What Rough Beast

They were all quietly assembled, bundled up and carrying some hand luggage. I doled out the life vests and then I led them down the ladder from the bridge deck to the main deck.

The passenger lifeboat looked like a dayglow orange turtle, with a little dome, for a head. The boat had a hatch and a boarding ladder. It was well over twenty feet long, and completely enclosed. It had one of those pump-jet systems with a ducted propeller acting as an impeller. You steered the thing by changing the direction of the impeller.

I helped each passenger up the ladder and into the boat. The Icelandic family went first because they had the kids, then the pair of old English queens and finally the priest and his daughter. She was looking at me with shining eyes, like I was doing something heroic. I didn't want to tell her that I was doing it because I was useless anywhere else.

I had the last of them boarded and secured by belts. A gravity launched lifeboat is like a cork. It plunges down a slide and into the water. So, it was important that everybody be belted in when that happened.

I was standing at the foot of the ladder waiting for somebody to tell me what to do. Mr. Francis came rushing back. He looked a little singed. He said in a distraught voice, "We're abandoning ship. The crew's launching the offload boats. Get the passengers in the water now!"

I said incredulous, "You mean you want me to do this by myself?"

I'm not sure he understood me. Because he said angrily, "The hold is going to blow any minute. Get off this ship!!" and he turned around and raced back forward.

I wondered what we'd been carrying. I suppose tramp freighters can't be choosers.

I made my way up the ladder, strapped myself in the bosun's seat and said, "Hold on everybody. This is going to be a wild ride."

I pulled the lever. The release activated. We shot down the rail and over the side. There was a bone-jarring impact and I could see through the dome's porthole that we were almost under water. Then the boat righted itself, which is what it was designed to do.

I said shakily, "Is everybody all right?" Just then, there was a godawful explosion, a shockwave and a few seconds later a huge wave crashed over the boat.

All of the passengers screamed in fright. Hell, I was screaming. The boat righted itself once more. Suddenly there was nothing but silence, the sound of waves breaking, and people sobbing.

Frankly I didn't know what had happened. All I cared about was that we were still okay. The lifeboat was fully enclosed and watertight. There was emergency lighting, so I counted heads.

The boat was twenty-six-feet-long and fourteen-feet-wide. It was a sealed container with deep benches along the side and storage at each end. There were portholes distributed along its length. I was sitting slightly higher than the rest, strapped into a little seat with the wheel and engine controls in front of it. That gave me a view out the cupola.

The only thing I could see outside were breaking waves and rain. There was a glow off in the distance that might have been the sinking ship.

I was beginning to think that I must have really pissed-off some vengeful god. Because in less than seven days I had gone from the shock of losing my identity, to the shock of being shipwrecked. That had to be a Guinness record for the Jonas's of the world.

I said, trying to sound optimistic, "I'm sure they sent a distress signal. Somebody will find us. In the meantime, let's inventory our supplies." I didn't believe a word of what I'd just said. But I didn't want the passengers to fret.

The boat was designed for twenty people and we only had nine, two of whom were kids. So, there was a lot of room and abundant stores. The Icelandic man, who seemed like a stalwart son of the Vikings, rose and moved to the forward locker. His wife was comforting the children who were holding up pretty well.

The Priest and the two ancient British queens were in the front griping about the quality of the trip and how vigorously they planned to complain. At least the old farts weren't bugging me.

I went to the aft locker and was joined by Dani. She gave me a steadfast look and said, "How can I help?" Great, She wasn't going to go all girly on me.

I said, "We need to find out what supplies we have." She nodded and started rummaging and stacking contents like an industrious little chipmunk.

Once we went through the lockers, we found water and emergency rations. We also found some sleeping bags and thermal blankets. Those would come in handy, because the inside temperature had dropped into the upper 40s. There were flashlights, a flare gun and loads of flares. There was also a hand-held radio. We could use that to contact our rescuers.

Finally, there were some utilitarian things, a shovel, a couple of wicked looking knives and an axe. There was also an old Colt 1911 .45 caliber automatic pistol. The clip was full, and one was in the pipe.

As the authorized "ship's officer" I confiscated the Colt. I had no idea why I was so naturally proficient with guns. But I was getting used to knowing odd things.

Then, we settled down to wait. The lifeboat was being bounced around by the wind and high waves and the ride made it hard to sleep. But the kids and the three old people managed. The Icelandic couple just sat quietly on the bench holding each other

I was trying to keep us headed into the waves and out of the troughs. The wheel at the conning position was linked to the impeller. I was running the propulsion system on the battery. I didn't want to use up our precious diesel fuel. The gauge said we were about ten percent through the charge.

Dani was sitting with me, engaging in small talk. She was clearly trying to help me pass the time. I learned a lot about her; besides the fact that she was fiercely loyal. She was twenty-seven and just finishing her studies at London Southbank University.

Her father had a living in Southwark and the two of them were on some kind of cooperative agreement mission with the Lutherans in Iceland. She had come along on the trip just to take care of him.

She had been doing that her entire life. Dani's mother had left when she was nine. Dani was forgiving. She said stoically, "My father can be difficult at times." That was an understatement.

I asked her what she planned to do when they got back. She said that she had a teaching license and she was going to work at an infant-school in Reading.

I got the impression that she wanted to find a husband and have kids. But that she had postponed her life because she was devoted to her dad. I thought to myself, "This girl is like a character out of a Jane Austen novel," which of course made me wonder where I got THAT analogy.

Dani appeared to be innocent to a fault. She didn't outright say that she was a virgin. But she dressed and acted like a righteous church-girl and I got the impression she had led a sheltered life in the rectory.

I wasn't having carnal thoughts. You have to have a sense-of-self in order to generate sexual energy. In my case, every emotion except fear and anxiety had been wiped from my consciousness. Hence, there was no steam in the boiler - so to speak.

Dani kept trying to get my story. She said, "You're an American, right? I can tell it from your accent." Now that was news. I put it in the pile of things I'd recently discovered.

She wouldn't let up. So, I spun her a yarn about how I was an orphan, gone to sea to escape foster care. I told her that I read a lot and that's the reason why I sounded like I was well educated. That might be true. But it was more likely a plot from a Kathleen Woodiwiss novel.

Dani was easy to fool. She was an inexperienced girl and I had no point of reference to contradict myself. So, I convinced both of us.

Our conversation went on in that vein for several hours. I finally began to discern the wolf-light before dawn. The waves had settled-down and I could see where we were going. I started the little diesel to give us better headway and charge the battery.

We meandered along for most of the next day. If other lifeboats had launched, we never encountered them. Finally, I saw an island in the distance. I knew we had been quite close to the Faroes when we had been shipwrecked. This might be one of them.

We were lucky. Dry land was a better proposition than bobbing in a lifeboat and we could build a fire. When I got near the island, I could see that it was small and rocky, with steep cliffs that ran down to a narrow stony beach.

The sky was slate grey and it was foggy. There were gulls and puffins circling the foreboding crags. There also seemed to be a glow inland. Damn!! that was ominous. I thought, "God! I hope it's not a volcano!"

Then, it was like we crossed an invisible line and the day, which had been overcast and gloomy, turned almost as dark as night. I flicked on the boat's forward-facing lamp and there was a vicious snow squall blowing around us. I guess that explained the sudden dark.

I threw on full power as we entered the little cove. The shingle was covered with small round stones which actually helped when I beached us.

I ran the lifeboat as far as I could get on shore. That would give us a stable home base until somebody rescued us. We were hard aground. But I planned to pull the boat further up tomorrow. There was plenty of rope and the underlying stones would aid in the pulling.

We bedded down for our second night shipwrecked. There were four sleeping bags. The old queens were crammed together in one, as were the Icelandic mom and dad. The priest had his own and Dani had given her sleeping bag to the children. The two of us had nothing but thermal blankets and it was getting cold.

I was lying on the stern bench, near the steering position. Dani came back to where I was and said bashfully, "Could we sleep under these blankets together? We're fully clothed so it isn't like we would be violating any rules of propriety. We'd just be conserving body heat."

How quaint, but it was an excellent idea. The two of us huddled together actually produced enough warmth that the night was tolerable if not exactly comfortable.

We fell asleep back to back. But Dani was sprawled half on me when I awoke, head on my chest big tits squashed between us and I had a hand holding her at the small of her back." Her light snores sounded like she was purring.

I let her sleep while I toyed with a memory. Our position evoked the sense that I had done this before with somebody I loved. It was a bittersweet recollection given that I was lying with a virginal church girl, aground in a lifeboat, in the middle of a blizzard, on a mysterious island, somewhere in what I assumed was the Faroe chain.

I also noticed something. I gently moved Dani off me and got into the conning position. I could see that we were back afloat. Drat!! I hadn't accounted for the tides. We had apparently come in at low tide then refloated in the flood. I realized that I could use that to move us the rest of the way up the beach.

It was full daylight now and everybody had slept long enough. They could go back to sleep if they hadn't. I backed off a little distance and put the impeller on full speed ahead. The jolt woke everybody up, as we ran far enough up the beach to make it permanent.

The old folks complained and went back to sleep. As did the kids. The Icelandic couple joined Dani and me for a freeze-dried breakfast cooked over the little propane stove.

They were a couple of Vikings, or at least what I imagined a Viking ought to be. Iceland didn't have an indigenous population until the Norse showed up, and after that their communities didn't intermix with the rest of Europe. Hence, Icelanders more-or-less look like the original lot.

Back in the Viking days, Iceland was as far from Europe as you could get and still be within sailing range. Even today, it is the most sparsely populated country in Europe and its language is closer to old Norse than any other spoken. So, when I said that our new castaway friends were Vikings, I meant it.

The man was taller and a lot more muscular than I was. Dark blond with classic square forehead, Nordic features and a neat well-trimmed beard. The woman, whose name was Birgit, had very abundant dark red hair. That reminded me that the Vikings also brought Irish slaves. Don't bother to ask -- I still didn't know where my knowledge came from.

Unlike Dani, Birgit was handsome rather than beautiful; strong body, with an oval face, high cheekbones and Scandinavian features with intelligent green eyes. We discussed the situation over breakfast and the man, whose name was Ivar, and I decided to do a little scout around.

Both women insisted on coming. I was sure that Birgit would hold up. She was almost six feet tall, and both the Icelanders were dressed in anoraks.

Dani was another matter. She was much smaller than the rest of us and she was clearly a rectory cat, not a wilderness one. Also, Dani had on a heavy wool coat. But it wasn't designed for wet weather like my watch coat.

I reminded her that the kids would need looking after. Her eyes softened, and she said, "Then I'll stay here and do that." She clearly loved kids.

We opened the hatch and dropped to the ground. The tide was out, and I could see that the boat was permanently beached. But we needed a place to stay on dry land.

The lifeboat had a decent pair of binoculars, which Ivar was carrying. He said, "This looks a lot like the area around Isafjordur. That is one of the most desolate areas of our very difficult island."

He did a scan along the cliffs, stopped and rescanned. He said excitedly, "I see something."

Both his wife and I said, "What?!! Do you see any sign of civilization??" I had visions of remote weather stations stocked with gallons of hot coffee.

He turned toward us and said puzzled, "No, but I DO see the mouth of a large cave with a path leading up from the beach." That was disappointing.

We walked down the rocky shore, to the winding dirt trail. It appeared to have been created by generations of people tramping up to the cave. It was narrow but serviceable. We got to a big semi-circle of flat ground, in front of the cave mouth. Ivar stopped short and stared.

He said stunned, "My God!!!"

Both his wife and I said simultaneously, "WHAT??"

He was gazing at some scratching on the rock at the cave entrance. He said under his breath, "It's Futhorc."

I looked puzzled. He collected himself and said, "Those are runes. They say "Gnipahellir." That is the name of the cave to Hel."

That didn't enlighten me. His wife said by way of clarification, "Icelandic heritage and culture is Ivar's passion. He's studied it since he's been a boy. Runes are the ancient letter script used by the Norse people."

Ivar added, "And somebody has written the name of the legendary cave to the Norse underworld next to this entrance. In the sagas it is guarded by Garmr the hellhound. It leads to the region that the Vikings called Hel."

I looked incredulous and said, "Like Hell? Eternal damnation? Devils with pitchforks? Lots of fire? That kind of Hell?"

Ivar gave me a grim smile and said, "Same word, entirely different concept. For the old Norse, Hel isn't a reward for good behavior or punishment for wickedness. It's a continuation of life somewhere else. It's just a place where people eat, drink, fight, work and so forth."

Okay, that made sense. But it didn't solve our current problem. I said, "We need a protected place to wait for our rescue. Is there anything in Norse mythology what would prevent us from bedding down in this particular cave?"

He laughed and said, "Well supposedly it's the residence of a gigantic bloodstained wolf named Garmr. But he doesn't appear to be living here at present. So, by all means let's explore."

The cave mouth was perhaps twelve feet round. It was solid rock with a flat, well worn bottom. An image of a "lava tube" flashed through my mind. I knew that those things were created by volcanic activity.

Then I remembered the red glow. I was even more convinced that there was something volcanic going on further inland." I lit one of the hand flares and held it over my head. We walked into the cave accompanied by garish red light.

We walked down the smooth rock passage perhaps a quarter mile. The temperature went from freezing to almost unbearably hot. We were clearly approaching some kind of magmatic activity. There were no rumblings. But we heard the sound of rushing water. There was evidently an underground river ahead.

We had passed through a temperate zone just after we entered the cave. There was no need for our coats in that region. So, we took them off. Standing there in my jeans and fisherman's sweater I realized that this was an ideal place to settle-in for the duration. We didn't even need a fire.

Finding the cave actually gave me an unwarranted sense of security. We were protected and warm, and we could wait out any period required to rescue us. We had plenty of food and some useful technology. We had a radio and a GPS signal. We were going to make it.

I was starting to forget that I was a nameless blob, a nobody without a past and with a very uncertain future. I had survived so far by living in the moment and perhaps that was the secret.

I had friends around me and a woman who piqued my interest. I thought to myself, "Sometimes you can worry too much about the indefinite future." I decided that it was time to let the winds of fate blow me to whatever destination I was meant to reach.

So, we returned to the lifeboat and moved our little group up to the cave. Nobody could be expected to foresee, or even believe what happened next.

****

We settled into our warm and cozy new home. We had enough water and freeze-dried food to last a couple of months and Ivar told me that puffin eggs were an excellent way to supplement that diet. We had an emergency locator that broadcast GPS coordinates. I was confident that somebody would hear the signal and respond sooner-or-later.

It went back to blizzard conditions as night fell. We considered ourselves incredibly lucky. Living on the lifeboat in the cold and winds would have been unadulterated hell. The group bedded down and tried to get comfortable on the rock floor. I planned to explore to the back of the cave the next day.

There was plenty of driftwood and even a few dead trees. So, we built a protective fire at the cave's mouth. It was a stone-age measure to keep away unwanted visitors.

But somebody had to tend the fire. I wasn't able to sleep, which seemed like my normal state. So, the decent thing was to sit up in the darkest hours of the night.

I was doing that, when I saw the faint glow. It was probably just radioactivity in the rocks. But it was weird enough to warrant checking out. I rose, brushed off my jeans and crept in that direction. I was using one of the flashlights to avoid stepping on sleeping forms.

I extinguished the light once I passed our people. I was wary, because in a place like this anything out of the ordinary could be a threat. Especially if it was in a cave called Gnipahellir.

It was clear that the light was real, and it was becoming progressively brighter. There was a slight bend in the cave. I plastered myself against the wall and peeked around the corner.

That's when I saw the apparition. It was substantial, not a ghost. But it was emitting a bluish glow, like a spirit might.

There was something innately vile about the thing. It looked cruel and cunning, handsome in a nefarious sort of way, like the classic devil character complete with a Van Dyke beard. Except this guy wasn't red and sporting a tail and a pitchfork. He was dressed like a Viking warrior.