Atlantis: Bermuda Triangle

Chapter 14

Ragnarok groaned as he sat up. His chest rippled with pain. He opened his tunic and looked. A tattoo of black and blue in the shape of the Valkyrie’s arm was imprinted on his chest. Almost lost in it was the red mark where he had been burned the previous week by the same creatures. So far they had dealt all the injuries.

“Ah,” Ragnarok leaned over and spit. It hurt to breath so he took a dozen very deep breaths, feeling the fire in his chest until the burning was a steady blaze, then he ignored it.

He looked about and blinked. Tam Nok was in the river, water flowing up to her waist. She was naked, her upper body brown and slender. Ragnarok realized he was staring and looked away. Penarddun was a huddle under a red cloak a few feet away, still asleep.

“You should clean yourself,” Tam Nok said.

Ragnarok picked up Bone-Slicer and pointedly examined the edge, trying to see if it had been damaged when he hit the Valkyrie named Skogul. “Water is for drinking and sailing on,” he replied. There was a dullness to the edge along the part that had hit the demoness. Ragnarok pulled out his sharpening stone and got to work.

He heard Tam Nok coming out of the water and he kept his eyes on the ax. There was a rustle of cloth and Ragnarok gave it a few seconds before looking up. Tam Nok had her cloak on and she was seated on the bank of the river. Her short white hair was plastered against her skull and for the moment she looked very young and vulnerable. Ragnarok realized that she was barely past her twentieth year if that. Young for someone who knew so much and was on such a difficult mission.

This morning they had reached the river and turned to the west, running for a half hour before collapsing in this spot. The River Avon wasn’t very wide or deep but it was below the level of the Salisbury Plain and afforded them some protection from observation. Ragnarok knew that the King’s men who were killed by the Valkyries during the dark hours would be missed sooner or later. Ragnarok looked up at the sun. It was after mid-day.

Tam Nok saw him staring at her and reached up to her head, feeling her hair. “It used to be black,” she said.

“What happened to it?”

“One day I looked down in a stream I was crossing and I saw that it had changed color.”

Ragnarok had known a man whose hair had changed like that. Who had gone out on the sea to fish for the day and not returned for three weeks. And when he came back his hair was white, his eyes haunted and he was mute. He never spoke again, dying less than six months later.

“What occurred just before your hair changed?” he asked.

“It happened when I started my journey. I had to go into the dark area near my home.” Tam Nok shook her head. “There are some things it is best not to speak of.”

“If we are to travel together, I think-” Ragnarok began, but he noted that Tam Nok wasn’t looking at him, but beyond with a strange expression. Ragnarok sprang to his feet and turned, ax in hand.

An old man was standing on the edge of the plain where it began descending to the river bank. He wore tattered rags and his face was obscured by a large, bushy gray beard. The man was holding a staff of what appeared to be black wood, perfectly smooth and over six feet long. Something on the tip of the staff was reflecting light, almost blinding Ragnarok. He squinted. An intricately carved ornament- a seven headed snake. The other end of the staff ended in a spear head, which also shone in the sunlight.

Ragnarok had never seen such a weapon. But it must have meant something to Tam Nok, because she pushed past the Viking rattling off something in her native language.

“Now slow down woman,” the man said in Ragnarok’s tongue but with an accent the Viking had heard before- far to the north on this God-forsaken island in the land where there were hills and bogs and deep lochs and the people dressed in clothes with patterns that told what family they belonged to. A strange people who the Vikings respected in battle because they were capable of being as insane as the Norsemen when it came to the blood lust.

The man walked down to their small camp. Penarddun, woken by the voices, opened her bleary eyes. She blearily stared at the man for a few seconds, then her eyes widened. “Lailoken!”

The old man went to the river and knelt, dipping his face into the water and drinking deeply. His head came up, the beard dripping water. “Some have called me that,” he acknowledged. His gray eyes softened and grew distant. “It has been a long time, though, since any one did so.” The eyes sharpened and he looked at Penarddun. “You are one of those that worship the stones and trees and stars.”

Penarddun dipped her head. The man laughed, then twirled, holding the staff out from him, the spear end cutting the air. It was as if he had suddenly disconnected from reality for a few seconds, then just as quickly he stopped and became serious.

His gaze shifted to Ragnarok. “A ravager from the sea. I have seen your people fight along the shores to the north and east of here. I learned your language from one your fellows stranded in my country. You are a long way from the ocean sailor of the north.” He stepped closer. “Tell me do you enjoy the killing? Or is it the dying? If I remember correctly your people seem to relish both.”

He didn’t wait for an answer as he turned his attention to Tam Nok. “I have not seen you’re like before. Nor do I know the tongue you spoke to me in. I assume since you travel with this large barbarian you know his tongue.” He reached out with a hand encrusted with dirt. Tam Nok didn’t flinch as he ran a finger along the sides of her eyes. “Most strange. Most strange. Do you see differently?” He laughed, an insane edge to the sound. “Oh, I think you do. I think you do!”

“My name is Tam Nok. I am from the kingdom of the Khmer.” She pointed at his staff. “The Naga on your-”

“The what?” Lailoken interrupted. “The what?”

“The seven-headed snake. We call it the Naga in our land. It is sacred.”

Lailoken looked at his staff as if seeing it for the first time. “A sacred snake with seven heads? People are so strange aren’t they?” He laughed. “I thought it pretty so I took it.” He shook his head. “It is so hard to remember everything.” He held the staff at arm’s length and looked at it as if seeing it for the first time. “Yes, it is sacred. That I remember.”

“Who are you?” Tam Nok asked.

The old man shook, as if a sudden chill had raced through his body, then he turned serious. “She called me Lailoken. That is what I was called long, long ago. When I counseled the King. The first King I counseled that is. Yes, I told him much. But he didn’t listen. They never listen.”

“We will listen,” Tam Nok said.

“I warned them!” He stopped and smiled, transforming his entire face into an old, gentle man. “They called me Lailoken. They called me other names. Later. Myrddin. When I was with another King. Have you heard that name?”

“Myrddin?” Penarddun’s voice quavered.

“Yes.”

“Merlin in the new tongue,” Penarddun said.

“I prefer Lailoken. It is the name my mother and father gave me. Sometimes the languages get confused in my hand. I know many languages and have been to many lands. But you-” he pointed at Tam Nok- “you are something new.”

His voice changed once more and became manic. “I told the King. The first King. I told him about the dragons. One red. One white. Fighting, fighting, fighting. All the time. And that’s why his walls collapsed. He could not build his castle.”

“King Vortigen?” Penarddun asked.

The old man nodded.

“Vortigen ruled over five hundred years ago,” Penarddun said in a lower voice to Tam Nok and Ragnarok.

“It was a long time ago,” Lailoken acknowledged. “I told him of the dragons under Dinas Emrys. The red and white. And if he drained the pool, the dragons would come out and he could build his castle. Of course, I also told him that the white dragon would kill the red. And since his symbol was the red dragon, he did not take this news well. But he was not a believer. The white, ahh-” Lailoken trailed off.

“The white was the line of Artor- Arthur,” Penarddun whispered.

“Yes. But there was more to the prophecy,” Lailoken said. “All people remember is Artor and the table and the stories of the sword and the warriors in their armor. And even now most don’t think it was true. But those things were not important. What was important is I saw the future. I saw the Shadow coming once more. I wanted them to prepare. To stop fighting among themselves.”

“The Shadow?” Tam Nok pressed.

His eyes closed and he pressed his hands against the side of his head. “Darkness coming out of the Earth. A wall of darkness. And out of the darkness death and suffering for all. The earth itself will shatter, fire will come forth. There will be a deadly rain that will kill the beasts and all the plants. All life. The witches, three sisters, will come first, to clear the way.”

That struck a chord with Ragnarok. “The Valkyries?”

“Valkyries?” Lailoken. “In your land, they are called that. Witches. Demonesses. Succubesses. Hand maidens of the devil. Forerunners of the darkness. Whatever.” Lailoken suddenly sat down, the staff across his knees. “I am tired. And hungry. I have traveled far to be here.”

“Why?” Tam Nok asked as she pulled some dried meat and stale bread from her pack and handed it to the old man.

Lailoken’s voice lightened once more. “Why am I tired? Because I traveled far. Why am I hungry? Because I ate little while I traveled. Why did I travel far? Because I needed to get here.”

Tam Nok was very patient. “Why are you here?”

Lailoken stuffed his mouth with bread and flecks came out of his mouth when he answered. “To meet you, of course. At least I think it is you I am supposed to meet. I am not so sure of things now as I used to be.”

Ragnarok frowned. The old man looked like a beggar- except for the staff- and he spoke like a crazy man. He had seen such before, living on the edge of a village, begging for food, babbling about all sorts of nonsense. There were some who believed the crazy to be the mouthpieces of the Gods, but Ragnarok thought they were just broken people.

Tam Nok shoot him a dirty look, as if she knew what he was thinking, then she sat next to the old man. “Lailoken, please tell me why were you seeking us?”

“To help you.” He shoved a piece of dried meat into his mouth.

“How?” Tam Nok asked.

Lailoken laughed, spewing pieces of half-chewed meat. “How? How should I know? You should know. What help do you need?”

Tam Nok’s voice was patient. “We need to lift the memory stone at Stonehenge.”

Ragnarok snorted. “We need to survive the attacks of the Valkyries first.”

“It was not called Stonehenge when it was built. And it was not built for your people-” Lailoken pointed a finger at Penarddun- “to dance around and worship.”

“Why was it built?” Tam Nok asked.

Lailoken shrugged. “I have forgotten. It was before even my time.” Lailoken held up the staff. “This will help you do both things you desire.” He tossed it toward Ragnarok and the Viking, despite his surprise, caught it with one hand. It was deceptively light. The shaft was not wood but a material he had never felt before but he sensed was very strong. He held the spear in front of his face. The head was a foot long from the point and spreading to a width of eight inches at the base. Ragnarok reached to test the edge with a finger, but halted as Lailoken hissed a warning.

“Don’t do that. You’ll slice your finger off and not know until it is on the ground in front of you.”

Ragnarok pulled his other hand back. The edge did appear to be very sharp. He flipped the staff and looked at the carved figure. A seven-headed snake, the likes of which he had never seen before. He heard of such from his mother, a creature called a hydra.

“That can open the memory stone?” Tam Nok asked.

“So I have been told and so I tell,” Lailoken said.

“Who told you?” Tam Nok asked. “The Ones Before?”

Lailoken’s hand paused on the way to his mouth with a load of bread. “Ones Before?” He seemed to be deep in thought for several seconds. “They want to help, but they can’t come here like the Valkyries can. Not anymore. Long ago, long ago, they could. Many changes. Things they don’t even understand so I do not pretend to understand.” His voice changed tone, becoming sing-song. “So they told me. Told others. Gave us signs. Sent messages. But many didn’t listen. Don’t listen.”

“If we take you to the stone,” Tam Nok said, “will you open it for us? We will listen, I promise.”

Lailoken leaned over until he was lying on his side. “Yes. I will open the Stone. But first I must sleep.”