The Chalk Giants (23 page)

The crewmen scurried again. The sail was furled, the great yard lowered inches at a time to the deck. The feat accomplished,
Looker
lay a little easier. Her truss was tautened; and the rowers bent themselves once more, wearily, to their task.

For an hour or more the issue stood in doubt. Across the sea, above the medley of other sounds, could be heard the boom of surf. The moon, gliding between ragged clouds, gave glimpses of close rock.
Looker
pitched and rolled, falling off into the troughs of waves, rising through a welter of spray. A sea carried away the sternpost, another half the shields of the weather rack; the cloths with which she had been draped had long since flogged themselves to tatters. In time, the roar to leeward seemed to grow less. The rowers stared, unwilling at first to believe their senses; and the land was falling away, ahead showed a waste of sparkling water. The greatship yawed again, swept sideways by the crabbing of an enormous tide.

The respite was brief. The wind blew now from dead astern; and the channel was narrowing. Once a cliff-wall reared to larboard, its top lost in darkness. Waves crashed at its base, seething upward two or three times the height of
Looker’s
mast; The vessel jarred and shook, caught in a yeasty boiling, before the undertow plucked her clear. The channel widened once more, narrowed again. The lookouts clung to prow and masthead, eyes red-rimmed, glaring into darkness. The greatship rolled, water gurgling and sloshing in her hold. Her crew, bone-weary, lost all track of time; they groaned and muttered, praying for the dawn.

The sky lightened, by imperceptible degrees. The masthead became visible black against scarcely lighter grey, and the battered length of the deck. Men slumped across the oars, gasping with relief. Elgro, his hair caked and spiky, gripped his young master’s shoulder and grinned; Egril, relaxing for the first time in many hours, permitted himself the ghost of a smile. The strange tide, still flowing, bore the greatship effortlessly to the west; it was as if the storm, blowing so long and violently, had piled up untold masses of water, which now must find release.

The voice of the masthead lookout was as thin and desperate as the cry of a bird.

Ahead, growing from the dark, stretched a long mounded spit. At its base the sea frothed round jagged teeth of rock; beyond, a beach of smooth grey sand sloped to low cliffs. The current, setting across the channel, drove the vessel down fast as a running horse.

A fresh ship, with a fresh crew, might have weathered the hazard; but the seconds that were lost while the rowers struggled with the oars were irreplaceable. The blades rose and flashed; but the pull was ragged.
Looker
surged sideways, recovered, wallowed again. Then it was too late; she swept forward helplessly, already among the rocks.

A bellow from Egril brought the blades down once more. In every place save one the reef thrust up grey and dripping, pounded by spray. Matt swung his weight at the steering oar; the greatship steadied, rushed for the gap.

For an instant, it seemed the manoeuvre would succeed. Black water slid past, bubbling; then the oars of the larboard rank struck rock. The butts swept forward across the packed thwarts; a concerted shriek, and the benches were empty.
Looker
slewed, struck with a pounding roar.

For Rand, it was as if time was slowed. The impact flung him headlong across the deck; he gripped a tangle of rigging while water surged round his waist. Something struck his thigh; an oar-shaft rose end over end, hung turning. The vessel rolled, pounded again. The truss flexed; and the long levers that tightened it spun from their crotches. He saw a man hurled backward, a bright mash where his face had been; then the bow planking rippled and burst.

The dissolution of the greatship was bizarre in its suddenness. Lacking the tension of the truss, the hull seemed to explode on the instant into its component fragments. The mast-spars, wrenched apart by the springing of the bulwarks, crashed into the sea. Oars, benches, gratings, hatch covers, tossed in confusion. A wave creamed forward, dotted with casks, planks and bobbing human heads. A bird wheeled, its voice lost in the noise of the surf; the wave licked the foot of the cliff, expended itself in a fading fringe of lace.

Water rushed into the lungs of the King. His ears roared; he rose flailing, sank again toward stillness. He was aware, vaguely, that hands gripped his arms; then his knees struck sand. He staggered forward, rolled full length, lay groaning and retching salt. Over him, chest heaving, stood the red and grey, bow-legged man who had snatched him from the Gods.

The survivors huddled moodily on the beach. Of forty men, just twenty-one remained; and of those Cultrinn crouched whimpering, glowing rags clutched to the splinters of an arm. Below the cliff Egril lay grey-faced and coughing. His sons stooped over him; at his side knelt Rand, and the Dancing Man.

Dendril walked slowly to the group. He stood feet spread, hand on the pommel of his sword. ‘King of the Crab you are called,’ he said, staring down contemptuously. ‘But I see no King worthy of the name.’ He raised his voice. ‘I see a fisherman,’ he said. ‘Who fished too long and well, robbing among other things his neighbour’s pots. Who in his arrogance denied the Gods their due, and now expects us all to share his punishment. Half of us are gone already; shall those that are left die with him? Rather we will leave him here to mope, and I will lead you. His kept-man will bring him soup.’

Rand turned, shaking his head as if in pain; and Elgro stepped forward smiling. ‘Now, Dendril,’ he said. ‘And all you others sworn to follow the Crab. A new tune has come into my head. I feel my feet begin to itch; will one of you partner me? For ghosts are hovering just above our heads; a sacrifice will soothe them.’ He crouched, eyes raw-rimmed with salt, flexing his long arms. A silence; then one of the rowers, a burly blond-bearded man called Egrith, spoke up. ‘Well you know I make no cause against you, Elgro,’ he said. ‘Also what vows I take, I keep. But this much is true. We sailed with neither mark nor sacrifice, which is contrary to any priestly law I ever heard; and see where it has led us.’

‘Why, Egrith,’ said the Dancing Man, ‘I see indeed where it has led you; through a time of mortal peril to a most well-found beach, where we shall shortly dry our clothes and gather some food, and conduct ourselves like Sealanders rather than squabbling children. If you are dissatisfied with that you should perhaps walk back into the sea; or come with me and I will hold your head under water till your honour is appeased.’

Somebody laughed, abruptly; and the tension broke. Dendril, turning to rally the rest, saw his support already melting away. He clenched his fists angrily, and stalked off.

‘This is well,’ said Elgro after a pause. ‘Now, all the rest of you; fetch wood to build a fire. And Egrith, climb the cliff a little way and watch. My spirits tell me there are many tribes in this land, not all of them friendly.’

The party set to work. Timber from the wreck abounded; sparks were coaxed from flint and steel, a blaze kindled in the shelter of the rocks. An iron pot had been salvaged from the water; and Matt, wading out, secured a cask of salt meat and another of Sealand herrings. They lolled on the beach more cheerfully while their sealskin cloaks, propped on sticks round the warmth, steamed and stank. An hour passed; then Galbritt and Ensor called from below the cliff. Rand, hurrying to them, saw the Shipmaster raise himself. Twice he made to speak, extending his arm; then the coughing shook him again. He fell back, eyes fixed and blank. Blood showed between his teeth, and he was dead.

‘This too was well,’ said Elgro quietly. ‘Now, we will make a cairn here for him. He can lie in sight of the sea; and no fox or bird will visit him, annoying his sleep. Also I will dance the strongest dance I know, so his rest will be the sweeter.’ He turned, quickly, to the sons. ‘Will you be satisfied?’

They stood frowning, pulling at their lips; and Galbritt, the elder, answered. ‘He spoke strangely, before he died,’ he said. ‘We didn’t understand him. Something there was of witchcraft, and a Fairy woman who entranced the King; but he called for no blood in vengeance. We shall be satisfied.’

The Sealanders scurried again. A mound of rocks was raised above the Shipmaster, twenty feet or more long and six feet high. At its head they set the great stempost of
Looker,
which the waves had washed up on the beach. Elgro, inspecting the work, pronounced it satisfactory. He danced a wild, stamping song, forward and back across the How; when it was done he walked to Rand, who stood as ever a little apart, his chin sunk on his chest. ‘Now, my Lord,’ he said softly. ‘We are twenty strong, and in better temper than before; though one of us, it is certain, would be best elsewhere.’ He jerked his head to where Dendril sat scowling by his injured friend, and whetted a knife significantly on his palm.

Rand stared, and shook his head. ‘Elgro,’ he said, ‘you know the vow I took. I have spilled blood enough; now more lives are on my head. Let it be.’ He pulled his cloak round him, looked at the sea. ‘We will leave this place,’ he said. ‘Let the men take what they can carry, from the wreck; it may be some time before we can find shelter.’

The party wound upward slowly, Rand leading with the sons of Egril. Matt followed, taciturn as ever; then came the rowers, well hung about with weapons, some with bulky packs on their backs. In the rear Cultrinn, white-faced and moaning, was half carried, half dragged up the steep cliff path.

The sun was high by the time they reached the crest. Behind them the sea stretched into distance, calm now and mockingly blue; to the south the land ran broken and rolling, hill after hill dotted with bracken and carpeted with heather. No smoke rose, anywhere; there were no sounds, no signs of human habitation.

Rand shaded his eyes, uncertainly. ‘Elgro, I lean on your counsel again,’ he said. ‘You know my need; which way shall I go?’

Elgro scowled. ‘I know the ways of ghosts to some extent,’ he said. ‘I dance for life, and death. But your business is with the Gods. For that you need the priests we left behind.’

Rand glanced at him sharply, and shrugged. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘one way is as good as the next.’ He struck out across the short turf, head bowed, not looking back. The Sealanders followed, in a straggling line.

At midday they rested in a sheltered hollow, eating a little of the food they had brought with them. Rand, now, was impatient to be gone. They rose without undue complaint, and once more shouldered their loads.

The sun dropped toward the west. Their shadows lengthened; and still the empty hills marched to either side. The sky was reddening when they came on a curious sight. At the crest of a sweep of grassland was set a little stone hut, no more than waist high. Round it at a distance of twenty paces or so stood a circle of upright stones. The wind had dropped, through the day; now no leaf stirred. The place was utterly still.

Elgro approached sniffing like a dog, as was his custom when puzzled or suspicious. ‘This place stinks of Gods,’ he said finally. ‘So some sort of folk live in these hills.’ He walked forward carefully, setting his feet in line, squatted at the entrance to the shrine. He stared a while; then straightened, with a short laugh. ‘A fine spirit,’ he said. ‘If he is the greatest the land can offer, I think we shall come to no harm.’

Rand, stooping, made out an image in the shadows. Eyes of polished stone winked at him; above were two tall ears. He shook his head, frowning. Wild and ragged though the carving was, the figure was undoubtedly a hare.

‘Now,’ said Elgro, ‘people who worship hares must be very odd folk to meet.’

At Rand’s side, Galbritt touched his arm. He drew, with a scrape of steel.

Facing them some twenty paces off, where a moment before had been empty heather, was a little group of men. They were short, barely reaching to the shoulders of the Sealanders, but sturdy and powerfully built. They carried light spears, no thicker at the tips than twigs; and three or four held drawn bows.

The Sealanders bunched, muttering; but Rand raised an arm. He walked forward slowly, palms spread. ‘We are sailors, shipwrecked on your coast,’ he said. ‘We come in peace, desiring only shelter for the night. Also one of us is very sick. If your priests can bring him to health, we will pay with gold.’

The strangers stared, stolidly; then one, who seemed to be their leader, grunted. ‘Those are very peaceful swords I see in your folk’s hands,’ he said. ‘And peaceful axes and spears. Also you have defiled a holy place, the punishment for which is death.’

Rand said mildly, ‘We meant no harm; we approached not knowing it was the house of a God. Show us how he will best be pleased, and we will make an atonement. Also I will sit at your fire and talk, for I see you are an old folk, and very wise.’

The strangers grunted together; then the leader turned back. ‘Sealanders seeking peace are wonderful folk,’ he said. ‘Yesterday at noon the sun turned cold, hanging the land with icicles. Tonight, undoubtedly, the moon will become green.’

Rand turned. He said, ‘Elgro, tell them to put their swords away.’

The weapons were sheathed, unwillingly. The little people jabbered once more among themselves; in time it seemed a decision was reached. The bows were lowered; and a guard formed up, at a circumspect distance from the Sealanders. The party moved on, following a well-trodden track across the shoulder of the hill.

The village they eventually reached was curious in the extreme. There were no fine buildings, no Chief’s hut or High Priest’s Lodge; in fact from a distance no dwellings were visible at all, so well did the low roofs, overgrown with bracken and turf, blend with the valley floor on which they stood. Smoke rose here and there; at the hut doorways as they passed, women with babies at their hips stood staring sullenly. All were unclothed to the waist, and as dumpy and unlovely as their menfolk.

There was a council hut of sorts; a long, low structure, as overgrown as the rest. Outside it the Sealanders waited suspiciously, it seemed an interminable time. Within, voices could be heard raised in argument. Finally their guide reappeared. ‘I, who am called Magro, bid you welcome,’ he said importantly. ‘Our God, who is very wise, has evidently sent you to be his guests and keep him company. In one week’s time, we hold his high festival. Then you will worship him; and your promise will be fulfilled.’