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« on: October 28, 2021, 01:04:41 AM »
PART I - THE WRECK, AND THE ISLAND
Wulfbert - Bright Wolf - is a sailor from a foreign shore far to the west. His ship was on the amber run, bringing metals to the Baltic to trade for amber, but their captain haggled too hard and so waited too long. Thus the journey home started weeks later than planned, and they hit the first of the winter storms. The storm came up from the south and they ran before it, but were driven onto uncharted islands to leeward. Wulfbert was on his first voyage; and as the ship grounded and groaned on the rocks he panicked, throwing himself over the side despite not being a strong swimmer. The waves carried him swiftly to shore and smashed him against the rocky coastline; breaking bones and bruising him badly, leaving him clinging to the top of a large rock where a particularly powerful wave had lifted him, whimpering with pain and cold.
He watched as his shipmates managed to abandon ship in a rather more orderly fashion, making a human chain to the least rocky part of the shoreline and collapsing there exhausted. Wulfbert saw that they had managed to salvage some supplies and a glimmer of hope arose inside him as he began to think he may survive this. His feelings were answered by a roar of pure hatred from the treeline above where his shipmates had landed, then a torrent of arrows falling upon them. The crew struggled to escape, trying to hide behind one another on the shale as the arrows peppered them and they fell, one after another. Wulfbert stayed low on his rock and watched with horrified eyes, vowing one day to return and take vengeance on these island looters and savages.
Wulfbert lay on his rock for a long time; long after the scavengers finished off any of his surviving shipmates, stripped them, and had left the beach. Every movement was agony, but the sea was slowly getting calmer and he knew that he had to climb over the rocks to the shore. He had thrown off most of his clothes while he struggled in the water, and had even lost his knife. It took an hour to make it onto dry land, but he knew there was no time for rest. He dragged his aching body into the forest, and began to head east, back towards the coast where they had taken on provisions a couple of months ago, and where the locals had been interested in their voyage and friendly as they traded.
He soon discovered that the island was indeed an island, and that he was trapped on it. He climbed a hill and spotted two settlements, one to the north and one to the north west. He watched the distant figures moving in the smoke of their camp fires, and swore that he would have his revenge on them. He set off, crawling and limping through thick forests until he reached the easternmost point of the island, the farthest he could be from the settlements of the savages. His every movement was a fearsome symphony of pain, but as night fell he managed to construct a rudimentary shelter in a spot well hidden by spruce trees. He collapsed exhausted, and slept until the sun was high the next day.
Food. Wulfbert was not accustomed to hunger, and he needed to eat. He set out to hunt, but the birds chirruped their mirth at him as he tried and failed to bring them down with rocks and sticks. His hands were bare and numb with cold, and when he spotted a hunter with his dog in the woods he knew he was going to have to take a risk. Still crippled from his wounds, he closed on the hunter with his hands wide apart to show his intentions were peaceful. The hunter's dog came to him, tail wagging, and Wulfbert grabbed his homemade javelin and speared the poor dog in the face. It dropped immediately, dead before it hit the floor. Wulfbert looked up at the hunter, and the hunter turned and fled. Being in no condition to fight, Wulfbert scooped up the dead dog in his arm and lurched off as fast as his injuries would permit in the opposite direction, his back itching as if expecting a spear or arrow at any moment.
Wulfbert made it to his shelter, and hungry as he was the frostbites in his hands told him that the dog's fur was his first priority. He cleaned and tanned the skin to make mittens and a hood, and roasted the meat for a hearty dinner at last. He spent almost a week in his shelter, dining on the dog and cleaning his wounds as best he could. He found a spot where fish could be seen, but his injured state and crude javelin meant he never managed to make a catch. Still, each day meant less pain as his wounds healed, and when he was at last able to walk more or less normally, he set out to hunt again with hunger sharpening his senses. The first animal he bumped into was a wolf, uncomfortably close to his shelter. The wolf seemed alone, but Wulfbert was in no condition to take chances, and backed carefully away.
Two days and nights passed, Wulfbert's only sustenance some berries. He had found mushrooms, but being unfamiliar with the local flora he was afraid to eat them. Finally he chanced upon an elk and her calf, and the chase was on. Wulfbert went after the cub, feeling that a full grown elk would be a lot to take on considering his injuries and his starved body. The chase continued for hours; the cub fleeing on sighting Wulfbert, but each time tiring a little sooner. The sun was setting before he was finally closing on his quarry, then suddenly the mother appeared. She put herself between her calf and the hunter. Wulfbert muttered a hasty prayer as he threw his javelin and watched it strike the elk in the flank, blood pouring from the wound. The elk jumped and kicked then was gone, but she left a trail of blood that was clear even in the fading light.
The blood trail was thick and bright and Wulfbert knew there was no need to hurry. He had grown up a poacher, and had only run away to sea after he had been caught and escaped. The tracking was easy, and soon he was standing over the dying elk, her flanks heaving as she fought for breath. Wulfbert whispered soothingly to her as he cut her throat with his stone knife, stroking her head as her life seeped away. Retrieving his javelin, he dragged the elk to some trees where he curled up next to the body to sleep while the warmth still remained.
Morning found Wulfbert starving but in a good humour, humming cheerfully to himself in anticipation of good meat as he skinned and butchered the carcass. His stone knife meant a lot of meat was left on the bones but he didn't much care, all he thought about was the forthcoming feast. The freshly cooked meat was music to his tastebuds, and his stomach rumbled its approval. He spent a couple of days lazing around his camp and filling his belly until he noticed that the ice around the shore had melted. He had resigned himself to pass the winter on the island, but now escape seemed possible - if only he had an axe to make a paddle! Wulfbert considered the matter and soon concluded there was only one way he could get hold of an axe. He was going to have to hunt a man.
Wulfbert built his raft bit by bit, hunting in between working but it was three days before he chanced upon an Islander out hunting. The man had an axe and a metal knife in his belt, just what Wulfbert so desperately needed. Wulfbert blinked in surprise as he realised the man was wearing a dress, but then shrugged. Each to their own, he supposed. Wulfbert tried to sneak up, but the tranvestite hunter was wary. Obviously word had got around that there was a crazy man in the woods after Wulfbert's earlier meeting with the hunter and his late dog. Wulfbert closed the gap as the other man backed away, the point of his spear following Wulfbert's movements. Wulfbert held three rough javelins, and threw two of them, both easily dodged by the crossdressing spearman.
Holding his last javelin before him, Wulfbert charged. There followed a battle royale, each stabbing, dodging and blocking until Wulfbert broke through the defence, his javelin skewering his foe in the hip and sending him over backwards onto the ground. Wulfbert was on him in an instant, his javelin going straight through the eye of the hunter, killing him instantly. Wasting no time, Wulfbert stripped the other man and admired his loot. The spear was still in excellent condition, and his heart leapt as he realised the man's knife was a broadknife, perfect for skinning and hidework. There was also a woodsman's axe, not great for any delicate work but excellent for felling trees. There was also the woollen dress and undershirt, and some nettle trousers. Wulfbert put the dress on - when in Finland, do as the Finns do!
The fight had left Wulfbert tired and shaky with excitement, but he recovered as he made his way back to his shelter. Tomorrow he would use his new axe to carve a paddle, then pile his meagre belongings onto the raft and with a prayer to the sea-giant Wade he would strike out for the mainland. The journey was much longer than he had thought, and he camped overnight on a rocky islet where he felt sure he would not be disturbed. He set off again at first light, the sea mercifully calm as he paddled. As night was falling he realised he was in a cove, then what could be an estuary. He paddled hard against the current, tasting the water at intervals and finding it less brackish each time. It was a river! He paddled further, the trees closing in on either side until he came upon some rapids. This, Wulfbert decided, would be home for a while.
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