The Children of Zzthethpezemos

Very late that afternoon Turlogh Dubh O'Brien spotted land. Exactly as predicted, the island was dominated by a goodly sized mountain which towered over the landscape. As instructed by Theasmina, the Gael steered the boat to the east and closely followed the coastline. The land referred to as The Mountain of Wonders was larger than Torn, it took the rest of the day to locate the area that the girl had declared to be preferred for making land. The light of day had dissipated into a hazy, dim shade by the time they worked the little ship ashore. The harbor was a good one, and the Gael was pleased with Theasmina for finding it. The area was very well chosen for it was easy to hide the boat. Immediately inland was a thick jungle, not a likely place that prying eyes could penetrate and easily fix their gaze upon the newcomers. Perhaps a half mile to the west was the beginning of a very long sandy beach. Turlogh had no idea what lay farther to the east. Theasmina spoke of a good spring being very nearby. In the morning they could drink their fill of fresh cold water the girl had said. The Gael did not find the misty shrouded land to his liking however. Turlogh was not a man to be easily unsettled but something in the air chilled him despite their good fortune to thus far.

It had been a long day with much activity. Turlogh decided against a fire, therefore their supper had consisted of some dried fish and more gellum. The warrior did not partake of additional non. It was best to be alert, thus a clear head was required. Shortly after arriving, Turlogh had detected a subtle change in Theasmina. The return to a land of bad memories had affected her noticeably. She would glance about, apprehension expressed clearly in her lovely eyes. The girl spoke in short direct phrases, no more of the childish ramblings that had charmed the Gael during their voyage. The temperature on the island grew much colder after sundown. It promised to be a hard night without the benefit of fire. They made their camp in a small clearing where there was a good bit of light supplied by the nearly full moon.

Theasmina asked for non and Turlogh oblidged her, but he took none for himself. The herb eased some of the girl's anxieties and presently she became somewhat more talkative. The warrior had thought that perhaps more lovemaking might occur during the long night but he didn't press the issue. Turlogh was not a man who thought of little else other than his urges. "What can you tell me about these giants that populate the island?" The Dalcassian asked his pretty companion as she combed her lovely dark hair.

"They are hateful monsters," Theasmina replied. "They are as tall as a house and feed on human flesh among other depraved leanings. Still, we are safe here for they never venture very close to the sea. The ocean is the only thing more vast than they and for that reason they hate it with great passion. It is even said they fear the sea because it is the witches that gave birth to them often tell their children tales of vile sea serpents that will swallow them hole should they play to close to the shore." Theasmina smiled before continuing, "despite their massive size, the giants are truly cowards. My father said they dread the thought of encountering anything or anyone that isn't frightened to death of them. "

"I see," said Turlogh. "If ever I meet a giant face to face we shall see if it's possible to carve them down to size with the unafraid steel of my good axe."

This pleased Theasmina and she giggled slightly. "I feel safe with you Great Turlogh."

"Good," replied the dark warrior. "Perhaps we should try to sleep now. If we are to scale yon mountain it be best that we are fully rested....to the highest degree that we can manage here anyhows."

That night the girl slept curled in the warrior's arms, her blanket stretched tightly over their slumbering bodies. All things considered, they rested reasonably well.

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The morning that followed was a cold one. The warm weather that blessed Torn was apparently not often in evidence on the The Mountain of Wonders. Turlogh was very well acquainted with the cold and damp of Errin but even he felt an uncomfortable shiver. Against his better judgment he started a fire. Perhaps he had gotten soft on Torn but his stomach desired hot food, and his bones demanded a degree of warmth. The girl left with her blanket draped about her shoulders. "The spring is near here," she said. "I will fetch us some fresh water." Turlogh nodded and sat down to arrange his thoughts, ever keeping a close eye on the large bag of precious green gems tied to his belt. With such a treasure he could scarce afford to trust anyone. Yea, even his lovely guide might be tempted by wealth such as this. Still, the warrior was certain the girl didn't know of the precious contents in the bag the Gael guarded so closely. However, she might be curious, and if she asked him what he carried....how should he respond? Turlogh angered himself for dwelling on such foolishness, he was reminded of what a sweet and gentle lass Theasmina was and nothing more. That darkness that plagued the heart of the somber warrior had been well earned by a life of intrigue and war.

The Gael was musing in this fashion when a jarring shout assailed his ears. It was Theasmina calling for him in a very excited tone of voice. He jumped to his feet just as the girl reappeared suddenly. "Turlogh, come quickly, there is a man sleeping near the spring....and he is a fearsome warrior indeed!"

"Lower you voice girl, lest you arouse him, if you haven't already," Turlogh urged. "Now lead me to him, and quietly my darling lass."

Theasmina fell silent before taking the warrior's arm in her trembling hand. She led him to a barely visible path that had most likely been worn down by animals seeking the spring. They walked for perhaps two-tenths of a mile before the woman stopped and pointed. She whispered to the Gael, "look, he's just over there, you can see his great feet just now."

"Stay here for the time being," Turlogh said before continuing down the path, silent as a stalking panther. First he glimpsed the feet and very soon the entire man was visible, and indeed he appeared to be sleeping. The Gael could plainly see the man was huge, obviously one of the giants. The dark warrior raised his axe, and thus poised to attack he crept closer.

At this point it seemed to the Gael that the man, or giant, was breathing in a most labored way. If he was sleeping, then surely he was gripped by a fearsome dream. With muscles tensed to strike, the anxious Turlogh moved even closer until he stood almost directly over the prone warrior. The sparkling spring happily bubbled its pleasing waters within a few feet of the hulking figure. A great broadsword lay across the torso of the man, the Gael studied it for several moments. Could it be there was some hint of recognition in the eyes of the dark Dalcassian? What was it about that sword?

Lastly, Turlogh's eyes moved to the face of the slumbering giant. It was then that he received a shock of epic proportions. The face was ashen and fixed with an expression of great pain. The eyes were tightly shut but there was no mistaking who this face belonged to....incredible though the thought that such a thing could be...and how?! The warrior lying there was the one called Athelstane the Saxon. And none other!

"Athelstane my brother, how can it be that I should find your great bulk slumbering here on this unknown land?" Turlogh raised the question, still in a state of semi-disbelief.

The giant only groaned slightly and his eyelids fluttered just a bit. "Athelstane!" Turlogh exclaimed more loudly. "What has befallen you brother, a warrior does not sleep so soundly with the threat always of enemies a'roaming about."

The large man's gray eyes opened slowly. They stared at Turlogh with confusion at first. "By all the Gods! Is that you Turlogh Dubh O'Brien....and there's your thirsty axe. Answer me, are you man, ghost, or the last vision of a fevered brain?"

Sensing something was very wrong, Turlogh leaned closer to the Saxon. "What ails ye man, aye, it is I and no other. It's a wondrous surprise to find you here Athelstane, it appears you have a tale for your old weapons companion."

The Saxon placed his hand upon Turlogh's wrist. He squeezed somewhat feebly as if he still wasn't quite convinced the Gael was in the flesh.

"Yes, I have a tale, and it's the tale of how I came here to die....for death sits heavily on my shoulder. I'm not afraid, my life has been long and lusty. Many are the foes I have sent to the next world, an ocean of good ale I have drank, and many a fine lass have warmed my bed. Do you recall, Black Turlogh, a viking ship that chased you far out to sea until a great storm came to engulf us all?"

"Yes, I recall, were you on that ship?" Turlogh asked.

"Aye, I was.....I had an urge to go a'reaving and as you well know I'm not above sailing with a horde of bloodthirsty Vikings, if no better opportunity is at hand. The ship belonged to that blackheart, Halpin Bear's Bane." Athelstane's voice trailed off.

"Quck, Theasmina, fetch the gellum," Turlogh urged and the girl sped away. The hasty lass returned within minutes and Turlogh lifted the head of the Saxon. "Drink this, its an odd but tasty wine."

Athelstane took a manly swig of the blue fluid and smacked his lips in appreciation. Then he took another good drink before pushing the animal hide flask away. Still, his eyes flashed a little brighter and he struggled to smile a bit. "Aye, it is tasty, and warms my belly....but save the rest for the living my friend."

Despite his attempt at restraint, Turlogh gently admonished his friend. "Why in the name of the Gods did you once again go a'reaving with those cursed vikings? Would that you had sought me out instead."

"I did search for you but my patience is not great. If I was a farmer, I would farm, if I was a beggar, then I would beg....but I am a reaver. I apologize for nothing, but my heart sank when those dogs spotted your little craft and gave pursuit. You are not a hard man to recognize my friend....and what Viking doesn't hate you? There was nothing I could do but watch, it was fifty strong men against one. Still, I was prepared to die fighting at your side when the time came. Of course, it was then that the storm came to wreck the plans of that fool Halpin. Nine of the Vikings were washed overboard including Halpin Bear's Bane and the navigator. At last, we found ourselves hopelessly lost."

Turlogh nodded, "yes, the same thing happened to me. That storm was one sent from the maelstrom of blackest hell. But please continue."

"At last we made land many day's journey to the south of here. We found a tribe of dark skinned savages there. At first they tolerated us reasonably well...probably out of base curiosity. But then those fool Norsemen began abusing the women thereabouts." Athelstane shook his great head as he recalled what happened afterwards. "Those fierce devils attacked us and killed half our number. The rest barely escaped in the ship but there was very little water or food aboard. We had hard sailing for five or six days until we found this accursed, cold land."

"Those same dark skinned warriors likely attacked the island of Torn where I made land," Turlogh said. "Now I understand why, they were searching for those accursed Vikings. The ones that struck us found death instead I'm happy to relate to you."

"Good, good!" Athelstane chuckled. "I am glad that I could send something to quench the thirst of that terrible axe or yours." Then the Saxon groaned and his face grew more ashen. Despite the obvious pain he continued his tale with effort.

"We made land here and went inland searching for water, meat, and whatever else we could plunder...naturally. After a few hours tramp we were set upon by strange warriors led by several fearsome giants. Ten Vikings were killed before we managed to flee back to the ship. Strangely the horde did not follow us there."

"It is said the giants fear the sea. Perhaps that is why they stopped their pursuit. Are they really as large as it be said...are they bigger men than you my friend." The Gael asked because Athelstane was a giant in his own right being six and a half feet tall.

"Aye, Turlogh, they were a full head taller than I, perhaps more. We fled from them and their monstrous clubs that sent men's bodies sailing off through the trees! After we regrouped near the shore I quarreled with Gothrun the Tall who now leads the Norse dogs. I swore an oath to slay him before I'd take another order from that fool. I killed three of the Norse dogs before that treacherous Oskytel One-eye shot me with an arrow...an arrow set with poisonous snake venom. There are no shortage of vile serpents on this accursed island...both them that crawl and them that walk upright! At once I felt the poison weakening me, I raced away in the darkness. Somehow I stumbled across this little spring. I decided this was as good a place as any to die, for at least there was fresh water to sip. And that is my tale, but I am honored to have one such as you to tell it to. At first, when I saw you, I hoped that I had died already and you had come to lead me through the land of the dead..having died in the storm I reckoned. Nonetheless, it is good that you are alive and well....very good indeed, for many reasons."

Turlogh glanced down at the Saxon's right foot. It was swollen and black, the bull hide sandal had been kicked away. The Gael saw the broken shaft of an arrow protruding just above the ankle. His heart went out to Athelstane.

"Don't fear, a mere day's sail south of here is the island of Torn. There is a great healer there named Zzthethpezemos. He cured young Brenne Mac Art who was severely addled by a blow to the head and he can save you as well. We will leave at once, Zzthethpezemos sent me here to seek out a magic bird and the witch that owns it but that can wait."

"Nay, nay, give pause good Turlogh. My time is measured not in days nor even a day. I am content to die here, for certain I cannot tolerate being moved. I am not afraid....just grateful to see you again...and your fair lass. Just let me rest here my friend."

Turlogh felt great frustration at his helplessness. "Is there anything at all I can do for you...any last request, or something to make you more comfortable?"

"Truthfully, I was hoping you would ask. Yea, I have two requests," Athelstane said.

"Ask, I am your slave," replied Turlogh anxiously, his distress etched plainly upon the strong Gaelic features.

"I want a warrior's funeral my friend, but most of all.....I want vengeance!"

A terrible dark smile crossed the features of the brooding Gael. "Have no concerns on that account, I swear by this axe that no Viking will leave this island with his head on his shoulders. This strange shore shall quench its thirst on their blood and they will accompany you to the land of the dead, as lowly galley slaves!"

"Aye," the Saxon spoke with eyes that burned momentarily with the fire of old. "Now I can die with great joy! Still, you have reminded me of something. Something that might be of aid to you. Chained day and night aboard the cursed ship of the Norse dogs are two galley slaves. They have the look of warriors about them. Free them and I wager they would be more than happy to strike at their masters. There are eleven vikings yet alive and although they be worthless scum...when it comes to weapons play, they are men. They are led by Gothrun, that bastard Oskytel, and his brother Anwiund the Bloody. Beware of that one my dark friend!" Athelstane coughed up bile and closed his eyes tightly.

"A wise man refuses no good ally during time of war. Tell me where the Viking ship is located? Asked Turlogh.

Athelstane had regathered himself enough to continue. "I would guess its lies about an hour's journey by foot along the shore to the east. Wait until darkness, that dog Gothrun plans to sneak inland at night to search for game. Perhaps you can surprise them upon their return. That will give you ample time to plan your attack. They have weapons aboard ship that the slaves can arm themselves with."

"That is a wise plan, I shall wait here until darkness...we can talk old friend. But fret not your weary head with thoughts vengeance.....It shall be yours! Besides, I have sworn to kill Vikings wherever I can find them."

"Aye," said Athelstane. "And perhaps another sip of that strange wine might serve after all."

Thus the two old friends sat and drank..and talked. They talked of a great many things, deeds, friendships, and old foes. Theasmina looked on silently, and followed the talk as best she could, not knowing the language but watching the men's eyes. Occasionally, Turlogh would explain a little of the conversation to her. Then, when the sun began to cast long shadows amongst the trees....the Saxon left this world. Truly let it be said, no man ever lived that lived better. And let it be said that he died well, of a wound received in battle. And what better can be said of a man?

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Black Turlogh sat there for a long time in silence. Then his features grew darker even more so than before, and hard as the great broadsword that lay across the huge Saxon's chest. With great care and the utmost respect Turlogh took the sword from the hand of the dead man.

"It is only right that this sword drink the blood of him that killed its master." Then the Gael turned and walked away with sword and axe in hand....giving little hint of the berserker madness that boiled just underneath his trembling skin. Athelstane's last words had been...."slay Oskytel first!" It would be done. Thus the oath was made by Turlogh Dubh of the Clan na O'Brien.