There Is Nothing Outside The Forest, part 2/2

We walked back down, away from the ice and snow, to the river, then through the valley under the Great Mountain.

  To something worse...

  First, I thought they were Sleep trees. A long line of sleep trees all across the valley. They were not. There were all kinds of trees, with all kinds of bones thrown in them. The bones and skulls of thousands. Across the ground also the bones of The People were cast. Many bones broken and many skulls smashed, and the bones of the orc lay amongst them. Weapons too, and parts of weapons. Hundreds of skulls, too, were piled up in mounds, the hollow eyes staring down at me.

  I held Tomm and wept. I had never seen such horror.

  Perhaps Tomm had. He was silent. His cold eyes were dry and his gaze was far away.

  There was a carved rock too, on the path by the river bank. Its runes read-

  “FEY DIE HERE.”

  I began to understand the meaning of the word ‘Fey’.

  Then the orc came.

  We heard them first, smashing through the trees. Then we smelt them. Then they were upon us.

  Tomm and I threw our knives at the leading orc. One to the belly, one to the head.

  Our bull charged on the narrow path, hammering two orc with his horns.

  Then they were around us. They knew then to avoid the bull’s horns and mighty rear hooves. They came from the sides, stabbing up at us with knives and spears. Hacking towards our legs and the bull with axes.

  I smashed one orc skull with my axe as it reached up to stab me.

  Next, the bull was hurt and went mad. Thrashing with his hooves and butting and goring. Leaping in circles, frantic to kill orc. He spun and kicked and roared in pain and rage… and all we could do was hold on.

  In a moment it was over.

  The orc fled into the forest, or jumped into the river and were washed away.

  Our bull calmed, and we caught our breath.

  My legs and arms were cut, but not bad. But Tomm’s left leg was cut to the bone, and the bulls flank was cut badly.

  “Wait here!” I shouted.

  I leapt from the bull, into the forest, and searched for the leaves that heal.

There is nothing outside the forest. Part 1 of 2

This is a story I started in 2014 and have continued.
The last part is on the link

http://postromanticnightmares.blogspot.co.uk/2014/07/of-drums-grew-ever-louder-and-land-rose.html

PART 2

  At first, I found the Great Lake beautiful. The huge open space, the flocks of ducks, the strange fish, the cool wind, the way the water changed its colour from rock gray to a bright blue that I had never seen before. Most of all, I liked the way that it reflected the moon and stars at night.

  But I did not like the sky above the Great Lake. I was too big, and at midday the sun was too bright. It hurt my eyes.

  That sky was like a massive burden above me, that ought to fall at any moment, and I dared not look at it.

  On the lake bank I felt exposed… like a rabbit that smells a fox and is far from home…

  We walked on the lake bank, Tomm called it The Great Lake Shore, for many days. It was too big.

  On the first night there, I lept alone in a tree while Tomm slept on his bull on the shore.

  It was lonely, and I did not feel safe knowing that there was so much open space near by. If the orc came from the trees, where would I hide?

  On the second night lay in the tree, holding my axe against my chest with both hands for comfort. It did not help. It was too lonely.

  I climbed silently down and came up to Tomm and his bull. Without waking them, I climbed and curled up next to him. The bull’s belly was warm and it was good to know Tomm was so close.

  When I woke in the dawn I found that I was holding him. He smiled, and said nothing.

  We kept walking.

  After noon on the fourth day at the Great Lake, we rounded a corner on the shore and reached the mouth of a big river. The Great Mountain loomed above us.

  It cast a shadow over both land and water.

  I had never seen anything so high, or dreamed of anything so huge.

  Pines grew atop it, everywhere but the very top, which was covered with snow. I did not know snow could exist so early in the year.

  There was a strange thing at the river mouth. A rock, cut square with writing carved in it.

  We, the People rarely write the runes. Sometimes we mark a Sleep Tree or place signs to warn of danger. But we all know hw to cut and raad the runes.

  These runes were different. We cut smoothly into wood, but these were carved- straight and jagged- into rock.

  There seemed to be three words,

  “NO FEY HERE.”

  The word “Fey” had no meaning to me, maybe I had misread the strange runes.

  “Where now, Tomm?” I asked.

  “It was your dream,” he replied.

  I wanted to escape from the open water, and I hoped that- from the great height of the mountain- I might be able to see an end to the forest.

  It was a bad idea. Unlike a tree, the further you climb up a mountain, the colder you get. The first night on the mountain was cold. I could hear the bear, and wondered if the Great Shaman was with us. The second night, despite having Tomm in my arms, was the coldest I had ever been. It was too cold, and still the mountain towered above us.

  We walked back down.

Crashing Down

One day,
Ha Long's islands
Will fall into the bay,
Lost in the waves,
And hidden away,

One day,
Long Bien Bridge
Will finally lay,
Great rusting sludge,
And washed away,

One day,
Work and beauty
Will all decay,
Robbed of glory,
And faded away...

But not today.

Bored of Paradise

(This is the beginning of a book I plan to write about the 6 years I spent in Vietnam. Bored of Paradise is a working title, which I will change,)

Cat Ba Island.

In Vietnamese, it means Lady’s Island.

An island of golden beaches and endless jagged, forest covered mountains like dragon’s teeth, surrounded by the mysterious beauty of Ha Long Bay.

He stood on the deck of the long motor boat as it made its way from Hai Phong City to Cat Ba. There was a pile of moterbikes and backpacks at the stern of the boat, and many travelers and a few locals stood or sat around him. He smiled into the wing and spray of the see,imaging the future and remembering the other times that he had been there. 3 years ago, with the beautiful and mysterious A. 2 years ago with the sweet and gentle N. 5 months ago with his friend and his friend’s wife.

It had been his dream to live and teach on the island, and now his dream was coming true,

The problem with dreams, is that sometime you must wake up.

PART 1

After 6 years in Hanoi, the sprawling capital of Vietnam, he looked forward to a new life on that beautiful island. 8 years of excitement, pollution, love and hate, corruption and near constant danger. The open sea and mountains were to be a stark contrast to Hanoi’s crowded alleys and vast highways.

He was leaving his friends and student’s behind, but he hoped to find new friends and lovers, and was determined to maintain contact with his old comrades.  

DESTROYER, part 3

       "What are you on about," asked Seaman Whatts.
   "I was First Mate on a Whaler for 7 years.'
   "So?"
   'So, I need 3 men- Jones, Whatts and Harris- to put out that fire. The rest of you need to clean the decks. I'll be on Watch, you too Steel. Then the dead need laying to rest."
   And they obeyed him. Perhaps because on that lonely sea, in that bloody chaos, no one else wanted the responsibility.
   With the radio down, and the rest of the convoy sunk, Jonahson could do as he wished.
   He wished to hunt Nazis.

   The next morning, after breakfast and rum, he addressed his men.
   "Lads, we are 17 men down. Number 2 gun is down, and the wheel house needs rebuilding. We've taken on a bit of water. But we have Number 1 and 3 guns, the machine guns and depth charges, and the engines are alright. We've got a lot of work to do.' 
   The first task was the sea burial of the dead. All available hands gathered on deck. The bodies of the war dead were wrapped in sheets made of mast.
   Jonahson's deep voice chanted the Naval Hymn as tradition demanded, all the time his face a rock of dignified misery;

  "Eternal Father, strong to save, whose arm doth bind the restless wave,
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee, for those in peril on the sea!

O Saviour, whose almighty word, the winds and waves submissive heard,
Who walked'st on the foaming deep, and calm amidst its rage didst sleep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee, For those in peril on the sea!

O sacred Spirit, who didst brood, upon the chaos dark and rude,
Who bade its angry tumult cease, and gavest light and life and peace:
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee, for those in peril on the sea!

O Trinity of love and power, our brethren shield in danger's hour;
From rock and tempest, fire and foe, protect them wheresoe'er they go;
And ever let there rise to Thee , glad hymns of praise from land and sea."

Then the buglers played the Last Post as the corpses were lowered into the icy waves.

   'If I die out here,' Jonahson grunted to his mate Harris afterwards, 'just throw me in the damn sea.' 

 

DESTROYER, continued.

09/04/1940

The crew of a Norwegian Whaler sat around their evening mess. The great southern ocean rolled gently around them. They had brought in a whale yesterday, so spirits were high despite the bitter cold. Their meal of corned beef and biscuits was almost finished, they sipped their rum and listened to the radio.

Suddenly, they fell silent, every ear strained to the crackling radio.

“Did you hear that, lads ?’ the Captain asked. ‘Sounds like it’s time to go home.’

‘Too bloody right,’ First Mate Jonahson nodded.

By the time they made it back to Europe, the hopelessly out gunned British force had been driven out of Norway, and their homeland was under Nazi occupation. The crew docked in Liverpool and volunteered for the British Navy immediately.

After being rushed through basic training, Jonahson found himself serving as Seaman on the Destroyer HMS Hardy, escorting convoys across the atlantic.

03/01/1941

Freezing under his oilskins and duffel coat, Jonahson stood on the forecastle, scanning the dark skies. The sea was calm, perfect for a U-Boat attack.The stars gleamed in the endless sky and the wind blew bitterly. His night watch was almost over. He lowered his binoculars from his strained, raw eyes and tried to blink the sleep away. He stamped some warmth into his huge, damp boots, then ran a dirty hand through his beard. He scanned the horizon, nothing but the Cruiser and Merchant Ships in front and vast open sea behind. Then he heard them coming.

“All hands on deck!’

The darkness erupted into a stamping on running boots, the roar of engines and a rattle of gunfire. Hell was raining down from the sky.

There was a time of blood and fire, air and water and red hot metal.

When it was over, Jonah was sat at the trigger of the front heavy machine gun, it’s crew a bloody pulp around him. He gripped that gun for dear life, blood and sweat ran down his face.

The mast had fallen and the wheel house was on fire. Bodies floated on the waves amongst pools of burning fuel and wreckage.

“All hands on the Iron Deck,’ he heard, and obeyed.

‘All the bloody officers and dead,’ Seaman Jones stated.

‘Not quite,’ Johanson grunted.

DESTROYER

Destroyer Captain Arne Jonahson looked down the barrel of his battered revolver at the two Nazi Officers who faced him.

‘Cannot you see you are out numbered?” the leading Nazi snarled. “Lay down your weapon or die.’

‘If you kill me,’ Jonahson replied, “tonight, I will be drinking with my ancestors… Where will you be when you die?’

The officer pondered this a moment. He hid not believe in any afterlife, but he had heard his Fuhrer did. His lieutenant had been raised Lutheran, and he conscience had been bothering him recently. 

In that moment of hesitation, Jonahson shot them both in the faces.

In Pre War Austria, the great Philosopher Karl Popper met a Nazi on a train. They fell into debate. When the Nazi could not hold his ground, he produced his pistol and leveled it at Popper.

“This is my argument”,he said.

Popper considered the man beneath reasoning with.

Later, Captain Jonahson shot that same Nazi repeatedly in the gut. The Nazi’s debate was invalid.