the mist, waving his arms. His skin white and dead-looking. His mouth moving wildly, guttural words pouring out. "Go wan get out ov ere! Un! Un!"
"Run!" Fiona yelled.
The urgency in her voice broke the spell. I ran with her along the path, scrambling through the trees. We dashed wildly down a low hill. All the while a ghostly voice called from behind, laughing, whooping and mocking us as we fled, making me feel that every motion was futile. We'd never get away.
We burst out of the trees into a large bay, sliding the final few feet down an escarpment. We skidded to a halt among sharp piles of scree. "There's the boat," Fiona yelled. It was a small one with an outboard motor, sitting lopsided and lying partly out of the water.
We dashed along the thin line of sand for about fifty yards, forced to splash through a few inches of water. My father wasn't anywhere to be seen. "Start it!" Fiona yelled as we climbed into the boat
. "Start it!"
"But we can't leave Dad!"
"Just get out into the water!" She pointed behind me. Two wolves, one grey and one black, were loping across the beach toward us.
The boat was too far onto the sand to go anywhere. I jumped down and pushed it into the bay until I was up to my hips, then I climbed aboard. The second I was in, Fiona yanked back on the pull start. The motor sputtered. She tried it again. The wolves were nearing, splashing through the water in their mad dash toward us, tongues hanging out between their jaws. Their eyes glowed red.
The waves drove us back toward the shore.
"Again! Try again!" I yelled.
Fiona flicked a switch, pressed a button. Then gave it another desperate pull.
The motor fired and she hit the gas. I fell back and we plowed a few feet into the water.
But it wasn't far enough. The black wolf leapt and landed half way inside the boat. It dug in with its back legs, threatening to capsize us. It snapped its jaws. Some of the fur was missing from its head, revealing white skull beneath. One of its front paws had no flesh at all, just claws and bones.
I grabbed an oar and whacked the beast, but this only seemed to enrage it. The wolf now had its hind leg hooked on the edge, was about to climb in. I smacked it again. At the same moment Fiona cranked on the tiller, launching the wolf into the sea. It disappeared under the waves.
Then we were away. Farther and farther, out into the deep part of the bay. We circled around. The waves were growing higher. Wind pasted my hair to the side of my head. "Stay close, Fiona. Dad may show up." We looked back. The wolf had crawled out of the water and joined its companion on the shore, waiting for us.
I found two life jackets under the seat and we quickly pulled them on.
"We can't stay out here forever. We'll run out of gas," Fiona said.
"We've got to get help. We'll have to go back to the campground. Let's head this way," I said and pointed west.
Fiona gunned the motor and we started out of the bay. I looked back. The wolves were still there, eyes glowing, teeth bared, but I saw no sign of the ghoulish men. Or of Dad.
We roared out of the bay, the cliffs sloped up before us. On the edge of a precipice stood a tall man, wind stirring his garments and small black shadows dancing around him. He was holding onto another man by the scruff of the neck. I recognized Dad's shirt. His head was hanging down. Was the man going to throw Dad from the cliff?
I yelled at Fiona to look up.
The man gestured with a staff, out at the ocean.
In the distance the sky looked clearer. There was another boat coming our way. Maybe they had a radio, or could help us. Just as I stretched out my arms to wave them down, a giant shape rose up in the open water.
We struck it with the force of a battering ram.
The boat disintegrated under us.
19.
By all rights I should've been slammed to pieces against the shore. Or drowned and dragged down to the depths.
Instead, I bobbed to the surface and drifted, saltwater stinging my eyes and the scrapes on my body. I couldn't remember even trying to swim. All I did was stare at a darkening sky, hearing the water swishing all around me. I was moving. Not back and forth with the waves, but ahead. Like I was being pushed by a single, determined wave. Carried onwards and away.
At times I thought I could hear Fiona moaning.
Then a dark hull appeared; a motor revved down. Two hands clamped onto my shirt and I was dragged from the water, lifted by strong arms, and dropped down onto a wooden deck like a landed fish. A harsh voice spit out words that exploded around me. There was a pause in this barrage as another catch was hauled in and dropped next to me.
I opened my eyes to a grisly beard and sky blue eyes, glowering down at me.
Harbard.
"You're alive," he said, sounding disappointed. "You looked like you'd become a shade. What were you doing in the water with a storm about to start?"
I couldn't answer. My tongue was trapped in my mouth, feeling swollen by salt.
From beside me came a moan, then coughing. Fiona was laying there, stirring as if in a fitful sleep. A cut on her forehead bled freely.
Harbard leaned closer. His teeth were stained yellow. "I saw you on the hill above my home. You and your friend. Taunting me. Bad luck comes from bad doings."
He was getting too close. I tried to push him away, but all I could do was lift my right arm a little and drop it to my side again. At least this attracted his attention to the snake bite. His blood-shot eyes bulged in surprise. "You've been bitten!" He grabbed my wrist, pulled it toward him like he'd forgotten I was attached to it. He prodded at the wound, sending a bolt of pain down my arm. "Draumur snákur," he mumbled. The words gave me a chill. "Where did you get this bite?" Harbard was squeezing my arm now. "Tell me!"
I opened my mouth, but only a hiss of air came out. My vocal chords seemed to have dissolved. Harbard pulled a flask from his jacket, twisted off the cap. Before I could move he latched onto the back of my head, yanked me up and dumped a burning liquid into my mouth. The concoction blazed a trail down my throat and into my stomach. I sat up, leaned over and coughed for a painful minute. Finally, I spat over the side of the boat.
"Answer me," he commanded. "Where did you get this bite?" Then a sudden look of genuine fear came over him and he said with more urgency, "Where is your father?"
"Back there," I pointed. I'd finally found my tongue. "He's back there. Not safe." Harbard kept asking me more questions, but I found it hard to put everything that happened into words. I did my best. When I mentioned the burial mounds, his look of concern turned to horror.
"One was broken open? Then my father's work is undone. And the afturganga is loose."
"Who?" I coughed.
He handed the metal flask to me. "Drink this. Be still, or you'll make the venom spread."
"What! Am I poisoned?"
"No. Only your mind will be poisoned. Sit there and don't move." He pointed at the far end of the ferry. I pulled myself backwards and could barely find the strength to lean against the side of the ferry. Only my mind would be poisoned? What could that mean?
Fiona lifted her head, looked at me. "I have a splitting headache," she announced. Then she closed her eyes. The cut on her forehead had stopped bleeding. I reached out to touch her shoulder and try to wake her up.
Harbard gunned the motor, knocking me back, cracking my skull against the bench. Now I was really awake.
"Where are we going?" I shouted.
"To the dock. I'm taking you back."
"But what about Dad? He needs help right now!" I struggled to get up. My legs folded under me like a newborn colt's and I slammed into the deck.
"Stay still!" Harbard scolded. "I'll try to find your father. You two are of no use to anyone now."
I didn't have the energy to argue with him. Harbard urged every last ounce of speed out of the ferry, sending us crashing over waves, charging toward our destination.
I pulled myself closer to Fiona, leaned against her, but decided to let her sleep. I softly pushed an old fish net beneath her head, hoping that would give her some comfort. Then I examined my arm. There were two holes just past my wrist, oozing blood. The wound tingled and that part of my arm felt deadened. The tingling seemed to be spreading through my body.
I couldn't stop thinking about my father and the man on the cliff holding him by the neck. The image sickened me and at the same time angered me. What did that bushman—or whatever he was—want with him? With any of us?
He'd said, "I chose you. I chose all three of you." Which made me think he had something to do with the graffiti on our tent, that he could have been following us from the moment we set foot on this island.
After what seemed hours, Harbard turned into the bay that led to the campground. I pulled myself up enough to see out of the boat. We charged at the dock so fast I thought we'd collide with it. Then Harbard reversed the motor and we banged into place next to a post
. I fell over. He limped up to me, grabbed a hold of my good arm.
"You'll get out here," he explained. He lifted me and dropped me onto the dock. Air whooshed out of my lungs. A moment later, I heard Fiona shout, "Hey, what are you doing?"
Harbard groaned from exertion. Fiona landed beside me. "Ow!" she cried.
Harbard tossed the flask onto my chest. "Drink the rest of this. When they come for you, tell them to wrap you in blankets. And to feed both of you garlic."
Then before I could move, he was gone, the ferry plowing out into the bay. I stood slowly.
"What was that old turd doing with us?" Fiona asked. She was sitting up now, holding the side of her head. "And why are you so pale?"
20.
I showed her my snake bite. She studied it carefully. "It's a clean wound, no swelling. Did you see what kind of snake it was?"
"It was black, that's all I know."
"Good." She sounded relieved. "It wasn't a Pacific Rattler then. They aren't black. And they're the only poisonous thing in these parts."
"Harbard knew what it was. He called it by a weird name. Dramer snaker or something like that."
Fiona frowned. "That could mean anything."
I nodded. "It's probably an Icelandic name. Though it does sound a little like 'dream snake', doesn't it?"
"Whatever it is, you should probably put some antiseptic on it."
I held my arm up against my chest. "What about you? That's a nasty cut on your head?"
"Yeah. It feels like someone was playing hockey inside my skull." She gently touched the wound. "I think the boat must have hit one big rock. But it seemed like it rose right out of the water on its own."
I swallowed. "What if it wasn't a rock?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well you said it looked like it rose out of the water on its own. What if something did?"
"Like a whale?"
"No, some kind of sea serpent. I know it sounds nuts, but we've seen it twice now, just the back of it. There's even a place where people sacrifice goats to it. Maybe it really exists. Maybe Harbard's not as crazy as we think he is."