Valknut

CHAPTER|23 A - Return From The Dead

One by one, each of the hundred or so brave warriors slid down the rope dangling from the sides of the ships. Soft splashes were the only indicator that something or someone was disturbing the quiet of the night. Once in the water, no one waited idly for the next person to splash beside them. They simply turned and began the short swim to shore. Fortune must have been smiling down at the men for it was low tide. At least they didn't have to swim through the icy cold water any longer than was absolutely necessary. 

As quickly as their feet hit the sandy bottom of the sea, they dragged themselves from their cold host and hoisted their already exhausted bodies onto land. Some sat on rocks shivering, others began shedding their wet clothes. Some sprawled on the sandy beach, sending silent prayers to their Gods. No torches were lit to avoid risk of detection and they prayed that the moon would stay hidden, providing them with more cover. All they needed now, was to reach the cave undetected. 

Kieran, Klaufi, Olaf, and Sverting were the last to climb into the water. They were the last to swim to the shore. With them, they brought relief from the cold. Oilskins carried by each of the four men had warm and more importantly – dry – clothes tucked inside them.  As many spare clothes as they could find on the ships, and whatever the men voluntarily shed before climbing into the water had been bundled into the oilskins to keep them dry. Quietly, tunics, breeks, and cloaks were passed around and chattering and shivering went down a few notches. Exhaustion was replaced with adrenalin as the men prepared themselves. This was it! The time had come for these few brave men to stand against a terrible army – one that had taken their homes and tortured and perhaps even killed their families. The time for retribution was here at last. 

Kieran quickly took the lead. He knew his way around the islands and he knew exactly where the cave lay. 

The entrance to the cave surprised them all. General impression was that a massive looming rock expanse on the shore with a mysterious entry would indicate that they had arrived at their destination. But not this time. No. Kieran simply walked past the rocky Cliffside. Another ten minutes or so of trekking brought the men to a flat land – the beginning of a huge meadow that was separated from the sea by a narrow sandy strip. Each man eyed his neighbor. Where was Kieran taking them? Surely there could be no caves or tunnel entrances here, out in the open? 

A non-descript rock about a foot in height sat on the ground. Olaf and company expected Kieran to amble past it and he did. But only as far as the other side of the rock. He motioned for the men to stand back, then grabbed his battle-axe and began swinging. As Kieran hammered away at the rock, the noise he made in the quiet of the night, made the men cringe. Sure, for miles around all they saw was plain open land. But the enemy couldn't be far away. Surely no one would leave a whole side of the island unguarded after a hostile take-over. Out in the open with nowhere to go or hide and no rocks or trees to provide cover, the men felt too exposed. The noise from the hammering would surely act as a beacon for trouble. This was a terrible place to get caught! Despite the danger, everyone watched Kieran with a certain amount of measured curiosity. 

A few good thwacks later, the earth below their feet began shuddering and moaning. And then it began cracking and rumbling. They took a few steps back and none too soon. In a flash, the ground was swallowed up by a dark void. All that was left was a mist of dust that engulfed the men. When it settled, Kieran was the first to jump into the void. Cautiously each of the remaining men peered in. And there it was. The entrance to the tunnels! 

The entrance had been so inconspicuous that they were indeed in awe of Kieran for remembering exactly where it was – and in his very first attempt at finding it in the middle of the night. Whatever their misgivings about the lad drawn from his inability to keep his composure at Pictland, it no longer existed. At Rognvaldsey, he was master of his world and very much in control.