Read Online The Sirens - 02 by William Meikle - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William Meikle
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even explain the seal part.
"So how much did they ask for you?" I said.
"Nothing," he said, matter-of-factly. "They didn't seem interested in money, even although they knew all along that my father had plenty."
That was one of Jim Morton's theories gone down the pan.
"So what did they want with you?"
"To protect me," he said. "Here, take the wheel. That coffee has gone right through me."
"Protect you from what?" I asked, as he climbed down into the lower area.
"Myself," his voice came, muffled from below. Then there was silence in which I was left to mull over the implications, and try not to steer towards the shore.
"Can I have another cigarette?" he said when he returned. "They wouldn't let me have any, apart from those that Irene smuggled in for me."
"So let me get this straight," I said, "They kept you captive for months, didn't ask for any money, and said it was for your own protection?"
He lit his cigarette like an addict returning after an enforced absence, and had three long puffs before replying.
"You're right. It sounds strange. But they had their reasons. And I soon had reason myself to believe them."
The rain had stopped, and a rainbow hung like a bridge over the Red Cullins. We were sailing through some of the most spectacular scenery a man could wish to see, but I only looked at him as his story unfolded. He had taken the wheel, and he stared forward, but his gaze was far away.
"That first day out of bed, I thought I was going mad. They sat me down, me on one side of the table the three of them on the other, and they told me a story. I'll tell it to you like they told it to me, and see if you can make sense of it. Then I'll show you something, and then I'll have a favor to ask you."
* * *
Long ago, and far to the north where the ice meets the sea and the great white bears prowl for unwary travelers, there was an island of sea-faring folk who were renowned for their prowess in fishing. It is said that every time they took to sea their nets bulged heavy...so heavy that they had to throw back more than twice what they were able to carry. Nothing that swam in the seas was safe, for the men were so gifted that no shoal could hide from them. Across the seas of Midgard their sails blew tight in the spray, and their songs swelled with the wind as they hunted.
So big were their catches, so bountiful were their tables, that their fame at last reached as far as Valhalla, to the halls of Odin himself. And even Odin, the master hunter, was in awe of the exploits that were related at his table. But the tales were so tall, seemingly so exaggerated, that the old God would not swallow them, for he had heard many tales over his long years, and was wise enough to know that the teller was just as important as the tale itself.
So he sent his son Loki to find out if the stories were true, for Loki was a teller of tall tales himself, and would know a lie if one faced him.
"Bring me the truth of it," Odin said, and Loki smiled sweetly, though the truth was little more than a passing stranger to the Trickster.
For long months he searched the circling sea, and many great and mighty things did he learn. And everywhere he went he heard tales of the great fishermen of the North, who had risen in greatness so far among the other seafaring folks that they might even be gods themselves.
And Loki saw this, and was enraged that mere fisherfolk might usurp the place of the mighty in the hearts of common men.
After long journeys he came to the land of the fishermen on a sunny day in summer and saw the nets bulging with the herring, the silver mounds filling the harbors and inlets for many leagues around.
And the townsfolk saw him, and took him in, and there was a great feast. Ragna, the King of the Fisherfolk, took Loki to his side at the high table, and there was much talk of fish and fishermen. The ale flowed freely, and talk grew loose.
"King Ragna," Loki said, rising from his seat at the table. "You are truly a great
"So how much did they ask for you?" I said.
"Nothing," he said, matter-of-factly. "They didn't seem interested in money, even although they knew all along that my father had plenty."
That was one of Jim Morton's theories gone down the pan.
"So what did they want with you?"
"To protect me," he said. "Here, take the wheel. That coffee has gone right through me."
"Protect you from what?" I asked, as he climbed down into the lower area.
"Myself," his voice came, muffled from below. Then there was silence in which I was left to mull over the implications, and try not to steer towards the shore.
"Can I have another cigarette?" he said when he returned. "They wouldn't let me have any, apart from those that Irene smuggled in for me."
"So let me get this straight," I said, "They kept you captive for months, didn't ask for any money, and said it was for your own protection?"
He lit his cigarette like an addict returning after an enforced absence, and had three long puffs before replying.
"You're right. It sounds strange. But they had their reasons. And I soon had reason myself to believe them."
The rain had stopped, and a rainbow hung like a bridge over the Red Cullins. We were sailing through some of the most spectacular scenery a man could wish to see, but I only looked at him as his story unfolded. He had taken the wheel, and he stared forward, but his gaze was far away.
"That first day out of bed, I thought I was going mad. They sat me down, me on one side of the table the three of them on the other, and they told me a story. I'll tell it to you like they told it to me, and see if you can make sense of it. Then I'll show you something, and then I'll have a favor to ask you."
* * *
Long ago, and far to the north where the ice meets the sea and the great white bears prowl for unwary travelers, there was an island of sea-faring folk who were renowned for their prowess in fishing. It is said that every time they took to sea their nets bulged heavy...so heavy that they had to throw back more than twice what they were able to carry. Nothing that swam in the seas was safe, for the men were so gifted that no shoal could hide from them. Across the seas of Midgard their sails blew tight in the spray, and their songs swelled with the wind as they hunted.
So big were their catches, so bountiful were their tables, that their fame at last reached as far as Valhalla, to the halls of Odin himself. And even Odin, the master hunter, was in awe of the exploits that were related at his table. But the tales were so tall, seemingly so exaggerated, that the old God would not swallow them, for he had heard many tales over his long years, and was wise enough to know that the teller was just as important as the tale itself.
So he sent his son Loki to find out if the stories were true, for Loki was a teller of tall tales himself, and would know a lie if one faced him.
"Bring me the truth of it," Odin said, and Loki smiled sweetly, though the truth was little more than a passing stranger to the Trickster.
For long months he searched the circling sea, and many great and mighty things did he learn. And everywhere he went he heard tales of the great fishermen of the North, who had risen in greatness so far among the other seafaring folks that they might even be gods themselves.
And Loki saw this, and was enraged that mere fisherfolk might usurp the place of the mighty in the hearts of common men.
After long journeys he came to the land of the fishermen on a sunny day in summer and saw the nets bulging with the herring, the silver mounds filling the harbors and inlets for many leagues around.
And the townsfolk saw him, and took him in, and there was a great feast. Ragna, the King of the Fisherfolk, took Loki to his side at the high table, and there was much talk of fish and fishermen. The ale flowed freely, and talk grew loose.
"King Ragna," Loki said, rising from his seat at the table. "You are truly a great
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