Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag

[Char-Vell]

Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag 

I 

    For three days, the Aquilionian galley Swiftsure was tossed and battered by the churning waves of the Western Sea. Its crew, near exhaustion, struggled to keep it upright. All pretext of maintaining anything resembling a course had been abandoned. For three days, the oars had been shipped and the hatches closed. For three days Fabricus, overseer of the thirty slaves compelled to man the oars of the Swiftsure, had grown blacker of humor. He gazed in disgust toward the crowded benches. He could not make out the faces of those seated there, all flames had been extinguished to prevent accidental fire, but he could smell them. The air, never sweet here where the enslaved toiled in their own filth, had grown abominable since the storm had entombed Fabricus with these cretins. He absently fondled the amulet he wore about his neck. It was a rude depiction of an enormously pregnant torso with pendulous breasts, the head, arms, and legs had been omitted from the reddish glazed clay figure, so as not to detract from its fecund attributes. It reminded him of the barbarians they took onboard just before the storm began. Several galley slaves that had left Aquilonia with the ship had died of an ague, and desperate for manpower so far from home waters, Captain Amulias had put ashore in Vanahiem, buying Aesir captives from Vanir slavers. They now sat aft of Fabricus in the darkness. Great, blue-eyed, tawny-bearded brutes. He could feel their gaze upon him now, even through the dimness.

But not all the Aesir had been purchased as slaves, there was one exception. Shortly after leaving the shallow bay where they had met with the Vanirmen, another blonde savage was discovered onboard, trying to pry the shackles loose from the headman of the Aesir. The crew set upon this stowaway, and were met with fierce resistance. One crewman died with a knife twisted in his guts, another suffered such a blow to the head that it was likely he would remain a gibbering idiot the rest of his days. At last they managed to subdue this wild creature. When the wolfskin cloak was torn from the captive, the Aquilonians where shocked to find that what they thought was a tall, longshanked man, was a woman, a girl really, though she towered a head taller than most of the Aquilonians and had muscles like a cart horse. Fabricus gave the order to cut her throat and toss her overboard, but this was belayed by Captain Amulias. There was some ruckus among the Aesir, Fabricus could not understand their savage babbling, but the captain apparently knew a smattering of their tongue, as well as another of the galley slaves, a captive Kothian mercenary. An agreement was reached that the Aesir would submit to their servitude and offer no resistance, if this girl were allowed to remain alive and unspoiled. To this, Captain Amulias agreed. Whether out of a desire to keep the savages placid or some foolish sentimentality, Fabricus knew not.

    Fabricus spat in disgust. Bargaining with barbarian trash! Better to slay all the dogs! Such maudlin weakness would one day bring Aquilonia to its knees! He turned his attention to where the girl now sat chained to the oars with her tribesmen. She had not spoken since her capture, nor looked anywhere save straight ahead, nor even cried out when he struck her when the captain was not looking, nor even when he snatched the barbaric amulet he now wore from around her shapely neck. Aye, it was shapely, though thick and sinewy compared to the pale slender throats of the civilized women on whom Fabricus normally focused his attention. He rose, and, mindful of the swaying deck, made his way over to her and squatted down. She sat with her shackled arms draped over the oar, green eyes staring straight ahead through filthy, matted hair. Fabricus seized the girl’s hair and jerked her head backward. She showed no reaction. He allowed his gaze to roam over her body, barely covered by the tatters of a linen tunic and a rag twisted about her hips. She was not unlovely, he thought; Aye, she was heavily muscled, but the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts appealed to him. Fabricus ran a hand over his face and close-cropped scalp. The storm had started with her arrival, and had only increased in strength. Perhaps it was her doing! Some sort of northern witchery! He would be doing the Swiftsure a service to slay this wench and toss her into the churning sea! But, such a waste.

Grinning, he moved in and shoved the girl down prone on the bench. The savages began yelling at him in their guttural tongue, but he paid them no heed. He tore open the girl’s tunic and seized a breast, squeezing it savagely; still the girl stared straight up at the ceiling, showing no reaction. There was a cry in thickly accented Aquilonian, from the Kothic mercenary;

    “Dog! Would you break your Captain’s vow? Is this Aquilonian chivalry?”

    “Still your tongue, you Kothic bastard, lest I cut it out! I’ll see what it takes to coax a moan out of this whore!”     There was an outcry and a rattling of chains as the Aesir strained at their bonds, helpless to aid their tribeswoman. Some of the other slaves stirred as well, but most were too cowed to protest. Fabricus crawled atop the girl, and reached down with both hands to tear the loincloth from her supple young body. He whispered huskily in her ear, his rancid breath hot against her tender flesh.

    “No doubt you’ve been astride many a stallion my golden-haired filly, one more should be a small matter!”

    Suddenly he found himself entangled! The girl had abruptly wrapped her legs about him, pinning his arms to his sides, he strove to free himself, but the strength of the girl’s thighs was unrelenting.

    “Mitra!” he croaked. His last thoughts were of confusion and anger, but these thoughts ended when the girl struck him a fierce blow under his nose with the heel of her hand, driving the nasal bone into his brain. She pushed the still twitching body off of her and seized the poniard from the overseer’s belt. Her eyes wild and her teeth bared, she drove the blade repeatedly into his breast. Great gouts of blood spewed across the planks with every stroke of the dagger.

     The eldest of the Aesir captives hailed her. “Sigyn! Enough! The dog is dead, take his keys and release us!”

     She ceased her butchery and tore the amulet from the corpses’ neck. Taking the keys from the dead Aquilonian’s belt, she unshackled herself, and then delivered the keys to he that requested them.

    “Release the others, Honir.” she whispered while tying the amulet about her neck. “I am going up.”

    “To what end?” asked the Kothian, now in the language of the Aesir, “You mean to take on the whole crew with that dagger? Wait for the rest of us! We go up as one!”

    Sigyn’s eyes narrowed as she regarded the speaker, a sun bronzed man of middle years, his hair and beard shot with grey, clad in the filthy tatters of some military garb.

    “Who is this dog that speaks the tongue of the Aesir, Honir?”

    The Kothian grinned, and, not waiting for the Aesir elder to speak, said, “Turn not thy rage toward me, lass! I am Vikare. In my former life as captain of a company of free fighting men, I gained a smattering of many tongues. More than one Aesir has shed his blood at my side.”

    Honir nodded. “This man seems honest enough, Sigyn, and he speaks wisely, wait until we are all free. Then we will take the ship.”

    Sigyn scowled, and then shrugged. “As you wish, but hurry!” She then crept up the short flight of steps that led to the deck.

    In short order, all the slaves had been unshackled, about half of their number armed themselves with lengths of chain, boards, or whatever improvised weapons could be had, and assembled themselves near the hatch. The remainder cowered toward the back of the benches. Without any arrangement being made, all deferred to Vikare, as his mastery of several languages and air of command made even the savage Aesir gravitate to him as a natural leader.

    “Sigyn will throw open the hatch.” he began, nodding to the girl, “Then we will attack. The crew will be distracted because of the storm; this will work for and against us. Strike fast. Seize weapons when you can. Mind you don’t get washed over board.”

    He met the gaze of each man in this ragtag force, then, commending his soul to Ishtar, nodded once more to Sigyn. She took her dagger in her teeth, and pushed open the hatch, leaping through it and immediately to one side, allowing the men behind her to climb out onto the wildly pitching deck. A wave struck her, forcing her to grip the sill of the hatch. The water was cold, but she almost relished it as it soothed her wounds and washed away the filth of her confinement.

    “Close it Sigyn!” Vikare bellowed over the tumult of the raging storm, “Lest it fill with water and we sink!”

    Sigyn did as she was bid; then, taking her dagger in hand, fell in behind the force of desperate slaves. It was as Vikare had predicted; the crew was so preoccupied with keeping the ship afloat, they knew not of the attack until the slaves were among them, The half dozen Aesir were at the forefront. Having been confined for less of a span, they retained more vitality than the others. They lay about with chains and bare fists. The Aquilonian sailors were lightly armed with knives and daggers, and began defending themselves robustly once they realized what was happening.

    Sigyn ran along the length of the ship toward the rudder, thinking to secure it, though she had no clue how to steer a seagoing vessel herself. She blundered directly into a crewman, and the twain fell to the deck in a tangle of limbs. They grappled fiercely, the sailor trying to slice at her with a hawkbill knife. Sigyn managed to get astride him, pinning his flailing arms with her knees, then, thrust her dagger through his neck. Hot blood spurted into her face as she sliced open the sailor’s throat, his gurgling cries drowned out by the thunder and the crashing of waves. She relented only when he lay still. Sigyn regarded her vanquished foe. He was a handsome, auburn haired lad, no older than herself. She rose, wiping the blood and salt spray from her eyes, burying any twinge of sadness she may have felt after killing the lad. He was far from the first foe to die at her hands. Young as she was, she was the veteran of many savage battles. In the wild uncivilized reaches of northern Asgard, manslaying was as common a chore as chopping wood or tanning hides. Looking about her, she saw no more foes within reach of her blade. There was a riot of men brawling about the deck. She saw Rothall, a burly man from her village, lift an Aquilonian high overhead and toss him into the churning sea. For the first time, her gaze was drawn out into the ocean. It was as gray and roiling as the violent sky above it. Sigyn had not seen the ocean before plunging into it weeks ago to swim out to the Swiftsure in her ill-fated rescue attempt. It had been calm then, and the shore had been visible nearby; but now it was a boiling vision of madness! Sigyn suddenly felt very small and vulnerable, an insect clinging to a twig in a vast neverness of water where no land had ever existed. Great arcs of lighting crawled across the vault of heaven, and lo! A great swelling of water rose, gradually forming a colossal wave, larger than any wall or cliff face Sigyn had ever beheld. At first it seemed the Swiftsure would climb up and over the mountain of water, but then the wave crested and arched over top the ship. The sky was blotted out and it was as if the boat dwelt within a bubble, enclosed on all side by the sea. Within a heartbeat, this deluge crashed into the galley. Somehow, Sigyn stayed on her feet as the ship lurched over to one side, then another. Then she watched, detached, as the mainmast of the Swiftsure bent and shattered. A wall of water and debris hurtled towards her. 

    “Ymir!” she muttered, and then all was black oblivion.

[BlackHeart]

Intriguing and action packed chapter, my friend. Good describing stile, definently a REH feeling when you read it and (if it says something) I like the girl 😇 Talk about a wild ones...
Looking forward to see more soon.

Best of wishes!

[Char-Vell]

Feb 19, 2018 13:53:07 GMT -5 BlackHeart said:

Intriguing and action packed chapter, my friend. Good describing stile, definently a REH feeling when you read it and (if it says something) I like the girl 😇 Talk about a wild ones...
Looking forward to see more soon.

Best of wishes!

That's high praise indeed!

Thanks!

Hopefully you'll enjoy the rest.

[zarono]

Great work again C-V!

[Char-Vell]

Feb 19, 2018 21:47:27 GMT -5 zarono said:

Great work again C-V!

Thank you sir!

[Char-Vell]

Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag
II

   

    The first sensation she was aware of was a sharp pain, and an insistent tugging on her left arm.

    "Begone!" She muttered, and drew her arm back. But something held on. Sigyn opened her eyes. Above was a clear blue sky. The sound of waves came to her, but this was a gentle caressing sound, not the thunderous cacophony that assailed her ears on the boat. The Boat! She remembered now! She must have been washed overboard, but where...
Again the pain and tugging. What was it? She rolled over to discern what it was that tugged at her. She found her arm gripped in the pincers of a huge blue crab, big around as the wheel from an oxcart!

    "YMIR!" she screamed, and pummeled the thing with her right fist between it's twitching eyestalks. Expecting an easier feast, the crab released her and scuttled away, pausing after it reached a safe distance to perform a crabbish dance and rattle it's pincers at her. Sigyn rose to her feet cursing. Her arm was not severely wounded, but the crab had inflicted several painful cuts. The girl inspected herself. The tatters that had served as her clothing had completely been washed away by the sea, leaving her clad only copper earrings and the clay amulet. Fortunately the air was quite warm. Indeed, it was warmer than she'd ever known. As for wounds, she found only a few bruises and abrasions. Next she took stock of her surroundings.


    She was standing on a golden beach that stretched off to either side of her, gently curving away until it vanished. Behind her, a few yards away, was the edge of a forest. Not a forest of pine and yew as she had known in Asgard, but a riot of strange trees and ferns the like of which never thrust up from chill Asgardian soil. She turned back and looked across the sea. Like a crystal blue jewel it was, with white foamy waves playfully dancing atop it. So different from the angry gray monster that had pummeled the Swiftsure. Where was she? How would she ever get back home? The first tiny inklings of panic began to birth in Sigyn's mind. She wished herself back in Nordhiem, stalking the lion and the cave bear with Radulf and Embla, and then swigging stolen ale about a fire in the cave they used for their secret enclave. Radulf! She was to marry him in the spring! But now…would she ever see another spring in Asgard?


    Sigyn crushed these doubts! She was Aesir! Raised among the Ice Fox People of Mosfell! Shaking her tawny mane, she tried to spit in defiance, but found her mouth too dry. She must find water! She was no doubt parched from her long soak in the salt ocean. Casting her gaze about, her eye was caught by a flurry of movement down the beach to her left. Sea birds and the big crabs were massed about something that lay on the beach. With little else to do, she went to investigate.

    Sigyn grimaced at the sight that greeted her after she reached the site and chased away the birds and crabs. It was Captain Amulias, only recognizable because of his splendid blue tunic, adorned with the Golden Lion of Aquilonia. Sea creatures had found his flesh tastier than his clothing. But Sigyn fairly squealed with delight when she discovered the corpse still wore a fine dagger, broad bladed and as long as a big man's forearm, in a shagreen scabbard attached to a broad leathern girdle. Thank Ymir this was not carried away by the sea! Sigyn removed the belt, dagger and tunic from the Captain's ravaged remains and slung the waterlogged items over her shoulder. She regarded the corpse for a moment, considering burying it. Captain Amulias had enslaved her and her tribesmen, but he had also made some attempt to protect her from the ravages of his crew. But the birds and crabs had already denuded most of his bones of flesh, and as a man of the sea, perhaps he would prefer to have his remains given over to the waves and the sea life. With a shrug, Sigyn set off in search of fresh water.


    Deciding that water would seek its own level, she wandered along the beach in hope that she would find a river, or at least a stream, trickling out of the forest into the ocean. After less than an hour's walk she was rewarded with the sight of a broad, shallow creek spilling out of the wood. Tasting the water and finding it brackish, she followed the creek upstream and into the forest. Sigyn gazed in wonder at the bizarre assortment of plants. Long stalks of grey topped with broad leaves and bulbous green fruits. Squat, bloated ferns with shocks of greenery bursting from the tops. Here was another tree laden with strange, long yellow berries, which were feasted upon by odd, ring-tailed, large eyed rodent creatures. Sigyn shooed these away and seized one of the berries. Biting into it she found the yellow hide tough and unpalatable, but the pulpy white middle delightfully sweet. Munching on the fruits while she walked, she came at last to a point where the creek broadened into a pond. Ringing the pond were a score of tiny horse-like creatures half as long as her arm and barely as high as her knee, with brown and black speckled coats.

    "Not much meat on those!" she thought, "Perhaps there are bigger beasts about, but first, water!"

    Sigyn hung the Captain's tunic and belt from a tree branch and knelt by the pond. Finding the water sweet, she slaked her thirst, then waded out into the pond to rinse herself of the coating of salt she'd acquired in the sea. She loitered by the pond for some time, regaining her strength. Then, resolving to follow the creek upstream until nightfall, she donned the Aquilonian's tunic and belt and marched on. "Atali's Tits!" she lamented, as her bare foot came down on a jagged pebble. "If only that captains legs had not been eaten away! I could use some boots had he still worn them!"

    The creek emerged from the forest onto a gently sloping plain of fine grass. Sigyn continued along the creeks route for a space, until she spied a bizarre beast casually grazing. It was as big as a bull ox, and bulky, with a domed shell and scaly tail like a turtle, but a furry head and limbs that reminded her of a beaver.

    "What an odd fellow you are!" she muttered. The beast regarded her for a heartbeat, broke wind, and resumed it's grazing. Sigyn watched the strange creature, mesmerized by its oddity. Suddenly her reverie was broken by a bestial roar and the babble of human voices coming from behind one of the larger slopes. Drawing her dagger, Sigyn raced to the summit of the hillock to behold another wildly amazing tableau.

    A great beast, both bear-like and lion-like, with great downward facing tusks and a golden pelt peppered with ebony spots, menaced two men. One was prone, wailing and gripping a wounded, bleeding leg. His companion stood astride him brandishing a spear to hold the beast at bay. They were tall, well-muscled men, with straight black hair and swarthy complexions. Their bodies were painted in blue paint with esoteric designs, and ornaments of bronze and shell adorned them. Something about them seemed familiar, but Sigyn could not place where she had seen or heard of such men. The girl did not spend long in contemplation. There were men on the island, and they might aid her in leaving it. She would not stand by and see them devoured.

    Thus it was that bravely, and aye, stupidly, Sigyn charged and leapt upon the back of the ravening beast!

[zarono]

Good stuff C-V! +500 XP for the big crabs!

[Char-Vell]

Feb 22, 2018 21:11:20 GMT -5 zarono said:

Good stuff C-V! +500 XP for the big crabs!

Awesome! 500 more and I level up!

If only Sigyn knew about Old Bay Seasoning.

[BlackHeart]

Another chapter nicely delivered. Good work, mate.

[Char-Vell]

Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag

III

    The monstrous animal reared up on its hind legs and roared in bestial fury as Sigyn landed astride it. So large it was that her arm could barely reach halfway about its neck. She seized a fistful of coarse fur and held on. The monster bucked like a feral stallion, striving to dislodge this strange new attacker. Sigyn gripped tighter, even biting into its fur, holding on with her teeth. She drove her dagger into the thick, sinewy neck. Again and again the Aquilonian steel drank of the Cat-Bear’s blood! The beast’s roars grew louder and more frenzied. It reared up again, its great razor claws seeking to eliminate the tawny-haired creature that assailed it. The swarthy man on the ground was not idle. Seeing an opening as the animal reared, he drove his flint-tipped spear between its ribs with such force it transfixed the tusked behemoth. The point erupted from its back, so close to Sigyn’s face it nearly struck out her eye.

With a pitiable groan, the animal collapsed and lay still. Sigyn leapt from the animal’s back to the ground in a fighting stance, facing the two swarthy men whom she had just aided. The wounded man struggled to a sitting position, still gripping his injured leg. He babbled to his companion is some guttural tongue Sigyn did not comprehend. The upright man muttered something in reply, and approached the young Aesir cautiously, loosening a copper bladed axe thrust in his loincloth.

“Well, then? What’s it to be?” Sigyn enquired, raising her bloody dagger. The man regarded her a moment, then raised both hands palms up. He spoke calmly to her in his own language. “I don’t understand you!” she replied. Despair once again reared up in mind. “By Ymir! What is this strange land? Have I drowned and been consigned to some nightmare afterlife?”

A look of mild surprise came over the visage of the man. He turned and uttered some words to his companion, and presently he addressed Sigyn in a pidgin variant of the tongue of the Vanirmen; “Ymir! Ymir! You come! Friend!” he slapped himself forcefully on the chest then indicated his wounded compatriot. “Obwey! Comm-Raddu! We Ka-Nu men! Friend! You come village!” She stood baffled for a moment. The man seemed friendly enough, but spoke in a mockery of the language of one of her people’s traditional enemies. Forgoing the chest-slap, she thrust a finger in the direction of her own face.

“Sigyn!” she said, in her best Vanir, “Of the Aesir”

The man nodded and grinned. “Sigg-Inn! I-seer! Ai! Come Sigg-Inn, with Obwey to village of Ka-Nu men!” The wounded man babbled again to the one whose name Sigyn gathered was Obwey. He seemed to be voicing some objection. Obwey gestured to him, as though to calm him, and then addressed Sigyn once more.

“Sigg-Inn say you, ‘Ka nama kaa lajerama’.”

She shook her head, “No, no, just Sigyn!” Obwey nodded.

“Sigyn. Sigyn. Aye. ‘Ka nama kaa lajerama’.”

The girl was baffled. “What is this KaNammaKaLajerama?”

Obwey nodded once more, seeming relieved. He turned to his companion and gestured to the girl. The wounded man made a dismissive sound, and seemed to relent. “Sigyn! Come!” Obwey gestured to her, indicating his wounded friend, “Help Comm-Raddu! We go!” Divining his intent, Sigyn sheathed her dagger and lent her shoulder to Comm-Raddu, who seemed to cringe at her touch and eyed her with suspicion. Obwey supported him on the opposite side. “Fast!” muttered Obwey in his pidgin Vanir. He looked about nervously “Dark soon!”




As fast as they could, this strange trio ambled across the gentle, rolling hills of the grassy plain. Here Sigyn spied more of the turtle-beavers, and there she saw a herd of what resembled the woolly mammoths that still could be found in Nordhiem, save these were hairless and about the size of a draft horse. And still further on there was a great shaggy beast, somewhat like a bear, with great fore-claws and a long thick tail. Sigyn wanted to dally and watch these bizarre animals, but Obwey would have none of it.

“Fast! Fast! Night falls!”

At length they came to hill that swelled up higher than the others. Sigyn reckoned it must be the highest point on the grassland, atop this was a rude stockade of logs. Obwey and Comm-Raddu seemed to become more relaxed.

“Home!” said Obwey “Come! Sigg-Inn see Oswu. See Bor-Garr!”

“It’s Sigyn.” she mumbled.

At the crude, yet massive, log gate, Obwey raised his arms on high and exclaimed, “Ka nama kaa lajerama!” This cry was repeated from within, and the gate swung inward, just enough to allow the three to enter. Inside the stockade Sigyn beheld a village not unlike her own. Log huts with earthen roofs where arranged about a central square. The huts disgorged their occupants, all cast in the mold of the men who brought her hence. Sigyn’s face reddened as she found herself gazing approvingly upon the men; lean, upright, even featured warriors with wolfish eyes and iron thews. Their women were a match for them; dusky beauties that moved alongside their men like forest panthers, children in tow or secured to their breast or back by coarse linen slings. All were bedecked in finery of bronze, coral and shell. Each was painted with arcane and esoteric designs.

They eyed Sigyn somewhat suspiciously, save for the children who by degrees where both awed and amused by her. In spite of herself Sigyn smiled and waved playfully at some of the youngsters, who responded with squeals of delight. The villagers seemed to warm to her somewhat then, and more so when Obwey related the tale of her coming to their aid, and compelled her to repeat “Ka nama kaa lajerama’ a number of times. At length she was led to the square, where sat a wooden throne carved in symbols similar to those painted on the people. Behind this reared a great figure carved of some dark wood. It was highly stylized, but could easily be recognized as representing a mighty warrior wielding a great spear. Abruptly a hush fell over the crowd and all stood stiffly facing the throne. Sigyn looked about awkwardly, trying to divine if she was expected to adopt a similar posture. She looked to Obwey for aid but he gazed fixedly to the throne. Sigyn fidgeted uncomfortably for a few moments when two men arrived from behind the idol.

One was another of the dusky people, though taller and more powerfully built. His countenance held a calm wisdom. He wore about his shoulders a cloak of golden and black fur, a match for the coat of the beast that had attacked Obwey and Comm-Raddu. His long black hair was adorned with emerald green and crimson feathers. The elder man at his side was dressed in the fashion of the others, but his skin was pale, though sun-bronzed. His pate was bald, and his face weathered and ancient, but his scarred body was well-muscled and he moved with the grace of a hunter. His long hair and beard were near white, but there was still enough red there to reveal his race. Sigyn eyed him suspiciously with a grimace. He grinned broadly and exclaimed; “An Aesir girl! By Ymir! I never thought to gaze upon one of you lot again!” Sigyn’s hand twitched as she struggled against the urge to draw her dagger.

The old Vanir raised his hands, palms up as Obwey had done; “Stay thy hand, maiden! I have dwelt on this island long enough to forget whatever feud exists between our peoples. You have naught to fear from me! I am Borgar, once of the Vanir!”

“Sigyn of Asgard.” she replied coolly. “What is this place?”

The large dark man had seated himself on the throne, and presently uttered something to Borgar that brought a chuckle to many in the assemblage. “Hold thy questions for now, Sigyn!” stated Borgar, “Oswu, Chief of the Ka-Nu People, would speak first.” There followed a long discussion with Obwey, in which he evidently gave the chieftain a detailed account of all that occurred, occasionally Oswu glanced at Sigyn with both surprise and approval, and the villagers murmured and gestured to her, at one point becoming so agitated, Oswu was compelled to call for order. When he had finished his tale. Oswu conferred with Borgar for a space, and then the Vanirman gestured for her to approach. She came as bidden and stood beside the throne. Borgar chuckled. “You’ve certainly made an impression girl! The only warrior on the island to face the Spear-Tooth and live is Oswu here, and he dared not leap astride the thing as though it were a pony! You Aesir are renowned for courage and stupidity, and you displayed plenty of both!” Borgar roared with laughter at his own jest.

Sigyn did not share his amusement. “Quiet, you old fool! Answer my damned question! Where is this place, and how do I return to Nordheim!”

Now Oswu chuckled, and turned to Sigyn. “Borgar, you annoy our guest!” His Vanir was accented, but far better than Obwey’s pidgin; “Sigyn of Asgard.” he began “I ask for your patience. My tale is long, and my knowledge of the speech of the Vanir crude, but with Borgar’s help I will seek to answer your questions.”

“We call ourselves the Ka-Nu people, after a chief of antiquity, but you would know those of our bloodline as Picts.” Sigyn started slightly. Picts? Sigyn had seen few Picts, they sometimes were found among Vanir renegades that raided into Asgard. But those were stooped goblins that lived that lived in the forests south of Vaniheim, not tall, well formed people like these. Oswu seemed to sense her confusion. “We came to this island long ago, when our forefathers were warned by the gods of a great cataclysm poised to upend the world. Pictland was a chain of islands then. Those of us isolated here retained the noble bearing of the true Picts of the Spear-Slayer.” he made a gesture of obeisance to the idol behind him. “The Picts known to you and Borgar are descended from those who remained behind when the Pictish Isles were thrust up from the sea, and reduced to apedom.” Sigyn nodded in understanding, though she did not. Oswu continued. “Here our people have dwelt for millennia, unmolested, for The Dark Man doth cloud the minds and vision of those who would seek us out. Only those who come here accidentally, like yourself and Borgar, will ever walk our land.”

“A fine land it is!” ventured Sigyn. “But I would be free of it. I wish to return to mine own tribe.” Oswu and Borgar glanced at one another. At length it was Borgar who spoke; “Normally that would be impossible. You would be compelled to live here all your days, as I have since the Barachans I sailed with cast me overboard with but an empty barrel to cling to. But now….It has come to pass that the people of Ka-Nu can aid you in returning home, in exchange for a service.”

Sigyn’s eyes narrowed. “And what, pray tell, is this service you require?” She asked.

“A grim one.” Oswu replied, “Hear our tale of woe! For many years this village was served by a shaman, Garnak. Wise he was, and we flourished with his mystic aid. But over the years he sought greater, and darker, knowledge. Denied the magical tomes and grimoires that abound on the mainland, he sent his spirit cavorting in planes beyond our existence by ingesting a narcotic fungus that grows in the forest. In one of these astral planes he made contact with the entity known as Jhebbal Sag, a primordial god from the dim elder days when man and beast were as one. Garnack learned the ability to command certain beasts, and to bring forth from the black gulfs of time beasts that have not walked the earth for epochs. Now, from what he calls his Sacred Grove on the lake that lies to the northeast, he plagues us with these beasts. Some he sends to attack our hunting parties, others he sends to steal women. We hardly dare venture from these walls!” Oswu slammed his fist on the arm of his throne, his face blackening with rage, “He demands we turn to worship this Jhebbal Sag, and make obeisance to him!”

“Why not go forth and slay this Garnack? “ Sigyn asked, matter-of- factly “You have many fine warriors!” she suppressed a smirk, “Fine warriors indeed!”

Again Oswu and Borgar shared a knowing glance. “To our shame, we cannot.” continued the chief, “Garnak has laid an enchantment upon all who dwell on the island which destroys any who would set foot upon his sacred grove! Several of our braves died, shriveled and blackened, in this manner.”

“But you, lass, were not upon the Island when the enchantment was laid” Borgar said with a wink. “You could steal out to his grove on the lake, and gut the old dog! A girl who will take on the Spear-Tooth without a thought should make short work of a wizened old witch doctor.”

Oswu fixed the Aesir with his gaze. “Do this for us, Sigyn of Asgard, and we shall make you a way back to whence you came. So swears Oswu, Chief of the Ka-Nu!”

Sigyn regarded the two. It seemed to her they spoke the truth, but not the entire truth. No doubt they hid some detail from her. Yet, she had no other option readily apparent. With a sigh she replied, “Very well. I will take on your task. This Garnack will taste my steel! But first. I would be fed and have a few hours sleep. I’m sure we all would have Garnack see me at my best.”

[Char-Vell]

Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag

IV

    The bloated moon hung pendulously in the sky, spilling its azure illumination on a placid lake and a small forested islet. A pale figure poled a raft of rough hewn logs to an ancient, crumbling pier of marble. Sigyn leapt lightly onto the algae-coated blocks, and ran along the pier, past a ruined gate, her footfalls muffled by the soft leather moccasins provided her by the People of Ka-Nu, along with an obsidian-tipped spear she now gripped in her right hand.

    The night before, Oswu had ordered a rude feast in her honor, consisting of a roasted creature unknown to Sigyn and copious amounts of a sweet wine made from the yellow fruits from the jungle. She had slept through the next day and rose at dusk. Borgar, Obwey, and two additional Picts, Irb and Uvan, escorted her to the shore of the shallow lake and constructed the raft. Citing the deadly curse laid upon them by Garnak that made setting foot on the island certain death, they wished her luck and agreed to wait her return until dawn. As she slipped stealthily into the wood, Sigyn was again plagued with the nagging suspicion that something was being withheld from her. The conspiratorial manner of Oswu and Borgar had been obvious, but her desire to escape the island overrode her mistrust.

    The trees of this “sacred grove” were curiously uniform, evenly spaced and similar in height. They were laden with pale blossoms and exuded a sweet, yet subtly charnel odor. Sigyn found it was making her somewhat light-headed and flushed. At length she arrived at the edge of a clearing, the circularity of which was also disturbingly regular. Within was a low rectangular structure of marble, possibly a temple or crypt. Adjacent to this was a great egg-shaped stone thrice the height of a man, encircled by a score of smaller egg-shaped stones. The ground was covered with a thick short growth of some clover-like plant. She observed the clearing for a few moments, and saw no activity save for the flight of a few small birds. The temple seemed the most likely place to find Garnak, so she slipped out of the tree line and crept across the clearing. She silently cursed the fine Aquilonian tunic she wore, as its silk and cloth of gold lion emblem fairly glistened in the moonlight.

    Sparing no thought to caution, Sigyn made straight for the front entrance. It was once a magnificently adorned portico, the great doorway flanked by two crumbling statues, each portraying heroic warriors wielding spear and axe, respectively. Slipping into the gloom framed by the twain, Sigyn slowed her pace, allowing her eyes to adjust. All was not total darkness, moonlight filtered in through the ruined roof of the structure, casting outré shadows among the crumbling pillars and pews. The air was foul, tainted by the scent of a cesspool and rotting meat. There was a raised dais at the far end of the room, with six irregular heaps arranged in a circle. “Some sort of bedding, perhaps?” Sigyn thought. Perhaps she had caught Garnak asleep. The Aesir slipped up onto the dais. The heaps were in a rude circle, centered on a pile of animal parts in various stages of decay. Lips curled in disgust, Sigyn investigated the nearest of the heaps. It was made up of mud, grass and twigs, laid on carefully in layers over....

    ....Sigyn started when she saw what made up the core of the bizarre structure. It was a woman, a Pictish woman of the Ka-Nu no doubt, covered in layers of dried mud. Her dark eyes stared out sightlessly and her drool flecked lips hung slack. There was a sudden movement, and Sigyn stepped backward and raised her spear. Bile rose in her throat as she deduced the movement’s source. What appeared at first to be part of the structure was actually the woman’s belly, stretched and distended in a blasphemous caricature of maternity. Pressing out from inside the revoltingly stretched flesh were impressions of distorted limbs; an elbow, a hand, and other unidentifiable appendages. A low inhuman groan issued from the drooling mouth of the woman, it was echoed by the other heaps on the dais. The movement within the preposterously gravid belly increased and an impossibly strange shape began to emerge. Sigyn recoiled in horror as the flesh began to tear. There was a sickening rending sound and a flood of fluid, black in the moonlight, and a maddening shape stepped out of the ruined mass that was once a young woman. It staggered on narrow, deer-like legs, holding its paws drawn into its narrow chest. It turned its pale white skull and regarded Sigyn with dark, dead eyes. Its rude slash of a mouth split open and emitted a soul-rending screech. The thing reeled past her and out of the temple, wailing the whole way. The howling from the heaps rose in volume in answer to it.

*****

    Sigyn had witnessed many horrors in her young life, deaths from battle, deaths from disease, hideous disfigurements and mutilations. But the madness she had just witnessed was beyond any morbid nightmare of the lotus-eater. Her sanity in tatters, for the first time in her life, she fled in stark terror. Stumbling outside, she brandished her spear and put her back against the great egg shaped stone, expecting to be set upon by some horror at any moment. Slowly, the girl managed to gather her wits again in the perfumed air of the grove outside the temple. She was loathe to return to the hellish tableau within, but surely, Garnack must be within, and if she hoped to leave the island… Steeling herself she wiped the sweat from her eyes and started to return. She had not taken four steps when some instinct compelled her to turn around. There, atop the egg-stone, stood a tall wiry figure, clad only in painted designs, dark as mahogany, milk-white hair and beard flowing past the narrow waist. The man raised two staves, one mounted with the horns of a bull, the other with the skull of a man. Sigyn launched her spear without hesitation, straight at the breast of the gaunt apparition. But at the last instant a pale shape hurtled into the path of the missile. Sigyn stared dumbfounded at the great white owl that now lay transfixed by her spear. It seemed the bird had sacrificed itself to save the life of the man atop the stone. Sigyn drew her dagger and crouched, heavily breathing in the sickeningly sweet atmosphere of the grove. She prepared to climb upon that great stone and plunge fifteen inches of Aquilonian steel into the man's heart. Surely this was Garnak; surely it was HE who had brought about the horror on the dais. He must DIE!

    But now the man gestured with his skull topped scepter toward the wood, bidding the Aesir girl to behold that which transpired there. The gloom behind the trees was broken by two glowing orbs, like blazing yellow coals. A shadow built up around these points and coalesced into a solid mass. The mass grew as it moved toward the stones, grew until it was too wide to fit between the closely packed trunks, yet it did, and not a leaf did stir in its wake. Presently it stood fully revealed in the clearing. Tall as two men it stood, covered in silvery fur. It had the skull and ears of a great wolf, while the blazing yellow eyes peered out across the scaly, tooth-filled snout of a crocodile. Its arms and torso were like that of an ape, while its hindquarters were more akin to a great goat, spindly and cloven-hoofed. A long, thick, hairless rodent’s tail whipped about behind it. The great, drooling crocodilian jaws opened, and the beast gave forth a deep, thunderous bellow. The sound seemed to resonate in her bones, vibrating her body rhythmically. She became aware of a carnal hunger building within her, drawn out by the now musical power of the low howl of the creature, and further encouraged by the narcotic fumes of the grove. The phantasmagoric chimera shuffled toward her. Sigyn realized she desired this creature, this god. For now she recognized IT for what it was, an earthly avatar of Jhebbal Sag. A sibilant guttural purred in her mind “Yes Sigyn! You desire me! Cavort with me in the sacred grove as she-creatures of old cavorted! Be one with Jhebbal Sag! Come forth and love me. Bride of Jhebbal Sag!” Sigyn stepped forward, eyes heavily lidded, rapidly breathing through lips trembling with lust. Her dagger forgotten in her hand. The Avatar of Jhebbal Sag stood on hind legs and raised its arms on high to the gravid moon, revealing all the secrets of his beautifully grotesque form. As Sigyn started to remove her tunic, her hand brushed the clay amulet about her neck.

    In that instant, the thing before her was revealed once more as a monster. Its mismatched members that Sigyn had moments ago longed to be caressed by, now filled her with immeasurable disgust. And the lust that had burned in her so fiercely now filled her with shame, and blazing hate. Screaming in mad abandon, Sigyn charged forward and attacked! The Avatar of Jhebbal Sag gave ground unprepared for this savage attack from what should have been it's pliable plaything. The broad heavy dagger dealt blows that would have thrice felled a mortal beast, but The Avatar of Jhebbal Sag was no such thing. Spewing blood, its entrails trailing from the split Sigyn had carved in its belly, it seized the tawny haired savage and hurled her across the grove.

[Char-Vell]

"In that instant, the thing before her was revealed once more as a monster. "

Attachments:

[zarono]

Good stuff CV! I'm digging the all howardian references and monsters are nightmarish!

[Char-Vell]

Under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag 

V 

    Sigyn bounced off the ground and skidded to a stop near the tree line. The punishment she just took would have killed a modern man stone dead, but in those days, the folk of Asgard where wrought of iron! She lay stunned for a few moments, but struggled to her feet as quickly as she could. Not much time had passed, as the moon had moved but a little across the sky. She tasted blood on her lips, and felt it on her face and in her hair. Inspecting herself, she found one of the bronze hoops in her ear had been torn out, splitting the earlobe. Painful, but not debilitating. By some miracle she had retained her dagger, and now she gripped it and prepared to meet the blasphemous chimera’s next attack.

    There was no sign of Jhebbal Sag’s monstrous avatar, but the grove was not empty. Sigyn approached the great Egg-Stone and found strewn about it the remains of a man. Never had she seen a human so thoroughly destroyed. Here lay a ribcage, there a part of a scalp, and there a severed arm still gripping a copper axe. Blood, brains, and entrails lay thick about the clearing. She found part of the head and recognized as belonging to Uvan, one of her guides. Had he come to the grove and succumbed to the curse? But he was not “shriveled and blackened”, but rent by the claws of a great beast, the Avatar no doubt. Sigyn’s mind bristled with suspicion, but then she noticed something else. Flickering firelight now spilled from the temple entrance.

    She boldly stepped inside the temple. The foul heaps on the dais were ablaze, casting hellish illumination and giving off gouts of greasy smoke. The air was thick with the stench of burning hair and flesh. Before the dais lay Garnack in a widening pool of blood. As Sigyn approached he beckoned to her. Dagger at the ready, she knelt beside the wizened shaman, he spoke to her, as had many of the Picts, in the tongue of the Vanir. “Hearken; child of the frost, my time is short.” “Damnation!” she barked, “it seems everyone on this cursed island has learned the speech of Vaniheim to one extent or another.” Garnak nodded “Aye, we learned from Borgar, it is of him whom I would speak, and whom I would be avenged upon! It his he who brought me to this end!” “How?” asked Sigyn “He cannot reach you, on account of this curse you laid upon the grove.” Garnack laughed. It was a sick, gurgling sound. He struggled to roll over on his side and spat copious amounts of blood. “There is no curse! Here is truth Frost-child! Borgar desires, as ever, to leave this island and return to the mainland. He developed a taste for the comforts of civilization. I too would leave, but for different reasons! My powers can grow no further here, isolated in this grove. I require more knowledge, and access to groves sacred to my god that lie elsewhere on earth. Only then could I gain enough power and followers to bring all men and beasts once more to worship Jhebbal Sag! That fool Oswu and his ilk would stay here, forever stewarding a long dead legacy! Damn him to hell!”
    Garnak was seized with a violent fit of coughing, when he recovered he continued, “Borgar and I conspired, along with Irb and Uvan, young bucks seduced by Borgar‘s tales of the lush kingdoms on the mainland. I would command the children of Jhebbal Sag to plague Oswu’s people; this, combined with the threat of a curse, would deter them from coming here to this temple, and to the cove that lies to the north of the island where we toiled to build a boat that would take us away. But just days ago we learned that a vessel had anchored in the very cove we planned to leave from! It was damaged and the crew drug iit up on the peach for repairs, felling trees in the wood. this pushed our plans forward.” “Why send me here to kill you then?” Sigyn snapped, growing impatient. “The purpose of that lie was twofold.” said Garnak. “Oswu believed the curse, and trusts Borgar. The plan would seem plausible to him. Borgar, Irb and Uvan would volunteer to guide you here, thus all the conspirators would be together ready to leave! Also, it was the full moon.”

    “What in hell does the full moon have to do with anything?” Sigyn sneered. Garnak weakly raised a bloodied hand. “Each full moon, Jhebbal Sag manifests himself in this grove to take his pleasure among whatever she-creatures he finds here. I have sent forth my animal minions, great white apes, to bring women of the village here to bear the Children of Jhebbal Sag. You were to be his next bride, Borgar figured your strength and fighting spirit would engage the avatar long enough for us to claim that which was hidden within the menhir out yonder. A crimson jewel sacred to both Jhebbal Sag, and to the Picts! Oswu knew it lay here and would have it brought to him, that was what he expected Borgar to do once you had slain me and lifted the ‘curse’. We would take it and begone whilst the Avatar plowed your fertile heath. We did not count on the amulet of Mother Danu you wear so enraging the god!”
    Sigyn spat. “Alas, my heath shall have to lie fallow awhile longer. I guess Uvan was trying to get to the jewel then, poor bastard!” “Nay.” said Garnak, his voice grew weaker. “I had just retrieved it from its hiding place, when you arrived.” the avatar rampaged, and we took shelter here in the temple, Uvan was too slow, and the Avatar made sport with him. Here we argued. Obwey, who was not part of our conspiracy, suspected treachery when he saw me alive while he remained whole and uncursed in the grove and sought to take the jewel,to deliver it to his chief. The others set upon him, but he escaped, and fled into the wood sorely wounded. Borgar and Irb then turned upon me! Stabbing me and setting fire to the brides. Alas, the Brides! Jhebbal Sag’s anger will fall upon the heads of those dogs!”

  “Enough of this, you long-winded old bastard!” Sigyn had heard enough. “Tell me how to get to this cove! I’ll wager that ship you speak of is the very one I fell off of ere turning up here. I’ll make for it, and hopefully catch up with Borgar. I’ll gut that Vanir dog like a boar!” Again Garnak chuckled, “I will do far better than that child! Come closer. Fear not! I will bestow upon you that what will grant us both revenge.” Sigyn leaned in and the shaman reached out a bloodied finger. She felt him trace a curious pattern on her forehead. “Go now! Go under the Sign of Jhebbal Sag! Look for his messengers, they will guide you to your goal, and aid you. Lo,though you spurned him, and mangled his avatar, Jhebbal Sag was amused by your ferocity! Aye, you who's race has so recently risen from apedom still hold much of the animal savagery he admires! He grants you rare favor. My race is run! Go now Snow-child.” Garnak shuddered, and then lay still.

    Sigyn did not dally. Rushing out of the temple she raced back to the crumbling pier, she furiously poled the little raft back to the edge of the lake. Then ,using the stars as her guide, turned north. She had not gone twenty paces when a great white owl, fully as tall as a man, lighted in the grass before her. “A messenger of Jhebbal Sag I’ll wager.” she muttered. The owl did not speak, yet Sigyn heard; “I am his messenger, she-ape of the snows. Follow!” The owl took to the air, and Sigyn followed.

[Char-Vell]

A crude map of the island.