The Bok of Syr Folk

by Russ L. Howard

  Standing Bull asked, “Do you always take such an interest in the cargo you carry”

  The renegade was eying Juan with sharp curiosity. He realized Standing Bull had caught him staring at the girl again, the one he noticed the first day she had boarded. She had triggered an unusual response in him. He searched for her whenever the girls came on deck. She was pretty enough to be a goddess with her pretty feminine physique and her flawless coppery skin. He liked the flash of her white teeth against those vermillion lips and the turn of her cheek. He was fascinated by her gentle, bubbly laugh and those piercing mink-brown eyes.

  Standing Bull said, “I have noticed how the Apache girl seems to strike your fancy. That is Tree Song, the very daughter of Mangas, chief of the Jicarilla.”

  “The other women are all Navajo. Are they not? Pretty by any standards, but none as spirited. How did an Apache woman come to be with the Navajo?”

  “One of the guards told me,” Standing Bull said as he held to a rope with the rise of a wave. “She and her twin brothers were sent by Mangas to teach the Navajo tribe how to collect and prepare special herbs for medicines. They were digging roots in the desert when they were overtaken by a Pitter rat pack, captured and brought to us.”

  “Is that the way the Pitters usually find the virgins?”

  Driven by a sudden wind causing the ship to list Standing Bull grabbed the railing to keep from sliding across the deck. Accustomed to the sea and all her moods and upheavals, Juan merely shifted his weight.

  “No, no.” Standing Bull grinned ghoulishly. “The Pitters find unprotected villages and make the whole village gather in the town center. Then they take any girls twenty winters and under. If they are virgin, they send them off to the Growlings. The rest they keep for camp whores and send any extras, you know, the cow-faced ones, to their labor camps.”

  Yet another abomination of these vile swines. Juan thought about his own two sisters and mother living in Puerto Quetzal and determined that when he returned, he would immediately sweep them off to safety to one of his many secluded homes he had built in the Guatemalan highlands as soon as the Pitter legions began their incursions into the Mexus.

  Like a cork out of the bottle they popped out of the mist into the bright sunlight. Juan looked afore to get his bearings and aft to see if the Tortuga and Flaco were still following. After a moment the Flaco emerged into the clear, but he had to wait longer for the lumbering belly ship. In the distance the snowcapped mountain on the isle was like a cone bobbing on the sea.

  Jose shouted out, “We are on course, El Capitan, a few more hours and we turn west again.”

  “Very good, Jose.”

  Standing Bull stared into the west with a sinister looking grin. “So that is the island we seek.”

  Juan nodded. “If the wind holds we should reach the southern tip in under three hours. That gives us time to explore bays for portage along the western coast before sundown.”

  Standing Bull started to reply when something on the deck below caught his eye. He screamed at his men, “Get away from them. I told you, they are just cargo.”

  Juan noticed that Standing Bull’s compadres had joined the game with the girls. At Standing Bulls orders they quickly retreated aft. As Juan looked down at the girls, it seemed to him that he had caught Tree Song’s eye and that she was looking back at him with interest, but that might only be the wishful thinking of a smitten man. He leaned casually against the rail. “Tell me, my friend, how did you come to be involved with these captives?”

  “I wanted to be made chief of the High Desert. The Cha’Kal promised that to me if I can prove I am capable of delivering the death blow to Sur Sceaf. In order to do that I have to learn the seaman’s art. No warrior can best me on land, but I need knowledge of the sea to carry out the Cha’Kal’s plan. I was with the Cha’Kal in Copperopolis when Sanangrar arrived from the bay of Taxus with thousands of virgins he had collected throughout the arid zone. Sanangrar complained that the last shipment had been lost when they were unable to penetrate the Pyringean blockade, were forced to turn back and were lost at sea in a squall.”

  Juan could just imagine these terrified young girls, trapped below deck in a horrific storm, not knowing their fate or when and how death would take them.

  Standing Bull was becoming more comfortable and like all turncoats was eager to show his importance. Juan decided he could use that to his advantage.

  “I had heard rumors of debris of a lost ship that had washed ashore in Citriodora and the fishermen had used the timbers for repairing their own ships. That’s when he went searching for a captain and came searching for me.”

  “When Sanangrar crossed from the Bay of Taxus through the Mexus lands, he ran into the band of virgins and took these ten maidens as a test for you to see if you could get them safely from port to port.”

  “Why is that so important to him?”

  “His assignment is to capture Mexus and Guatemalan maidens for sale to the Growlings. He will soon launch attacks on the south Mexus and Guatemalan lands and some say even deeper into the southern nether lands. Even as far as the place of the endless woods. We will want you to transport them by the thousands. That is part of what this training is all about.”

  Juan felt like the bull had just gored him. He had thought he would be transporting soldiers and slaves for the labor camps, but innocent girls, no. He would never stoop that low.

  “Jose, what are you feeding the prisoners?”

  “Much the same as the crew, beans and rice, and a little less ham.”

  “See that one girl in the long white buckskin with the beaded moccasins?”

  Jose glanced toward the lower deck. “Si, the very pretty one.”

  “Yes, her. She seems too thin to me. See to it she gets some of my ham with each meal and a little of my wine as well.” Juan thought for a moment. Then added, “What the hell, see to it all of them get the same.”

  “As you wish, El Capitan. I will go inform the cook of jour wishes.”

  Juan noticed a twinkle in Jose’s eyes. His childhood friend, and lieutenant knew him too well for his peace of mind.

  Standing Bull looked shocked. “Aren’t you afraid of Sanangrar’s displeasure?” he asked as he watched Jose disappear down the hatch leading below.

  Juan glanced below at the Apache beauty once again. “Never! He needs me. I don’t need him. As long as I have what he wants, he’s under my thumb. The moment I don’t have something he needs, I’ll be gone.”

  A calculating look came into Standing Bull’s eyes, “I like the way you operate, Juan, but it’s very slippery to tease a bear with its food,” he said. He struggled to gain balance after a wind whipped wave lifted the ship and dropped with a spray over the bow.

  “Not as dangerous as doing nothing. I learned in the bullring that you never want to give the bull the upper hand by being passive. There are times when you get gored, but you learn to flow with it so that you can come out of the horning on your feet. There are times I let El Toro think he’s in control, but he is only following my lead. You are always creating distractions so that he never knows your next move until you are ready to plunge your sword into his heart.

  * * *

  Pilot locked onto the scent just outside Ysys’s hut. The dogs were commanded to be silent on lead. As they entered the marshes in the Lir Delta, visibility became impaired by the thick fog, causing them to slow their pace. Reining in his impatience, the slower pace ran counter to Long Swan’s impulse to simply race through the tall grasses of the marsh, kukri at the ready, but he understood the need for caution to avoid an ambush. Elf Beard made a quick cut with his kukri. A thick snake, approximately two man lengths long recoiled with its head cut off. Long Swan had only half believed the Chartreusean boys about the large serpents that inhabited the marshes. Now he knew better and he was far more cautious about where he put his feet. Xelph too was stepping softly. The dogs led the men out of the tall grasses of the marshes into an open space where the
grasses had been grazed down by tethered goats.

  Before them was an entire village of grass huts. Chartreuseans were stirring around their fires and hanging fish to be smoked. Old Grokk called a pause before they retreated back into the grasses to study the lay of the land and discover which was most likely, Ashim’s hut.

  The Eng-Nessean men were not early risers. Only a few cooking fires had been lit by the women. And the few who were hanging fish to be smoked had taken no note of them.

  Old Grokk whispered. “I see no guards. Does anyone else see any guards or could it be they are luring us in for an ambush?”

  As they were discussing the matter, one of the Eng-Nessean men exited his hut. He staggered no more than a few feet away from the entrance and pissed on the ground.

  Crooked Jack said, “Looks like he’s still drunk. Look at that mess of hair, and see how he walks. I doubt the old boy is even awake.”

  Yorel said, “That looks like Ychstein, Ashim’s father, I’d recognize the simonist reprobate anywhere.”

  Long Swan asked, “Which one do you think is Ashim’s hut?”

  Elf Beard held up the loin cloth. “No need to know. Pilot will lead us straight to him. It’s highly unlikely this is some kind of an ambush, but just in case, Jackie Doo and I shall guard the hut. Xelph and Long Swan will go in together to rescue Ysys, and the rest of you stand ready for a fight.”

  While they had been planning, a few more Eng-Nessean men had emerged from their huts, looking just as hung over as Ychstein. None were armed.

  Elf Beard held Ashim’s loin cloth in front of Pilot and gave the command, “Seek!”

  The handlers loosed the dogs and Elf Beard signaled the charge with kukri’s drawn.

  As the rescue party burst through the camp, the devotees of Ashim stood in a state of profound shock. The dogs raced through a group of young men chopping and barking as they went. Pilot made an immediate beeline for a hut draped in thatch, set apart, and larger than the others, with a door made from lines of hanging sea shells. Long Swan and Xelph followed hot on the heels of the dogs. While the young bloods fanned out to counter any resistance.

  As they drew near they heard Ysys screaming. Xelph spurted ahead and made it through the screen of shells first with Long Swan one step behind. The dogs were baying Ashim, who was lying atop Ysys. He was struggling to pin her arms above her head and gain muscle control over her. Blade at the ready, Long Swan plunged at Ashim only to have Xelph grab his arm.

  “My friend, hear me! For Ysys’ sake and the sake of your future, don’t let this blood stain your wedding garments. Let me do this for you.”

  Long Swan’s mind was in a whirl as he looked into Xelph’s eyes the blood fury that was driving him faded.

  Xelph said, “Please, Goose.”

  Long Swan nodded and stepped back.

  Instantly, Elf Beard stepped inside the hut and ordered the dogs to stand down.

  Ysys screamed, “Be careful, Long Swan!”

  Ashim released Ysys and rose in a rage, groping under his cotton mattress for a club, which he barely pulled out before Xelph took Ashim by his long hair and with one powerful jerk he dragged him away from Ysys and dragged him out of the hut door like a terrier drawing a possum from its hole. With one swipe of his Elven Blade he slit Ashim’s throat. Ysys screamed and Long Swan went to comfort her. As Long Swan cradled her in his arms, he pressed her face against his chest so that she could not see Xelph throwing Ashim to the dust, where he gurgled and writhed in his own blood, grabbing for his throat and gasping for air as he swiftly bled out and gave up the ghost. A justice he never expected nor even knew could be executed.

  “You’re safe now,” Long Swan whispered into her hair, “he can never hurt you again.”

  Ysys began to shake and he put his arms around her, “I prayed to the Ele-Anorean god that you would come.” She whispered through her tears. “I fought him, but he overpowered me, and carried me away.” Her voice broke, and stopped to take a deep breath.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “Only a few bruises, but I did not suffer the drunk to violate me, though he tried with force.”

  “I was praying too,” Long Swan said, “I am sure the Courts of the Elven Lords heard my prayers for you.”

  Long Swan took his flask of honeyed mead and poured it over his scarf in order to bathe her scratches and the cuts on her face and arms.

  She winced, but did not cry out. He smoothed her hair back with his hand and said, “Let me take you home.”

  She nodded. “Yes, take me away from this horrid place.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “I think so,” she said as he helped her to her feet. She wobbled, but eventually found her feet. He stabilized her and they exited the hut to find themselves in the midst of an escalating conflict with Ychstein and his henchmen, who were now rushing into the wolf pack like rats to a cattery.

  Crooked Jack broke Ychstein’s nose with one punch, then thrust his blade through his rib cage to the heart. Ilkchild whirled to impale one of Ashim’s followers who dared to raise his spear. The rest fled, as did all the Arym Gaelean youth who had come with Xelph.

  Fyrd members had been taught to present with great force and violence so as to shock the enemy into immediate submission. This served to reduce retaliation as well as injuries. It worked, for every member of Ashim’s camp ran off in squealing horror into the tall reeds of the marshes like a sounder of swine. Crooked Jack and two of the young bloods dragged Ashim and the other dead bodies to a nearby deep trash pit and with the help of Elf Beard hurled them into the carrion pit.

  “Let’s cover their wretched bodies with these rocks, boys,” Crooked Jack called out.

  As Long Swan led Ysys clear of the sight of Ashim’s body, he could see Xelph’s blood was still high with his hand shaking and his knife dripping with the blood of Ashim. There was some sort of internal struggle going on inside his friend. Xelph’s breathing was exaggerated. Gradually, as they stopped to watch, Xelph regained composure by sucking deeply into his stomach for air.

  Xelph looked up to the sky like he was hoping for direction or answering some Thunder Being, “I will use restraint this day. All father has been merciful!”

  Xelph looked at Long Swan and as their eyes met, he realized that Xelph had resisted an overpowering urge to follow the renegades into the marshes and slay them all. By that Long Swan thought he meant he would not slay the rest of Ashim’s followers.

  Ysys shuddered and he became conscious to how horrifying all this must have been to her. He sought to comfort her by drawing her near and covering her eyes.

  “It’ll be alright. It’ll be alright. This will all pass soon enough.”

  But as the young bloods covered the corpses, Old Grokking countered Xelph’s call for mercy.

  “Xelph, you son of a bitch, what in the hell was your last order? I salute you for your humanity and your care, but in this case it will not serve us to show mercy. If you wound an animal, you must hunt it down and finish it. For that, my comrade, is the only mercy I know of. Do not quell your rage, but keep it aflame. Burn on man! Fan it like a wild fire, and for Woon’s sake, before these whelps into wolves grow, let the fury of Woon guide your sword and make it drunk with their blood. Otherwise we shall not see the end of this. Your mercy is only a poison for us to have to drink later.”

  “It is enough for now my friend, I will sheath my blade. That is my final order.” Xelph cleansed his blade with the clay of the marsh before slipping it carefully into the sheath. “If you slay the stallion, the mares will flee. Elf Beard you saw their faces. These people cannot handle true warfare.”

  Elf Beard scowled. “You are the commander, but you should know that evil does not die. It just re-grows like morning glories in a garden and its roots spread everywhere until they strangle out the choice plants. You should kill as much evil as possible and send it into dormancy. If it were me, I’d kill the whole damn lot of them right this instant and only spare the women and ch
ildren. Mark this now! This thing is going to come back and bite us all hard.”

  Elf Beard walked away frustrated and growling under his breath so much so that his hounds cringed as he passed.

  As the crew continued to throw rocks from the fire pits upon the bodies, Long Swan hugged Ysys tighter and pronounced, “As the only officer of the Roufytrof present, this place shall henceforth be called Planck-Pish, for it is a contemptuous place and the end of evil-doers. It shall be for an eternal monument that evil was here slain and the serpent that sought to swallow my heart was here cast into this foul pit to be flies’ nests, food for the fouls of the air, and for the ravening beasts of the forest.”

  He started leading Ysys away when they came upon the bloody trail and drag marks of Ashim. Ysys went stiff in his arms.

  “What’s the matter, dear?”

  “I have to make sure he’s dead.”

  She pulled away and ran over to the pit to look in. She put her hand to her mouth and her shoulders shook. He went to her and realized she was stifling her sobs. He initially thought she was crying at delayed reaction, but upon examination of her eyes he realized they were not filled with fear, but with sorrow. It hit him like a rusty blade twisting in his gut. She was weeping for her demon lover whose roots of love had grown even deeper than he had feared. Even though Ashim had kidnapped her and tried to violently molest her, she still held some perverse intense affection for him. Despite her protests to the contrary, he knew she still loved him. The pain of this moment cut him as deeply, if not deeper than the pain of Faehuning when she ran away with Saxwulf.

  Long Swan froze and retreated into his thoughts. Why do the Norn sisters take so much delight in robbing me of the pure love I seek? Is it their wish that I never know untainted love? Suddenly, he felt the arm of Elf Beard come over his shoulder.

  Elfy whispered, “With women, love goes deep. The terrible thing about a woman’s heart is, even when you win it, you don’t really know you have won it at all. It feels always like water slipping through the fingers. But I tell you brother, she is yours. Long Swan, this grieving is but the necessary end of something that once was, yet will be no more. It is the last breath of the past. Bear with her! For this day your arrow has split his.”