The Bok of Syr Folk Read online

  “Sur Sceaf stepped into the opening, and retrieved an oil lamp hanging on a metal hook, lit it, and held it high where it shone on a winding stairway that led downward to a bend.

  When Brekka hesitated, Sur Sceaf said, “It’s alright, don’t be frightened.”

  “I’m not frightened.” Sur Sceaf was pleased that her voice was strong and her eyes shining with anticipation.

  After she stepped inside, he closed the alcove with a gentle push. “Now stay close to me,” he said as he led her down the steps into a square chamber twenty feet by twenty with a ten foot ceiling.

  The chamber was cool, but had none of the musky smell of a sea cavern. He held the lamp up higher and led her over to a trestle table on the east side of the room. The smooth oak surface held a variety of writing materials, the rolled up Hyd, and the Golden Plates.

  “Holy Ur Mother, this is brilliant father. I can’t believe you have not told anyone else, not even Arundel.”

  He put the lamp on the table and unrolled the Hyd.

  Brekka leaned closer to trace the brilliant gold calligraphy with her finger tips. “This is exquisite,” she said in awe, “but I don’t recognize the writing.”

  Sur Sceaf explained. “This is the holy hiroglif elfabet. The Herewardi tongue, you see, my little lamb, is complex and allows for lots of flexibility. Soon you will come under Long Swan’s tutelage and he will help you master its higher form as he did with Arundel.”

  She shot him an apprehensive look. “It looks very complicated and tedious and you know how I hate tedium.”

  “Nevertheless, you are to apply yourself if you are to ever become a lady knight. The word mongers spent many days over many generations plying our language. Only few can master the old tongue of the pure Woonic language. Once you master it, you will understand the roots of our language in a way that causes the mind and heart to expand and activates our seed code to learn that which is from on high. By this means you can call upon the gods in their tongue.”

  She considered, frowned, and then asked, “Would you give me an example?”

  “Well, let’s just take the name of your Fa Bro, Persyrus. It can mean the son of Syrus, while by merely altering the spelling to Pyrsyrus, it would mean the Fire of Syrus.”

  “What are the roots of your name, Fa?” Brekka asked.

  “My roots are very complex. Syr, inter-changeable with Sur, is a Herewardi word meaning a holy being, a fiery one, and also one of extreme beauty and intelligence, and usually associated with the brilliance of the Sun and the Favored Son, Baldur of Golden Mane.” The meaning of Sur Sceaf’s name had always made him a bit self-conscious, but he resisted the temptation to laugh at himself.

  “The root of the word Syr is found in all three cultures. In our culture the most distinguished individuals are called to the Elder Moot, which is sometimes called the Syr-Alphim or the Beauty of the Elves. Syr can also mean one of great vision or a seer and it carries the connotation of Sire, the First God/Goddess or Grand Father God, for both male and female are the gods. The gods equal God in the Elder Religion whom we sometimes refer to as the almightinesses. Someday words will become magic, powerful currency among the Syr Folk, and they will fly off our tongues like bees. I am above the Elder Moot in my executive power, but the Roufytrof composed of the white lords answer to Sur Spear Weardean, above me, which means he will soon choose his successor as king.”

  Brekka scratched her head and looked overwhelmed. He smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to remember all this.”

  “Good, that’s a relief, but you still didn’t tell me what your name means.”

  “Now, as to the meaning of the name Sur Sceaf, let me see, it is derived from the sire sheaf which is the sheaf of barley or wheat that becomes the seed stock for the next generation. Sire Sheaf is also the name of a sacred secret order amongst us Herewardi which you shall one day become very acquainted with. They compose the seventh kingdom. Sometimes you will see it as Sursceaf or Sur Sceaf, Sur Chief, Syr Chief, Ser Sceaf or Sire Chief, etc.”

  “Isn’t that confusing? I mean you can only spell my name one way.”

  “I’m telling you the meaning of my name. You must learn the meaning of yours over time. You see, dear, each writing or wording can convey a specific cultural meaning and sometimes a word is written backwards to convey yet another cultural meaning of deep import, but not obvious to the casual observer or outlanders for we Heathen Folk hid our secrets in plain view. Sometimes these nuances are used to convey secret messages to only the initiated. For instance, Muryh spelled backwards is Hyrum. Which now can have little meaning for you, but someday it will carry a powerful message. The uninitiated would merely perceive a slip in speech and not get the deeper message at all.”

  “Fa, I had no idea. I feel so privileged to learn these things.”

  “That is because, Brekka you are very privileged. You’re not just a mascot.” He smiled. “From the moment of your birth, I knew you were a special child, but now I am just beginning to understand how favored by the gods, you really are. And the name they call you, Spear Shaker, is not a mockery though they may mean it as such. You will find it is a name of great power. It is the title of the Goddess of Wisdom. I only hope I can give you the tools to do what calling you have been fated to fulfill in this world, for the ur fyr burns in my chest for you. Your name will be revealed to you at the appropriate time.”

  Her eyes lit up and a cunning smile ran across her face. “So, does this mean I get to hunt the grass beast?”

  He laughed and kissed her on the forehead. “Favored or not, that is not likely to happen unless the Norns weave it so.”

  Chapter 4 : The Hunt for the Grass Beast

  The first day of the great grass beast hunt had finally arrived. As Elf Beard stood at the Gorse Gate on stone top, he rubbed his hands together with the sheer anticipation of an exciting hunt. The young blood participants had begun gathering shortly after dawn, eagerness radiating in their faces. The boys and their assigned dogs were full of high spirits and relishing the adventure that was to come. The dogs pulled against their restraining tethers, barking, tails wagging, noses to the ground, happy to be out of their kennels and impatient to begin the hunt.

  A fine day all around Elf Beard thought, glancing upward toward the early morning sky. Not a cloud in sight and only a light breeze from the west to carry the scent of men away. He suspected the beast relied on its sense of smell in much the same way that a grizzly might.

  Feeling far younger than his years, and as eager as the striplings, Elf Beard held up his hand for silence. When he had the full attention of all present, he lowered his hand and began to speak.

  “Today I have appointed Lord Prince Arundel, first son of the High Lord Sur Sceaf, to be the young master of the hunt. He will be assisted by Prince Alfheah, second son of Sur Sceaf, and Redelfis, first son of Mendaka, chief of the dog soldiers. The Quailor boys have Rollo Shank and Oskar Yoder as their leaders, as selected by Habraham. Jackie Doo and I will just follow along and give commands as needed. As ordained by the High Lord Sur Sceaf, no Herewardi youth beneath sixteen winters will be permitted on this hunt unless they have already passed through the Rite of Magic Hair, earned their spear and have been selected by a young blood fyrd.” Pausing, he directed his fiercest gaze toward the two youngsters lurking to one side of the group along with their feisty sister. “Ev’Rhett and Russell that means you two fuzz heads need to get lost right now.”

  “But Master Elf Beard,” Ev’Rhett protested, “we just came to say goodbye with Brekka. Ain’t that right, Russell?” He shot an elbow into the other boy’s rib cage.

  His brother vigorously nodded. “Honest, master hunter. But how come Degataga gets to go? He’s barely thirteen winters.”

  Elf Beard grew frustrated, “Cause I made a special promise to his daddy, Turtle Duck, that I’d take him on a hunt as payment for his bringing me my hounds safely across the deep. That’s the only reason. And that’s that, you little
hellions.”

  Ev’Rhett frowned. “Oh yeah, just like all adults there’s always exceptions to the rule. But, Master of the Hunt, we don’t really want to go, mother would double our chores if we missed our lessons.”

  Although the boys sounded sincere, Elf Beard had raised seven sons of his own and made a mental note to keep a sharp watch for possible tag alongs. With a quick look at Jackie Doo, it was apparent he was equally suspicious of the two notorious imps.

  “I would remind you all that even Os-Gard, the home of the gods is surrounded by walls. Suggesting we shall always have opposition from some quarter. Wild beasts and monsters lurk outside these walls. I’m warning you! You don’t want to cross purposes with me, you rowdy little foxes,” Elf Beard declared sternly. “Facing a grass beast troll that’s tasted human blood is dead-serious business and not for half-growed young’uns looking to make mischief like they were on some nursery picnic with their nanny.”

  Someone snickered, drawing a scowl from Arundel. “Don’t worry, Hunt Master,” Ary declared, “facing a flesh eating beast is no match for what they’d get if their mother found out they went, and they know it, too.”

  Brekka chimed in, “I won’t let them out of my sight, I promise. Where I go they will go too.”

  Elf Beard hid a grin. He remembered another hunt for a rogue grizzly and another youngster about the twins’ age chomping at the bit to test his newly forged blade. He had allowed Surrey along on that hunt without parental permission. Surrey was far more reckless than Elf Beard had ever anticipated. He had charged into the fray before the bear was properly worn down. Elf Beard was compelled to save him from being mauled to death and lost a couple good hounds in the process. Upon their return, Elf Beard endured a righteously vicious, profanity-laced tongue lashing from the high lord Sur Spear himself. Gods help me if anything happened to Sur Spear’s grandsons. He shuddered to think.

  Turning to Ary, he said quietly, “If you’re ready, son, I suggest we get on with the work we’ve been sent out to do. Just make sure those little foxes don’t tag along to spoil the hunt.”

  Arundel nodded, raised both arms toward the heavens. “I call on Wodin the most high, for a blessing on this important mission. May we have our hearts fortified with courage and honor to smite the beast, and be granted a safe return in victory.” He lowered his arms. “So mote it be!”

  “So mote it be!” the others returned as one voice, except for the Quailor who said, “Amen.”

  “Well done, son,” Elf Beard said in a low breath. “Your father would be proud. Now I know why the other young bloods call you a ‘warrior poet.’ You know how to say everything short and sweet. That’s how I like it.”

  Arundel flushed with pride. “As do I, Hunt Master.”

  As the excitement built among the young bloods, the treeing-hounds barked and strained against their leashes. Heavily laden with harpoons, torches, spears, bows, blades, and packs, the young bloods fell in step to follow Arundel down the gorse trail to the beach at Troll Landing and then westward towards the marshes. Two hand carts piled with provisions, and tarped over, were drawn by two burly Quailor youths who followed behind.

  At high noon having covered a great distance of perhaps six miles along the beach from Godeselle, Arundel called a halt for rest and refreshment. Elf Beard was delighted that things seemed to be running so smoothly and thought of how hard he was to govern when he was their age and even considered this might be a better generation than his own. Under Arundel’s leadership the four groups of young bloods were blending quite well. He could detect little to no strain amongst them and witnessed lots of healthy interactions going on.

  Jackie Doo came up beside him. “I’m hungrier than ten grass beasts. Shall I break out the vittles yet, Master Arundel?”

  “See to it!” Arundel said in the formal tone of command.

  “I’ll help you be quarter master, Jackie,” Elf Beard volunteered. “Otherwise they’ll eat all the vittles before we get started.” As he lifted the canvas cover on one of the carts he spotted flaming red hair emerge and was startled to find Brekka Copper Locks and her two brothers, Russell and Ev’Rhett looking up at him like three raccoons in a den tree.

  “Shades of Hellheim,” Elf Beard yelled, drawing the attention of the young bloods, who ran over to see what was happening. “Holy Father, Woon! What am I going to do with you hellions?” Then turning to Arundel shouted, “Ary, they’re your kin, what am I to do with them? We’re already too far from Godeselle to send the little varmints back and we can’t spare an escort.”

  Arundel glared at his siblings, held up his finger and tightened his lips. “You will pay for this, all of you,” he warned before turning to Elf Beard. “I’m sorry, Master. I took them to have more sense; else I would never have vouched for them.” He shot a disgusted look at the three stowaways, who appeared all too pleased with themselves for Elf Beard’s taste. “Since we cannot send them back, I promise, I’ll look after them.”

  “Damn you little skunks,” Elf Beard slammed his hand against the wagon for effect, “Hell, Damnation, and Destruction should be your real names. If ever anything happens to you all, I shall wish for death all my days. Damn it to hell! Damn, damn, damn! Double damn! Already broke my rule by letting Degataga come and now this. I’ll catch burnin hell from your mothers, sure as hell. I just know I will.”

  “It is no use cursing them Elf Beard,” Arundel said. “We will all keep watch over them that no harm befalls them.”

  “Well, here the little imps are. All at once they are my responsibility. I’m sure they feathered their nest and made sure they had a cover story for not being at their lessons. So I can’t send them back because no search party will be coming and I have been charged by your father not to return till we slay this grass beast. They’ll just have to tag along. Now my damned hands are going to be tied in this hunt and all the weight is going to fall on you, young prince. Can you handle that?”

  “I can.”

  After climbing out of the cart, Brekka ran to Ary’s side and grabbed his hand. The twins jumped out like whipped dogs, but before they could scurry off, Elf Beard had them both by the scruffs of their necks. “If you kids don’t stay near me, I’ll have Jackie Doo eat you and I’ll do the roasting myself.” Crooked Jack looked at Brekka, growled, and made poppysmic sounds with his lips, but she wasn’t fazed by him at all. As a matter of fact not much of anything ever frighted Little Copper Locks. “And if you two listen to all my instructions, I’ll sign you fuzz heads off as having completed the Rite of Magic Hair.”

  Russell’s face brightened and Ev’Rhett clenched his fist. “Praise Woon, Russell, we’ll be young bloods six moonths before it’s time. What will Van-Child think of those beans?”

  “Alright, the first rule for you four youngins and that goes for you too, Degataga, is that nobody, but n-o-o-obody gets in front of me until I give the go. Is that clear?”

  A chorus of yeses followed. Then in unison the three rascals said, “Nooo body.” Degataga attempted to conceal his giggle.

  Elf Beard found it hard to be harsh with the stowaways. After all, as a child he had operated in enemy territory gleaning information for his father who was a beard for the Sire Sheaf. He was able to get so much more information than his father could because no one suspected a kid of being a spy. Hence, his name, Elf Beard—a spy for the elven bloodline. He considered what wonderful spies these two imps could make, but not the red head. She stood out like a fire on a hill.

  Jackie Doo passed out the cold baked potatoes, the cheese, and the bread. With a smile and a wink, he said, “Eat well, because this old grass beast likes ‘em fat.”

  Elf Beard ordered Degataga to feed all eighteen hounds. “You want to hunt, you’ve got to have well fed hounds.”

  Once everyone had eaten their fill, relieved themselves, and rested a bit, Elf Beard blew the hunter’s horn and off they strode between beach and marshland singing hunting songs, telling jokes, wild tales, and none too few lies. All
the time, Elf Beard was watching over his young charges like a rooster in a hen yard.

  Upon hitting a spit where many sea lions frolicked in the sun, Ary ordered a halt. “This may be a prime hunting area for the grass beast. Let slip Elsie, Oz, and Puck, they are the three best noses.”

  Meanwhile Elf Beard kept the three stowaways on a verbal leash to the rear. With Ary and Alfy in the lead, they passed the rocky skerries where the sea lions were barking, but no hounds were striking. Ahead, just beyond the breakers, dolphins were leaping in the air and great sea birds circled in the misty sea air while diving for fish. As they traveled further up the beach they came upon an enormous dead squid washed upon the shore. Elf Beard noticed that several tentacles had been ripped off and were missing, but how, he knew not. Not only did the carcass stink to high heaven, but also, it was a fly’s nest and covered in sea lice. Its monstrous size reminded him of the shark-wyrm.

  Crooked Jack guessed, “It probably had an encounter with the wyrm-shark or some other niccors or sea wylfs of the depths.”

  Yellow Horse lifted up the end of one of the tentacles that was still intact and said, “Just as I thought.”

  Elf Beard challenged, “What did you think?”

  “This ugly sea creature has suction cups very much like that one Rogue girl put on Ary’s neck.”

  “Xelph, Xelph,” Yellow Horse held the tentacle and acted as if it was speaking, “Let me kiss you like I kissed Ary.”

  Xelph swatted his arm at Yellow Horse. “Don’t you wish? You don’t even have any girlfriends unless you count Ary’s little brat sister.”

  “Don’t pay him no attention,” Jackie Doo said, “He’s just sorry he doesn’t get any of them sucker bites on his own neck.”