Bear & Cub Chapter IV: Isle of Malice

The Detour Chapter

Boredom was once unfamiliar to Sigewulf. It was not something he had known on some level, to exist until he first boarded the long-ship for Bretwealda. Nor was it something he had expected to become so acquainted with. It was a sensation that he did not know how during his time on the ship or when waiting for his father’s return to properly cope with. Always on the farm there had been something to do, all had to contribute if they wished to survive. This had been the creed by which all had to live by, and it was one that he had lived quite happily by.

This was not to mean that he greatly looked forward to danger and facing down death as he had come to do so frequently, in recent days. Quite to the contrary, though he did not intellectualise it, he would much prefer having a great deal to do, without the danger that seemed always to haunt him and his father’s every step since his siblings had passed.

What made his time aboard the ships bearable was the stories most of the men, especially Glædwine had told him. This along with the great myriad of chores he had been assigned, during his time on the ship a good break in the boredom that haunted the ship, while the men rowed endlessly.

The time spent aboard the ships though had sadly come to an abrupt end. The storm had struck and collapsed two ships, and almost sent the rest to the bottom of the seas. Hroðgar and the other men had struggled against all odds to rescue those they could, from the fallen ships. But a great many were lost, and had to be given up, no matter Glædwine’s insistence that not a soul was to be abandoned.

“Come to your senses, Glædwine, if we continue to fight to remain in the middle of the sea we will all perish,” Hroðgar had shouted at him furiously. “We must salvage those we have aided, and bring them to safety!”

It was perhaps not the most idealistic view, but it was echoed reluctantly by other members of the crew with one man pointing out, “Those were troop transports we lost. They were carrying our supplies also, but what you risk are the vessels carrying our women and children, if we continue to risk them needlessly, we will eject you from the ship and elect a new captain.”

Alarmed at this speech,

“We must leave this hall,” Sigewulf complained, to those around him.

Trapped in the middle of a grand mead-hall, he was surrounded by a number of the other children, from the other ships and many that predated the arrival of Glædwine’s ships on the islet’s shores. Hardly allowed outside of it, most of the children had taken to their time in Senuna’s castle with more than a little enthusiasm.

“But why?” another of the children, Adalina asked. “There is food aplenty and no adults to tell us what to do.”

“Because,” Sigewulf struggled for a reason, it was true that his father often told him what to do, and rather harshly so. It was not something he particularly missed, however he knew it was for a reason; they had to exact revenge against Ealdwald and his ilk. “We have to find them.”

“But why?”

“Because we must,” He answered simply if stubbornly.

Sigewulf could see that his words had had little effect on the other children; they were reluctant to do as he wished them to. The hall was pristine; it was always kept that way with its gold shimmering chandeliers, marble white walls and similarly snow-white floors. The floors had dark inked patterns interwoven into the marble-stones, while the ceiling a true work of wonder seemed a worthy imitation of the blue skies and twin-suns that dominated summer days.

It was a paradise of a sorts, and with its comfortable cushions of scarlet, blue and emerald colourations, long tables and delicious ostrich, pork, cow and fish meats and other rare delicacies it was hard to argue with this view. It was even harder to resist the fragrances that seemed, to perpetually escape from the kitchens, directly connected to the mead-hall they currently found themselves trapped within.

Certainly the children were permitted to escape outside to play several times a day, and were encouraged to waste their other hours in meaningless pursuits. Mostly they entertained those ladies, who filled the court of the lady Senuna.

It was something that genuinely bored and disgusted Sigewulf, who hated being constrained to the courtyard. To him, the forest, the glens, the mountains were home and he had always been able to run amongst them and to do as he pleased so long as he concluded the tasks at hand. To be deprived of the ability to run about as freely as he might like, was the cruellest punishment one could inflict upon him.

It was the reason for which he had struggled on Glædwine’s ship, and had proven himself quite eager to leave it. Resolved to explore he had however found his every attempt to do so thwarted, by the crones and elders of the court, along with those beautiful Nymphs who inhabited the castle. These Nymphs, were both forest and mountain Nymphs as well as Nereids, that is to say they were sea-Nymphs. All of them were beautiful, ethereal and utterly different from any girl that Sigewulf had ever set eyes upon. By far they were more beautiful, they were prone to sing-song speeches and were in possession (at least some of them were) of some of the sharpest fangs, he had ever seen on any woman.

There was something strange about the manner in which their hair shimmered, their eyes were always seemingly aglow not unlike the Elves. But where there was a sense of mortality, of passion about the Elves that Sigewulf had seen even if from a distance, these women were always playing. It was as though they were children themselves, and this was something a great many of the children liked, even if he did not.

Examples of their childishness, could be found in how they were often found by the indoor pond in the atrium (the children were occasionally allowed there), when they would spend time bickering about men, often times they would playfully push one another into the water. Quite how they could spend so much time bickering, and playing in such a manner was a mystery to some of the children, though many of them enjoyed joining them in this sort of game.

Sigewulf always held himself back, he did not trust these Nymphs. Did not like their strange ways, and especially did not like the occasional flash of calculative intelligence that sparked in their other times vacant eyes.

“We must leave,” He repeated himself, “We must find a way to leave and find our parents, when the Nymphs leave for the day.”

“Why, must we leave when they are gone?” Asked Adalfarus, one of the other boys, one whom had since some time ago become quite enamoured of life on the isle.

“Because, do you not see how they look at us sometimes? I daresay that they seem to consider us at times, as one might consider the hare caught in one’s trap,” Sigewulf complained to himself, being careful not to speak too loudly. It would not do if the palace caretakers heard him, those who were elderly men and women, who happened to live there also.

These people were seemingly warm and kind, though they never failed to make the youth shiver and feel cold.

As though summoned, one of their numbers, a grey-haired, stooped figure by the name of Sarah approached the two of them, muttering as she did so. “You two there, come play with the others we have had a ball brought hither, for the lot of you.”

The first of the two boys eagerly accepted this as the finest news in his life; the latter was to regard the elderly Sarah with a pessimistic gaze. Watching the other children as they threw themselves here, there and everywhere, there was something in Sigewulf as the game went on for some time, he was to pay rather more attention to the old women that surrounded the playing boys.

The young girls were busy being taught to knit, weave and otherwise received considerably more attention, as the old women were better familiar with the women’s arts than men’s. What was more was that he was to notice just how coldly the elders studied the boys foolish to play about in the centre of the large two hundred meter wide and large and fifty meters high hall.

They had arrived there as the storm smashed itself against their ships, destroying a number of them and reducing the crew to the desperate action of dragging their ships as far from the sea as possible. Few there were who paid any attention to their surroundings, consumed with worry as they were for their remaining ships.

Every man had to lend his shoulder, pulling furiously on the lines they had tied to the boat that they might tug and pull them along the sward and to safety. Once this was done, they had turned to the task of ensuring next that they were to see to investigating the islet in the hopes that they might find the resources necessary to repair their ships. The women also wished for refuge from the rainstorm that had enveloped the isle, as it had the furious sea.

It happened that the men when they left in search of food, with another group searching for refuge and a third to stay near the shore to guard all that they had. Neither of the two groups that left in search returned.

Concerned, Hroðgar who had been refused leadership of one of the two groups, due in no small part to Glædwine’s refusal to entrust him once more with command of any men, said to him. “Glædwine I do not like this, there is something I do not like about this isle.”

“Bah, it is either it or the storm,” the chief of the navy of long-ships snapped impatiently, “You worry over your son, old friend while I worry over our people.”
“He is right Glædwine,” Bernhard another of the men said in support, “There is something amiss about this isle.”

Another man, one of the more veteran crew-members of Glædwine’s crews added, “Where was this isle before on all our previous journeys? I do not recall seeing it, the prior time we ventured past this region.”

This admission was one that displeased Glædwine who shook his head, wherefore he conceded to his men, if only marginally. “Very well, we shall do as you wish and will tread forward with great caution. Let us look first to establishing a place of refuge for our women and children, we shall also keep the boats prepared, if only for after the storm abates.”

This seemed a good middle-ground for them to compromise over, though not many felt that this was enough for them. Most notably Hroðgar was of the view that all was destined to go wrong in a matter of hours, saying to some that, “This islet is a place of great evil, mark my words.”

Previously such mutterings had sparked irritation, especially when Sigewulf’s father was the one to mutter them. It happened though that contrary to all other times, they nodded their heads and complained that Glædwine ought to listen to them.

One woman in particular was to complain to him, “You must tell Glædwine to consider returning to the sea just before the dawn. This place is one of death, of darkness and could yield only misery for us.”

Glædwine continued to look unconvinced and as though he might wish to disagree with the woman in question, but did not. He was a sceptical sort, especially in recent days where those around him had begun to take a far less cynical view of the world around them and a more fearful one.

It naturally fell upon Hroðgar to agree with the woman, saying to her, “Quite so Brynja, it is exactly as you have said, this islet is no ordinary islet.”

“Enough Hroðgar,” Glædwine declared impatiently, “Now let us build the place of refuge that the women and children have need of and then let us be away to explore it in search for our friends.”

Some such as Hroðgar did not take well to these ideas and made no secret of it. It was his view Sigewulf knew, they had made a mistake by stumbling upon the isle. This mistake was not made visible to all of them, until some hours after they had happened upon a cave set in the cliff that held up the grand palace that lay at the centre of the isle.

It was into this gloomy state of affairs that the first of the inhabitants of the isle made their presences known. They came not in the dead of night, but after the night had begun to change to day so that the storm seemed to abate to the immense relief of all involved.

Relief was in no short supply as they were to discover, when Sarah appeared before them. Doing so from seemingly out of nowhere, the old woman was the eldest of those who lived thereon the isle, if one was referring solely to those women who lived on the isle, who were not Nymphs.

It was she who spoke to them, in a powerful voice, saying as she did so, “People of the distant north-lands, of Valhol come hither, and follow me for my lady would speak with the lot of you.”

This speech short as it was, had at once an effect upon those present who were to stare in amazement, with Glædwine to ask of her, “Who are you?”

“I am the Lady Senuna’s servant, Sarah, and she has heard of thy plight from thy companions and has requested that you join her in her palace,” the servant replied at once.

Some might well have said that they ought to ignore her, but some such as the women felt calmer and inclined towards trusting her. All save Brynja, who spoke out at once never one to blindly trust another person, especially so mysterious and strange a fellow as Sarah.

“I do not like this, who is this Senuna? We have boats and the storm has abated, why should, we join her in her palace?” the lady in question was to face a great deal of shushing and accused of being rude.

“We are guests here,” argued another woman, one by the name of Cyneburg, “We ought to mind our manners, for this is not our isle.”

“Bah, it could be ours if we wished it,” Hroðgar retorted impatiently, “Though, I agree with Brynja, this isle has a peculiar stench all its own. We ought to put it firmly behind us, and never look back now that the storm has broken.”

“But it might be rude,” protested Sarah.

“It is rude of this stranger not to come greet us herself,” was the countered response by the likes of Glædwine who snorted in response to the elderly crone. “Return to thy lady, and tell her that we will not be going to her palace, but rather continuing on with our journey.”

This seemed to have settled the matter, or so it seemed to them. It was later when they returned thither to the beach, to begin to ready the ships for the journey onwards, to the land of Bretwealda that they were to be visited by the Lady Senuna herself.

In all the time he had lived, Sigewulf had never seen anyone quite like her. Nor did he imagine, he might see her likeness again, so magnificent, so beauteous did she appear. Dressed in a long green gown, one that brought to mind the stretching emerald fields of Valhol, and that were cut in the style Sigewulf was later to be told, was favoured by Romalian women. The dress or stola as it was called, had long sleeves and were tied at the shoulders with a palla that is to say a kind of shawl thrown over the left arm and her head in place of a bonnet. The dress was hardly revealing, yet clung to a figure that was voluptuous and full in a way that few mortal women could ever truly equal.

Amazed at her beauty which seemed to shine with the same brightness of the twin suns’, Glædwine was to gape at her just as all other men did.

“Greetings men of Valhol,” She said speaking their language just as her servant had, with an ease that startled all. Hers was an accented voice, yet was one that enchanted and awed all who heard it, who felt as though they had heard the most lovely choir of their lives.

The first to shake himself from the spell cast by this strange woman, Hroðgar who snapped at her, “Who are you, O lady? I have neither ever heard tell of thee, nor have I ever seen thy likeness before now.”

The lady all could tell hardly appreciated his tone, and was to frown at him in visible displeasure. Even this moue of displeasure though was a sight to behold, with some men sinking to their knees in adulation and others holding their breath in the hopes that they might be graced once more with the monument that was her smile.

“I am the ruler of this isle, that is all that thou needs know about my person and this islet,” She was to reply with all the iciness of the Glacial Sea.