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The Myth of Kyrrell Swamp – Chapter II Part 1 September 8, 2009

Posted by Yarnspnr in The Myth of Kyrrell Swamp - Chapter II.
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And I am come, albeit unaware,
To the deep sanctuary: my hope is drawn
From wells profounder than the very sea.
Yea, I am come, where least I guessed it so…

– The Neophyte, Aleister Crowley


Chapter II.1:  OutSider

© D. Erick Emert

wave

On the same day as the birth of the Vigroth Lobot girl, Captain Benjamin Spooner Briggs reached down, grabbed his left boot by the straps and yanked it in place. He stomped once on the wooden floor and stood up.  A knock at the crib door shook him out of his thoughts. Leaving his green vest and jacket on the back of his chair, Briggs turned away from the woman trying to shine his boots and pulled the stout wooden door open.

“Sorry ta int’rupt, sir. Message from Marshall Jobe, sir.”

Briggs grabbed the communiqué from the hand of the uniformed cadet and slammed the door closed in the man’s face. He ripped open the letter and read its simple words out loud.

To: Briggs
From: Jobe
Subj: Conference

Return to Uppsala immediately. I will expect you within five days.

Briggs turned back to the dark haired woman muttering, “So much for vacation.”

“So Capt’n, ya leav’n for Uppsala this morn?”

He caught her weak smile as she finished buffing the toes of his boots and rose to her feet. The iron chain that bound her ankle to the heavy bed clanked as she moved. The sound rang through his mind louder than the actual clatter.

Briggs nodded in silence and brought his gaze back to the bunk-girl standing in anticipation before him. His eyes squinted in the dim light of the room’s single lamp as he searched her slim, nude figure. She looks like her, he thought. Same long black hair, same deep green eyes.

He turned to the only window, startled by the realization that after a hundred and eighteen years he still couldn’t bear to recall his wife’s name. His mind started to race now. Are they alive somewhere? Do the tall ones have them?

…Images. Off the Azores. November, 1872. Stuck on a ghost sandbar. Digging alongside. The unmasked terror in everyone’s eyes when they saw it. A colossal wave stretched long and high against the horizon. The Mary Celeste lifted from that sand bar as if she were a ship in a bottle being picked up by a giant hand.  Two hundred fifty-two tons of brigantine. The wave pounding all eleven men under water as it broke overhead, pushing the brig along its crest. A lifeboat smashed into splinters. Men fighting underwater to get to the surface. Kicking. Pulling through foaming brine. Grabbing at passing pieces of wood, anything to get above the waves. Frantic. Swimming underwater.  Searching for wife, daughter. Nothing. Dead bodies jerking through the gloom. A swift darkness. An eerie green-black sky. Days spent floating…

Her touch brought him back. He pushed himself away and turned. Donning his vest and jacket he stopped only to strap on his sword and slip on his cocked hat. He bolted out the door, stumbling down the staircase. Jaarg, the owner of the Inn, stood back near the casks. Briggs walked up and shoved two gold marks into his chubby palm.

“Take care of her, keep her for me and me only. That should cover your costs.” He met the keeper’s eyes. “Don’t let me find you done different.” With that he turned and crossed the common room, exiting the inn.

Muddy Selga, he thought. Who misses this? The constant rain drizzled down today, more of a heavy mist. Briggs turned and followed the wood sidewalk toward the piers. It would be no problem finding a fast boat to take him up river to the capitol.

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