Curiously enough, the only other time you've used this prompt was when you were writing about seeing Thor so you've been very consistent with it. And it was ten years ago too :)
Mischief Kerr stared out at the mountain. Beneath him the boat rocked gently as the waves of the ocean lapped against the sides, and behind him wolf-skin clad men sat in rows of four at the oars. There were sixteen of them, all counted, and behind them at the tiller was Sigurd. Next to Sigurd was Helga, whose mission this was, and she was complaining as she always did. Her voice was high and shrill and competed nicely with the shrieking of the gulls that rode the wind near the shore. The mountain was possibly sacred. The tales about it were not good; mischief happened on its slopes and faces and too many men (and women) had gone to climb it and not returned. It was possible that they'd fallen to their deaths in icy crevices, or fallen asleep in small caves and their fires had guttered out and they'd slowly frozen over. Maybe animals had got them and they'd died nobly, fighting to the very end. But what was true was that in the last ten years over thirty people had gone to climb the mountain, and only two had returned. Jokur, a giant of a man, had returned saying he'd only made it a few hundred metres up the mountain before he'd turned back. He'd said that the mountain spirits had made it clear he wasn't welcome: his backpack was untied everytime he checked it, no matter how many times he knotted it. His food was pulled out and strewn on the snow, and he was sure he'd felt tiny invisible hands tugging at his water bottle as he climbed. Rocks moved underfoot even when he'd checked them for stability before entrusting them with his weight, and the wind blew unnaturally strong and from the wrong direction, changing when he adjusted his stance to account for it. He declared the mountain to be the home of Loki and refused to go back to it. Keema was the only other to return; she and six others had set out to climb the mountain together and whatever had happened to them, she was the only witness and she hadn't spoken to anyone since her return. Her eyes were wild, they rolled in her head alarmingly and she tossed her hair about and spat and vomited and acted like she was possessed. They were caring for her as best she could, but the whisper amongst the elders was that soon she'd been taken out to the snowfields and exposed; left to die as a sacrifice to Odin who had clearly claimed her for himself.
"We're beaching!" called Sigurd, and Kerr glanced back just long enough to see the satisfied smirk on Helga's face. She'd beaten him down again with her arguments and demands and insistences. The men bent their backs to the oars and heaved, and with a huge creaking of stressed wood the boat started to move slowly forwards. Kerr turned his attention to the waters ahead, calling out adjustment to the course to avoid hitting shallow ground too early and ripping the belly out of the boat. Whatever Helga's plans, they still had to return to the main ship when this was all said and done. Above them the gulls wheeled in the air and screeched their warnings and Kerr tried to ignore them. As they reached the true shallows the oarsmen stopped again and Kerr considered: wet feet were unpleasant, and in the cold could be fatal, but good boots could handle the splash up the beach from here. Better to stop now and draw the boat up by hand than try riding up the beach and risk damage. Before he could shout instructions though he heard a splash behind him and, turning, saw that Helga had leapt from the middle of the boat and was striding womanfully forward through the small, white-capped breakers to the beach, a backpack on her back and a look of grim determination on her face. She made the shore and, without waiting or even looking back, started up the beach towards the mountain. "To the oars!" called Sigurd, and Kerr was sure that his shout was intended to not quite be loud enough for Helga. "She's looking for mischief, so let it find her. We'll come back tomorrow and see what the mountain has said to her."
3 comments:
Curiously enough, the only other time you've used this prompt was when you were writing about seeing Thor so you've been very consistent with it. And it was ten years ago too :)
Mischief
Kerr stared out at the mountain. Beneath him the boat rocked gently as the waves of the ocean lapped against the sides, and behind him wolf-skin clad men sat in rows of four at the oars. There were sixteen of them, all counted, and behind them at the tiller was Sigurd. Next to Sigurd was Helga, whose mission this was, and she was complaining as she always did. Her voice was high and shrill and competed nicely with the shrieking of the gulls that rode the wind near the shore.
The mountain was possibly sacred. The tales about it were not good; mischief happened on its slopes and faces and too many men (and women) had gone to climb it and not returned. It was possible that they'd fallen to their deaths in icy crevices, or fallen asleep in small caves and their fires had guttered out and they'd slowly frozen over. Maybe animals had got them and they'd died nobly, fighting to the very end. But what was true was that in the last ten years over thirty people had gone to climb the mountain, and only two had returned.
Jokur, a giant of a man, had returned saying he'd only made it a few hundred metres up the mountain before he'd turned back. He'd said that the mountain spirits had made it clear he wasn't welcome: his backpack was untied everytime he checked it, no matter how many times he knotted it. His food was pulled out and strewn on the snow, and he was sure he'd felt tiny invisible hands tugging at his water bottle as he climbed. Rocks moved underfoot even when he'd checked them for stability before entrusting them with his weight, and the wind blew unnaturally strong and from the wrong direction, changing when he adjusted his stance to account for it. He declared the mountain to be the home of Loki and refused to go back to it.
Keema was the only other to return; she and six others had set out to climb the mountain together and whatever had happened to them, she was the only witness and she hadn't spoken to anyone since her return. Her eyes were wild, they rolled in her head alarmingly and she tossed her hair about and spat and vomited and acted like she was possessed. They were caring for her as best she could, but the whisper amongst the elders was that soon she'd been taken out to the snowfields and exposed; left to die as a sacrifice to Odin who had clearly claimed her for himself.
"We're beaching!" called Sigurd, and Kerr glanced back just long enough to see the satisfied smirk on Helga's face. She'd beaten him down again with her arguments and demands and insistences. The men bent their backs to the oars and heaved, and with a huge creaking of stressed wood the boat started to move slowly forwards. Kerr turned his attention to the waters ahead, calling out adjustment to the course to avoid hitting shallow ground too early and ripping the belly out of the boat. Whatever Helga's plans, they still had to return to the main ship when this was all said and done. Above them the gulls wheeled in the air and screeched their warnings and Kerr tried to ignore them.
As they reached the true shallows the oarsmen stopped again and Kerr considered: wet feet were unpleasant, and in the cold could be fatal, but good boots could handle the splash up the beach from here. Better to stop now and draw the boat up by hand than try riding up the beach and risk damage.
Before he could shout instructions though he heard a splash behind him and, turning, saw that Helga had leapt from the middle of the boat and was striding womanfully forward through the small, white-capped breakers to the beach, a backpack on her back and a look of grim determination on her face. She made the shore and, without waiting or even looking back, started up the beach towards the mountain.
"To the oars!" called Sigurd, and Kerr was sure that his shout was intended to not quite be loud enough for Helga. "She's looking for mischief, so let it find her. We'll come back tomorrow and see what the mountain has said to her."
Greg - well, I mean, obviously I plan these things out precisely, so I'm deeply grateful you've noticed my attention to detail...
The details in this are fantastic. I'm not convinced they will find Helga when they return, and certainly not of sane mind if they do.
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