Many of these client monarchs are forgotten to history now. The only thing that we kept hold of from back then is that the Fomori gave us the freedom to elect our chosen oppressor. It is this fact that allows me to believe that there must have been some genuinely good people who were elected to the position of ruler.

Because sooner or later, a person can stand up and make a case for how they are a better person than the last person to hold the crown and that they will do much better for the people than their predecessor did. Popular movements are a thing and I can easily imagine that they were still a popular movement back then, just as there are today.

But it's just as likely that there were bullys back then and that bullys attracted their like and bullied people to vote for them with empty promises and false hope.

As I say though, many of those names are now lost to us. Because we also took our tradition from not reading or writing from this time. The reason being that if we wrote anything down, as the Elves had taught us to do, then the Fomorian puppets would be able to read our plans for rebellion. So it became more expedient and necessary for our survival to keep things hidden and secret. To keep things from being written down so that they couldn't be used against us.

But there is one name that we remember from back there and back then. And it was the name of the final puppet King of Skellige. His name was Bres the Beautiful.

(Despite his assertions to the contrary, Helfdan did indeed have certain abilities that were part of the storyteller's craft. That being that he knew how to present his principle villain. The assembly literally hissed in hatred as the name was spoken aloud and Helfdan had enough instinct to let them boo and hiss until they were done. He was not telling a story. He was recounting a history. But we were rapt with attention, the same way that we had been rapt when Ivar had also stood before a fire and recounted the past events. Or Torvald had told his ghost story.)

For beautiful he was. There is a story, probably apocryphal that suggests that his method of ascending to the throne was to seduce the women, and some men, into voting for him in return for his favours and promises of future lives of luxury in his harem. I never liked that story. I much preferred to think that he certainly tried to affect the outcome of the election in such a way but that the people did not fall for it. That they were too clever, that the only people that fell for it were the people who would have fallen for any gambit.

He was called the beautiful, and in his youth, he probably was. He was probably beautiful and charming and witty and persuasive. But he was also a glutton and a hedonist. We know that he gathered much of the food of the islands to himself and would eat and drink himself into a stupor. He attracted men and women, of course, who felt the same way and a famine swept the land as all of the best food was taken by King Bres both for his own table as well as to be given to the Fomorians.

It was this famine that finally caused the people of Skellige to rise up in rebellion.

Now do not think that we hadn't been fighting before that. We had. There was an ongoing guerilla war being fought all the time. Supplies were burned, fomori and collaborator forces were attacked and killed. There is no denying that there were dark deeds committed which we justified to ourselves by declaring those people murdered as being “non-people” and therefore impossible to murder. To those early fighters, killing a collaborator was like chopping wood. Whether that collaborator was a man, woman or even a child or old person who collaborated because they needed food or medicine.

It was a dark time, there is no getting away from that. Like any civil war where brother fights brother, there were crimes committed on both sides. Those dark deeds are almost certainly the reason that we didn't throw off the yoke of the oppression sooner. The freedom fighters were so uncompromising that there was no room for people to have half measures. A regular test for a new freedom fighter was to kill or otherwise abuse a friend or family member who was being seen to work for, or with, the enemy. So it was not hard for what passed for the propaganda of the time to portray the “freedom fighters” as being villains.

Why didn't they succeed? Because they were made up of lots of small bands. Often young men and women. Sixteen years old to their early twenties, thinking themselves heroes they threw themselves against the greater whole. They would often fight each other before they would fight an enemy in an effort to become larger or to become famous.

But in the end there was a hero who rose. In the wake of the famine of Bres the Beautiful, a man did rise up and unite the people of Skellige and he was the one who began many of our greatest traditions and it was he that formed the basis of our society.

His name was Hemdall.

I'm not going to get into the debate about whether or not Hemdall was a man or whether or not he was a God. The Scribbler wanted a history of our interactions with the Vodyanoi and I'm not entirely sure that Hemdall's divinity or lack of it is relevant under those particular circumstances. We know that he had six children that went on to found the first six major clans and that their descendants are very, very mortal in nature. Given to all the flaws and vices that are inherent in our race.

We also know that there are various supernatural phenomenon that occur when his name is invoked. He and his wife Heulyn are both represented in many visions and spirit quests and I am not in a place as to answer whether or not one version of the story is accurate and the other is not. That would take a lot of work at the hands of greater scholars than me.

I can tell you that I don't necessary see the two things as necessarily being mutually exclusive. I will also state that I prefer the idea that Hemdall was, at least, born human. That means that his undeniable accomplishments were the result of hard work, courage, determination and all of the virtues that humanity can possess. I prefer that idea to the proposition that his virtues and benefits are the result of any potential divinity, either from himself or his wife.

We also know that the dead go on to the halls of Valhalla, especially when they die on the field of battle with a weapon in their hands. But the Goddess is known to choose her favourites and take them to her own hall. If Hemdall was a man I prefer the idea that Freya took notice of his accomplishments and elevated him in some way. There is plenty of evidence for this as well given the accounts of many of his deeds.

But it seems that I have ended up discussing Hemdall's potential divinity after all. I am not entirely pleased with this as it's not really important to what happened.

Bres the Beautiful was a hedonist. This is known. The story goes that Hemdall was marrying the love of his life, his childhood sweetheart Heulyn when Bres, who was jealous of the love that Heulyn showed Hemdall, decided that he was going to interfere in the wedding. He demanded that Hemdall would go off to the mines to work himself to death, confiscated the wedding feast and demanded his right as Lord, that Heulyn would share her bed with him.

Heulyn resisted of course and was able to use her wit and courage to continue to string Bres along while also taking every opportunity to undermine his rule and weaken his resolve.

Meanwhile, Hemdall worked in the mines until minions of Bres who were seeking the favour of the King, tried to have Hemdall killed in what they would attempt to label a mining accident. Unfortunately for them, Heulyn had sent word to Hemdall that this plot was going to take place so that when the ambush happened, Hemdall was waiting for them.

Then, as the legends say, his wrath was terrible. In the first recorded account of a berzerker, the Warp-Spasm came upon Hemdall and he turned the cave into a red ruin while his enemies fought with each other in an effort to flee.

Covered in blood, standing over the broken bodies of his attackers, holding a sword in one hand and the broken pick-axe that he had been using to hack the iron out of the rock-slide. Hemdall looked out at the rest of the mine. He was tired, breathing heavily and his hair hung around his face. Then he said the words that caused a nation to rise. “This cannot be borne.” As The Scribbler can tell you. When there are many different accounts of an event or a series of events. One of the ways that you can tell whether or not something actually happened is from those places where the accounts of those times match up and agree. This is one of the few tales regarding Hemdall that all accounts agree on. There are men and women, to this day, who have those words inked into their skin. Especially when setting out on blood feuds and quests of vengeance.

What happened after this starts to vary again. Many accounts say that the guards fled in fear from Hemdall and his wrath which meant that Hemdall was able to hide in the caves and the woods while the King sent his soldiers after him. Others still argue that the miners rose up in order to support Hemdall in his attack and took the fight to the many many guards and soldiers that were still watching the mine. Then there are all the accounts that are somewhere in between. The ones where the miners rioted so that Hemdall's closest followers could get the wounded and exhausted man to safety. While others contain the premise that Hemdall wanted to continue the fight and take the battle to the guards, such was his rage, but his followers, seeing that he would get overrun and killed, carried him from the field to safety.

There is no way to tell which is true. But what we do know is that the rebellion started around this event. There are many stories about this. Stories about how Heulyn refused rescue and continued to feed information to the rebellion. Stories about the daring rescue of Heulyn. The many raids on the supplies of the Fomori and the followers of King Bres. Also tales about how Hemdall defeated some of the more destructive rebellion leaders and stopped their own depredations.

What is known is that Hemdall did unite the various splinter forces into a single and cohesive whole and step by step, village by village and mine by mine. He liberated the islands from their oppressors. We also know that he did, eventually rescue his wife and that there was much rejoicing.

So why did Hemdall succeed where others had failed? I don't think that there is that much to it in all honesty. We are Skelligan and if we have one great strength, it is also our greatest weakness. We love a good story and it was just as true then as it is now. Hemdall was the perfect downtrodden hero. Cut off from the woman he loved. Kept down and beaten up and then he began to fight back. To make matters even better on his behalf it turns out that he was a man of honour. He didn't kill prisoners, he didn't torture people for information. He treated his captives as well as could be expected and yes, he did put them to work which is where the tradition of Thralldom comes from. But otherwise, he was a good and honourable man fighting in a good and honourable way.

Naturally, King Bres was furious and every time that Hemdall found a way to rise above everything and be a proper and decent human being, Bres was forced to descend to new lows. He intimidated, tortured, threatened and bullied his people in an effort to prevent Hemdall's forces from expanding. Naturally, all he really did was to drive more and more people into Hemdall's ranks.

The Fomori were not pleased and held Bres to an accounting. For the first time since the subjugation of the descendants of Nemedd, the Fomori rose in anger to attack the forces of Hemdall.

So it was that the first battle of Mag Tuired was fought.

No, I don't know where Mag Tuired is or what it means either. I suspect it is some lost form of language which is meant to be about the battle for freedom or the throwing off of shackles and the destruction of certain constructs. I don't know. What we do know is that the battle was fought for a long time. Probably, over several days at least and the forces on both sides were decimated.

We're pretty sure that this battle was fought on Ard Skellig, or certainly the climax of the battle was fought on Ard Skellig. Some people have argued that what we think of as a battle was actually a war with a series of running skirmishes, ambushes and smaller battles fought on all of the parts of the Isles. I can't answer for that. What we do know is that the battle was.... mostly inconclusive and hugely destructive.

In the end, the Fomorian King, named Balor who had risen from the depths to oversee the final destruction of Hemdall was forced to make some concessions. It is generally thought that he had been led to believe that the rebellion was relatively small, as such things often were at the time and he had been taken aback by the ferocity of Hemdall's forces.

But regardless. King Balor met with Hemdall and offered that Hemdall replace King Bress as the client King of Skellige on the Fomorian behalf. Hemdall refused. Hemdall demanded that Balor and his people leave the islands and never return. Balor refused.

In the end, Hemdall and his people were allowed to retire. The catastrophic losses that those forces had suffered meant that they were unable to hold onto what they had anyway. The Fomorians agreed that the island that we now call “An Skellig” would be given to Hemdall who was now being called “God-King” by his followers and that neither Hemdall or his followers would be setting foot on any of the other islands which would continue to be ruled by Bress and the Fomorians.

Hemdall was not a stupid man. He knew that this phase of the war had gotten to the point where he could not win a protracted war. That his numbers were dwindling through the attrition and that his resources were limited. He knew that, although technically, his people held the most territory, that his lines were spread too thin and that it couldn't possibly hold against a concentrated attack. So he agreed.

Hemdall and Heulyn went to An Skellig with their surviving people and somewhere between twenty to thirty years passed. The pair had at least six children and Hemdall's orders were sincere. That his people should live like they have never lived before. The issue wasn't decided and they all knew that the matter wasn't decided. That the war would have to be taken up again at a later date. So his people needed to have children, lots of children while taking the time to train and gather resources.

It is also true that there was a lot of room to move in these negotiated terms. The treaty said nothing about accepting fugitives that fled to An Skellig. Nor did it say anything about those same fugitives returning to the other islands in order to gather more followers.

But then. As was inevitable. After enough time for his six sons to grow into strong men capable of waging the war, Hemdall committed his first and only dishonourable act. He broke his word to King Balor. Such a fleet had never been assembled as the warriors of the God-King climbed aboard and sailed back to Ard Skellig. The Fomori saw them coming. They had to. It is inconceivable that the flow of information only went one way. There was certainly a force waiting for the forces of Hemdall on the beach. But Hemdall landed anyway.

Then, after all the warriors had disembarked, they turned and burned their ships behind them. Thus telling the gathered forces that there would be no going back and that the final battle was about to begin.

Which was how the second battle of Mag Tuired began.

There are so many varied tales of this event that it is impossible to separate fact from fiction in this case. There are many stories about warriors being there that are provably born much later than during these events. Or from long before these events.

There is one story told which I don't believe although I wish it were true. That the warriors of Hemdall tied huge boulders to their backs making it impossible for them to retreat. So that every step forward was bought in pain and blood and that the Fomorian forces fell back before the righteous rage and anger of the men of Skellige.

As I say, I don't believe it. Fighting requires movement and the ability to change position, even when fighting in a shieldwall so sacrificing that mobility would be the last thing that we needed to happen. It is far more likely that this is an extension of the burning of the ships in that it displayed the determination and cold fury of the returning men against the Fomorian forces.

But I wish it was true nonetheless. One of the few places where I prefer the story to the facts.

Unfortunately, for those of us that like the history of the thing rather than the myth. There is relatively little information about the battle for us to know. Plenty of stories yes but few actual facts. We can guess that the forces of Hemdall landed on the eastern shores of Ard Skellig but even that we can't know for certain. Burnt out remains of ships are not uncommon and the elements are never kind to such remains. So I'm afraid I can't give you the proper account of what happened on that most bloody of days.

The long and short of it was that we won. We threw King Balor into the sea along with the rest of the Fomorians while exiling King Bres and his hired mercenaries back to Cidaris which is why they hate us and attack us at every opportunity. While we hate them and attack them at every opportunity for the same reason.

Hemdall vanished from history then and we do not know what happened to him. The myth and legend says that he found King Balor on the field of battle and slew him in single combat before the Valkyr, so impressed were they with his deeds that they elevated him to Godhood where he guards the rainbow bridge to this day, against the coming of Ragh na roog.

But the truth is probably, and uncomfortably, much more simple than that. He will have been an old man by this point. Certainly old for his time when any man who reached the age of forty was considered so doggedly ancient that people would regularly consider whether they were magical in some way. So it's possible that he died. Possibly before his children re-invaded Ard Skellig although we know that that was always his intention. He might have died during the crossing or he might have died during the battle. What is certain is that there is no record of what he got up to during the aftermath of the battle.

Sometimes, I find that I can be a romantic. It is just as likely, even possible, that he was in-enamoured with the life of a spiritual and literal hero and ruler. He was the first High King of Skellige but I like to think that after defeating his enemies he decided to retire from his life of combat and rulership. That he went with his wife, who has also achieved a semi-status of divinity, into the hills and lived out the rest of their lives in peace and harmony.

That is not the end of the story. This is history after all, rather than a saga or a poem. History has no beginning or ending that can easily be wrapped up and tied into a bow for easy consumption. Although we had defeated our enemies and driven the Fomori from our shores, that was not the ending of the wars of the children of Hemdall.

They had a couple of years where they fought of the raids of the Fomori who would sneak ashore in order to raid for the goods and things that they had been delivered as tribute before. But then we were subject to the invasion of the Cidarians. King Bres, as it turns out, was not a happy man in exile. He had been used to living the good life and so he returned at the head of a Cidarian fleet. Having reached a similar arrangement with the Cidarian king as he had maintained with King Balor of the Fomorians he was unable to give up that good life.

So he returned and easily managed to invade and conquer a lessened and war-weary Skelligans. But now we were Skelligans who had learned how to fight and how to win. So fight we did and over the years, we drove them off. Then they would re-invade and we would drive them off and for a while that cycle continued.

It became clear that we would need to guard all of the islands to prevent foreign powers, whether Fomorian or continental, from establishing a foothold in our lands. So The sons of Hemdall, and probably by now the Grandsons of Hemdall, founded the clan system and the origins of the first six main clans. Clans An Craite, Tuirseach, Dimun, Drummond, Brokvar and Heymaey. One per major island in order to guard it and prevent others from invading.

(Freddie's note: Yes, I know that this misses out clan Tordarroch. I did ask about that and it would seem that originally, the now defunct Clan Drummond were set to guard Undvik. But at some point later, they decided that they hated their rivals of the An Craite Clan who had more prosperous lands, better harbour and more prestige and so they re-settled in the South-Western parts of Ard Skellig. Clan Tordarroch were those people that they left behind.

Depending on who you speak to, this is either because they wanted to honour the ancient agreement that they would guard Undvik against invaders. That or Clan Drummond left them behind, presuming them to be weak and worthless. That Clan Tordarroch managed to turn this into a strength and became the foremost weapon and armour smiths in the islands is testament to how wrong Clan Drummond were.

There is another note here. The Jarls of the great clans act as advisors to the monarch. These are also the lords that elect the new monarch. Sometimes this means that the council of Jarls is split. So someone, at some stage, decided that there needed to be an odd number of Jarls to avoid this kind of situation. Thus a new great clan was born to lift the number to seven. I would advise, however, not to tell any members of Clan Tordarroch that they were made a great clan just to make up the numbers. You may not survive the experience)

So that, Scribbler, is why we are so afraid of the Vodyanoi. They were and are, our ancient conquerors. They defeated us and beat us and it took us lifetimes and more blood than we are entirely comfortable with to throw them from our shores. It is true that our history is written by the early invasions into our territory. But the Vodyanoi, the Fomori as we call them, were the first and by far the most brutal.

-

It took us another two days after this remarkable account of ancient Skelligan history before we got to the place where we needed to go. I don't know whether or not I was getting used to the cold or whether or not it was actually getting warmer. We were behind the Skeleton Ship now, we could tell because there was more ice floating in the bay. It was not far in front though and Helfdan warned that it could just as easily turn and start sailing back towards us with all of the horror, cold and rage that it possessed.

Let me say now and before witnesses. Helfdan is a genius. How he knew that we were in the right place is something that I could not have told you. He did not navigate by the sun as the could cover and freezing fog made that impossible. Nor did he navigate by the stars for the same reason. We were in a chain of smaller, uninhabited islands to the north of Ard Skellig itself but even those landmarks were obscured by the fog and the cold.

But he positioned us in the water with a precision that was uncanny and I had been there when the Priestesses of Freya had told us that precision in this matter was vital. He didn't even look up from the tiller. The air was still and there was no wind to stir the sail or the waves on the water. He just turned his head ever so slightly.

Just like a dog does.

I don't even think he opened his eyes as he was doing it.

The rest of us just stood and watched him. The Priestesses of Freya had told us to be precise, that the offering would need to be made at the specific place in order for the message to be properly received. So Helfdan maneouvered. A touch this way, an inch that way. Almost using the tiller as an oar. Occasionally gesturing for small movements from one of the oarsmen.

It was fascinating to watch.

It also had another one of those side effects that made me think that Helfdan is either some kind of extreme genius, or that he is just really really lucky. Because what remained of the crew was hanging off every gesture and every movement of their Captain, it meant that they didn't have time to worry about what was going to happen when he was finally happy with what was going to happen next.

The Helfdan equivalent of keeping people busy to stop them worrying.

He brought it to a halt by kind of nodding to himself and stepping to the side of the ship with Kerrass and I moved with them. Svein and Ciri joined us while the rest of the men stayed at their oars. Ready to help us to leave at a moment's notice. One hand on the oars, another on their weapons. Perrin was at the prow, having wedged himself just below the figurehead of the ship. One arrow already nocked to his bow with another three in his hand. I had seen Perrin training and I knew that he could have all of those arrows shot in less time than it took me to write those words. As I think I've said before. Rickard would disapprove of the technique but it was effective for the closer quarters of combat that the Skelligans prefer.

“Right then.” Helfdan spoke almost to himself. “What was it the Priestess said? Flame, Iron and Blood?”

“It was.” Svein told him. “In that order.” He was no more fooled than I was. Helfdan knew exactly what the Priestess had said, but was saying it aloud for others to hear.

Helfdan nodded as Svein spoke. “Witcher, would you mind?”

Kerrass nodded and gestured. A shower of sparks flew from his hand into the water. Which hissed where the sparks hit and a steam rose.

“Iron next.” Helfdan commented.

“I don't suppose she said how much Iron.” I wondered aloud. More for something to say and to feel as though I was adding to proceedings than anything.

Helfdan shrugged and went into the bowls of the ship, pulling one of the huge and ungainly ice cutting axes out of the sack. There was no way that such a thing could be used in battle but I could not help but think of the horror that the blade would make of a body. Helfdan heaved it into the water where it sank quickly. It was only my imagination that made the Wave-Serpent seem to sit on the water a little lighter.

“Which leaves blood.” I said drawing my dagger and stepping forward. Helfdan held me back with a smile though. “I should... you have already shed enough blood in my cause.” I protested. “I should do, at least this.”

Helfdan smiled a little as he stared at my chest. Svein looked away while I did not look at Kerrass or Ciri.

“Ah Scribbler.” Helfdan said after a moment. “It is no longer your cause.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “It is our cause. The very blood that you talk about makes it so.”

“Besides.” He went on. “You would probably do something foolishly poetic like cut your palm for the blood. You will need that gripping strength should we need to fight or row for our lives.”

Svein turned back and he had produced a wineskin from somewhere. “And we were prepared for this.” He upended the skin, it looked like a pig's bladder, and poured a thick, dark red liquid into the water.

I suddenly found the funny side and laughed. “It doesn't matter what kind of blood it was does it.”

“No.” Svein smirked. “It symbolises the old agreements. Flame for fuel, iron for the ore that we used to give them, and blood for the food. It's actually supposed to be a pig or a cow's blood.” He squeezed the last of the goop into the water before tossing the skin in after it. “You'd be surprised how often that is the case. And how often people in stories just assumed that people were talking about human sacrifice when anything would have done.”

Ciri chuckled and there was a notable lessening of tension in the crew as people shared the joke. We were still hushed though. As though the fog was a blanket that we had used to muffle the world.

“How long will we have to wait?” Kerrass wondered.

Helfdan shook himself. Like a Cat that has just been startled from a nap. “Not long I should think.” He replied, pointing at a patch of the sea that was beginning to bubble.

It took a long time for the Vodyanoi to make their presence felt. A very long time, despite Helfdan's words. They climbed to the surface slowly but when they did get here, they burst out of the water quickly.

The first things that we saw were three heads in a triangle, almost standing back to back. Golden helmets broke the surface with metal fins on their heads, red circular glass holes in the place of eyes before, in turn giving way to the rest of the mask which betrayed a slightly elongated snout with two bulbous metal protrusions on the end of it that were made out of a different coloured metal than the rest of the Golden Helmet.

The next thing we saw was the weapons. Led by the arrow points, the three Vodyanoi were carrying huge crossbows. They seemed to be made entirely out of a similar kind of metal that the helmets were made out of, that same kind of reddish gold. Even the “string” of the crossbow was obviously twisted wire that glistened with water.

The point of the bolt, which was longer and wider than a standard, cloth yard arrow, was barbed with one edge rather than the double edged head that they use in Redania and Temeria. I shivered at the thought of what one of those things would do should they strike flesh. I had been doing a lot of that type of shivering recently.

The bows were carried by hugely muscled arms that were covered in scales in much the same way that a fish is scaled. Forcing me to assume....

and everyone knows how much I hate assuming,

…. that their arms were bare. Their hands had three fingers and a thumb with considerable webbing between the digits. They moved the crossbows easily.

Their arms might have been bare but the rest of their bodies were also armoured with an all encompassing chest and back plate that left room for the shoulders and arms to come out the side. I thought that this might have been something to do with the need to keep their limbs free in order to move underwater. Each of them had on a large backpack of some kind. Strange piping connected the backpack to the mask, coming over the back and round the neck made from the reddish gold again. Or rather segments of it that seemed to fit together in a way that allowed the pipes to be flexible when the Vodyanoi wanted to turn their heads.

When they reached the surface, they were facing in three directions with their backs to each other before they realised that we were alone and turned to face us, with little apparent effort.

When they did climb out of the water, it turned out that their legs were also heavily muscled, ending in feet with three clawed toes with, again, webbing between them.

They lifted their crossbows to point at us and waited. Perrin had raised his bow slightly and Svein had moved nonchalantly next to Helfdan with his large shield on his arm. It did not escape my notice that even though Ciri was showing no signs of concern, She had still been pushed slightly, but gently behind The big shield as well.

So we waited. Trying to sense some kind of meaning, or a motive behind the helmets of the three swimmers.But there were more bubbles coming to the surface. As it turned out, this signified the rumour of another dozen people that I thought of as guards. They were carrying spears with the same, double barb as part of their point and their shields were broad. They moved to position themselves in front of the archers who were also joined by more of their fellows.

Helfdan turned to the other men on the ship and held out his hand to quieten the slow but steady rumbles of discontent that were going through the remaining crew.

Then we waited again. The Wave-Serpent gently moving in the water with every shift of weight of the crew. Helfdan stood and stared out over the water impassively as we spent a bit more time waiting. I have no idea how long for. Easily long enough for some food to be passed around.

Then there was another set of bubbles that came from behind the Vodyanoi soldiers and two more figures swam to the surface.

It was impossible to tell gender, but one was smaller than the other. He, because he turned out to be a male, was much smaller proportioned than the warriors that we had seen so far. Instead of the armour and helmets that the others had worn he wore a simple robe of dark, sea green. He did have a mask on, same as the others but rather than it being part of an overall helm, it was a smaller thing that fitted over the snout of him, leaving his mouth clear for use. He had on a torque of the same coloured metal that the armour seemed to be made out of. He carried a box in his arms.

But we were not really looking at him. He was hiding behind the other that came with him. Where the warriors seemed tall and heavily muscled, this Vodyanoi was tall and slender and moved with a grace that was beguiling to watch. He wore a robe, very similar in shade to the one that his fellow wore but it was plainly much more ornate, with woven patterns in the cloth. It was voluminous in appearance and I guessed.... Sorry, I assumed, that it was designed to be more impressive underwater. He wore a large hat upon his head and like the smaller man, his mask was smaller, coming round what appeared to be their nose.

But instead of a large and bulky pack, his mask seemed to be part of his ornate head-dress. He also wore a golden torque with many other necklaces and bracelets that were made from precious stones, or at least they appeared to be precious from this distance. He carried a large, wide, flat bladed spear. The pole of the spear was easily six foot long with a long, leaf shaped blade at the end. It looked more ceremonial than a weapon of war to me but as Kerrass has proven time after time, a thing doesn't need to be designed as a weapon to become one in the right hands.

The smaller of the two swam forwards easily carrying his burden until he was close to the Wave-Serpent. He opened his mouth to display a large set of sharp fangs and a long tongue.

“It is my distinct and great honour,” he began, the shape of his mouth giving his words a strange accent, but he spoke clearly and carefully in order to counter this and it was not difficult to decipher his meaning. “ to bring you the greetings of the Priest of the Lady of the seas, Prince Kanrohoodra whom I serve.” He gestured to the taller one. “I am his translator and it would be customary to address the Priest himself when talking to him. Please pay me no mind but to hear my words. Please speak as though you are speaking directly to the Priest Prince himself and I will translate your words to him directly.”

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Helfdan considered this for a moment.

“Then I am Helfdan, Captain of the Wave-Serpent.”

I watched carefully in an attempt to try and guess how the translator communicated with his master. I didn't catch a great deal but it seemed to be a series of whistles and clicks. I was reminded of the Yukki-Onna and her reminder that not all communication is verbal. Then I became curious as to how a written and spoken language would have developed under water as this culture must have done given their advanced uses of metallurgy would display.

But that's just how my brain works because I'm a scholar. I was distracted from this train of thought by the translator beginning to speak again.

“We have heard of you.... Captain. But you have other titles do you not? We have heard of the Black Boar, Lord Helfdan whom men call Fatherless.”

I saw Helfdan's mouth twitch. “I do have those names and titles, you are correct. Although I wonder how you came by them. But we are all given titles by others, including our names. I also expect that you yourself have other names and titles. Princes tend to collect them in my experience.”

Ciri's face went carefully blank. The last time I had to write out her entire list of names and titles it took me a solid ten minutes of penmanship.

“Very true,” The Vodyanoi answered through his translator. I got the sense of some humour. “But to recount them would be a waste of everyone's time and would be meaningless to you anyway. As I say though, we have heard of you Lord Helfdan. You are known to us to be a human of honour, intelligence and cunning. Men say of you that you do not think like other men but that once given, your word is your bond. You are known never to lie although you are clever when it comes to withholding certain language to obscure the truth.”

Helfdan twitched again. “I have had worse things said about me.”“Your people are known to have a tradition of hospitality. If I come aboard your craft will you guarantee my safety and the safety of my translator?”

“I will.” Helfdan did not hesitate. “Although We cannot hold all of your guards. More because we do not have the room to spare.”

“Will you accept two of my warriors? I would not bother but they get so twitchy when I stand by myself in the hands of enemies.”

The men of the Wave-Serpent laughed at that. Ciri and I exchanged glances though. That comment had been carefully aimed by this Vodyanoi prince.

“My own men have similar issues,” Helfdan said with a slight smile. “But please come aboard. This shouting is difficult in such weather.”

The priest and his translator swam to the side of the ship along with two of the warriors. They did so quickly with remarkable speed.

“Steady lads.” Svein told us. “No posturing. Lets not start another war just yet.”

The guards came aboard first. I had wondered if they would stand and start some kind of staredown with one or two of the warriors aboard but they seemed to just climb aboard before steadying the rope that Ursa had provided for the climbing of the others.

I got the feeling that a rope wasn't really needed but they took the gesture as the offer that it was and climbed up nimbly.

The translator came up after the soldiers and held the box in front of him. The Priest came last and stood on the deck, looking around himself with curiosity. He was wearing coloured plates of glass over his eyes now and it became clear what they were for as the translator was blinking furiously.

Helfdan waited with a slight smile.

“I am curious as to several things.” He began. “First and most importantly, what should I call you. Prince? Priest? I would call such titles “Your Highness” and “Your Grace” if you were from the continent.”

The Priest shifted. He held the spear like a badge of office. “And if I was Skelligan? What would you call me then?”

Helfdan scratched his chin as he thought about this. “We have neither Princes nor priests. We have Jarls, Druids and Priestesses. We call the Queen “Majesty” when we want to annoy her though and for everyone else we call them Lord on formal occasions or a variety of impolite things otherwise. For instance, my men have a tendency to shout “Hey you.” When they want me attention in a feasting hall.”

Helfdan was testing the Priest. He was trying out the sense of humour. Trying to see how literally they would take it.

“Priest is fine.” The Priest eventually decided. “But you had other things that you were curious about.”

“Yes. How do you know my name?”

“We know about most things that happen on the water. Especially over seas that we have ruled in the past. The banner of the Black Boar is known to us.”

“How would you know such things?”

“The force that you call Magic runs beneath the ocean as well.”

“Ah.”

There was a pause as the Priest and the Lord took stock of each other.

“So,” The priest began. You can take this as a victory on Helfdan's behalf if you like, that the Vodyanoi broke first. “You have summoned us here. Using the ancient compact although I would be surprised if you would want to take up the old agreements again. Nor would we be interested in restarting the war that would surely spring out of such. We are not willing to involve ourselves in dynastic struggles of Landfolk again.”

Helfdan did not react to this.

“Do you want to take up the old contract between our people and yours?” The priest prompted.

“I do not know that there was an old contract.” Helfdan answered. “Do you refer to the tribute that King Balor of your folk demanded of my ancestors?”

“I do.”

“We would not be interested. No. Never again. Not for anyone.”

“Good.” The priest said precisely. “Our people have moved on since then as well.”

The translator was good at suggesting the tone and thinking behind the Priest's words. In this case, the tone that he wanted to convey was that we had just been tested and had passed in some small way.

“So we are summoned,” the priest began again. “I judge by the expressions of some of your fellows that you are also not here to swear eternal friendship to us. Nor are you here to start a war as I have yet to be taken captive, nor have we been attacked. So what are we here to do? And, I must also ask, how did you know to come here and do the things that you did?”

“We were given the instructions on how to summon your people by the priestesses of Freya who said that they had some dealings with your people when we weren't all being foolish.”

A small break occurred here as the Priest started to hiss, with his tongue hanging out. The translator turned to the lot of us and with an utterly dead-panned voice said “My master is laughing.”

“Yes,” the priest said finally after his mirth had subsided. “Both our races are given to foolishness aren't we. Your race likes wars over things that will still be here long after you have died and my race fights wars over religions and beings that haven't been seen or heard from in years. Many of whom might even be dead. Some of whom certainly are.

“I can at least show that your Priestesses are telling the truth. I am a follower of the Lady of the water. Your folk call her the Lady of the Lake although that name is rather simplistic as she seems to move between lakes at her whim. And although she seems to prefer inland waterways rather than oceans and rivers, she has used those as well but that is by the by. So that is how they knew of us.”

“I was wondering.” Helfdan's expression and tone of voice was exactly the same that the translator had used when he had been getting frustrated and annoyed by his master.

“So why did you summon us?”

“I will not lie, you are our final option.” Helfdan told the priest. “If you know so much about the ocean then you will know that this one is freezing in advance.”

“Yes. The death ship is on the water.”

“We call it the Skeleton Ship.”

“So I had heard. A little inaccurate a description I thought.”

“It sometimes looks like the skeleton of a ship, when it comes through the harbour.”

“Ah, when it is losing it's power. Yes.”

“You seem to know a lot about it.” Helfdan said cautiously.

“I know as much as there is to know. Which is not a lot.”

“What can you tell us?”

“Come now. There is much I could tell you. Much and much again. But that would leave us exposed and we do not have a great deal of time as the death ship is turning towards us even now. Possibly even sensing our presence on the surface. Also, how would I know that you weren't trying to use that information for the benefit of your people.”

“I am trying to use the information for the benefit of my people.”

“Really. How interesting.” The priest shook his head although the gesture looked awkward on his body. As though he had affected the movement for our benefit. “Let us stop dancing around each other here Lord Helfdan. What are your intentions towards the Death Ship?”

Helfdan looked at me before his gaze flickered towards Kerrass and on to Ciri. “We seek for a way to destroy it.”

There was another pause as the Priest gave his kind of hissing laugh.

“It has been tried before.” He said, the translator giving us the scorn of the thing perfectly. “It cannot be done. Good luck with your foolishness.” He moved towards the rail and the sea.

“We think we have a way.”

“Oh yes. And what way is that.”

“The ship is looking for something.” Kerrass said. “We think it came here and lost something, or someone. We think it cannot rest or move on with it's journey until that thing is returned to it.”

The priest stared at Kerrass for a long time. “You are a Witcher.” It was not a question.

“I am.”

“A Witcher slew Dagon the unclean whom some call “The Beast”.” All of the Vodyanoi made a gesture which I took to be a standard gesture against evil. The Circling of the chest from the south or flame burst over the heart from the north.

“I wouldn't know.” Kerrass told him. “It was not me certainly unless I knew it by a different name.”

The Priest gave another unnatural looking nod. “And now you seek to destroy the Skeleton Ship?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“I am under contract.”

“And there is some kind of rule among Witchers about not discussing contracts.”

“Sometimes. Some of our kind use codes in order to properly control their work and their actions. For myself though, I rather think that you have enough information from us. It is your turn to give us something.”

I winced at that. Kerrass was possibly being a little too forceful.

“Maybe so. But I notice one thing. You, Witcher, seek to dismiss the ship. But Lord Helfdan is seeking for a way to destroy the ship.”

“True.” Helfdan stepped forward, past Kerrass I noticed. “The final decision as to what we do with that information lies with the Queen.”

“Interesting. Yes, I had heard that you had a Queen now rather than a King.” The Priest seemed to muse for a while. If he was human I would have said that he had already decided upon his course of action and was playing for a bit of time. He was making us wait for his own reasons or to exert some kind of authority. The only thing to do in these circumstances is to wait them out and allow them to feel foolish.

“Tell me,” he said after a while. “If I help you. Will your Queen use the information to destroy, or otherwise get rid of the Death ship?”

“She might.” Helfdan said. “I think that there will be an honest and distinct conversation had. I think that she will summon the Jarls and take advice on the matter. She was talking about doing that even before we left. Let me ask you a question in return. Why would the Skeleton Ship turn back towards us? That would not be a pattern that it follows. It has already sailed through and past these islands. It is not, generally, a thing that doubles back on itself. What relationship do you have with the thing? Why is it coming back?”

“Because you are right.” The Priest told us. “It did lose something and it thinks we have it. Why do you think we never came back to the islands? Why did we use human surrogates during our time of rulership. It is because the Death ship would destroy us. It is looking for us.

“We call it the death ship because that is what it means to us. The cold in it freezes our blood. We are already cold-blooded and the cold leaves us being lethargic and slow but the extreme cold that it brings. It is deadly. Under that amount of cold, hearts have been known to stop. My father, the hight priest and King of our people urged me not to come here. He told me not to talk to you on the grounds that I would be endangering my life to do so. Already, I feel the awful lethargy sapping at my spirit and my energy.

“Like you, our world ends in ice and cold. For us, it is the sign of the end times. The final freeze and the death of all when the cold reaches down into the darkest and deepest places of the ocean and the water there, barely above freezing as it is, turns to ice. Our people will be there. Imprisoned forever in our tombs of ice and it will be the Ship of Death that brings us that cold.

“But you don't mean to destroy it do you. You mean to give it what it wants.”

“I do.” Kerrass admitted.

“What's to stop it from taking what it wants and making itself more powerful?”

“Nothing.” Kerrass admitted again. “But the choices are not that broad. The ship is cursed. We know this due to the rage and anger that it feels. A rage so palpable and real that men from far away can feel it. We also know that it comes here from a different world, even a different time. We.... I..... Think that it just wants to go home. We should let it.”

“You also mean to do this don't you. Regardless of what the Queen decides.”

“It is a thought that has occurred. I hope that I will not have to as I think that the Queen will see the benefits that would come to her people if the Ship stopped sailing through her islands once every two years or so. The impact on her economy and her people would be enough to her to convince her of the merits of seeing the thing off. It would then be a matter of politics depending on what she decides from there.”

“I notice that you have not declared what you will do if she decides to not get rid of the Skeleton Ship.”

“I have not because I have not. That is a bridge that I will cross when I come to it.”

The Vodyanoi nodded and stared out over the side of the Wave-Serpent again.

“It is a strange fate that leads us to this moment.” He said after a while, the translator still translating. “When I think of all the things that have to have happened in order for us to get here and for you to ask me to help. Your defeat of King Balor One-Eye meant that his cult, the cult of the Deep one unchained, lost power and my people, the followers of the Lady were able to take over these waters. We have been looking for a way to make contact with your people again ever since that day. And now, of all things, it is the death ship that brings our two people together.”

He chuckled. “As omens go, it is not encouraging.”

“As a rule,” Helfdan said carefully. “I do not believe in omens.”

“You should you know.” The Priest said. “Just because you do not believe in fate, superstition or omens, does not mean that they do not believe in you. Do you have the ear of your Queen?” He suddenly asked Helfdan. “Will she listen to your advice?”

“I seem to be asked that a lot lately.” Helfdan answered. “She does listen, when she asks. But I am, by no means, inside her inner circle.”

“This grieves you.” The Priest peered at Helfdan.

“No.” Helfdan said. He may even have believed it as he said it although I did not. “No it does not grieve me. I know what my strengths are. On the sea, I stand like a giant and a hero. In the courtroom I have some talent but there are greater than me at the Queen's court and all I could offer would be alternatives that they might not have considered. In all other cases, spiritual, military, logistical, financial, religious, personal, there are better people than I to advise her. And the Queen rarely needs to ask advice as to what she should do at sea.”

“I think you are a rare man, Lord Helfdan. You see things the way they are rather than the way you want them to be and the way you think they ought to be. You do have a blind spot however.”

“Oh?”

“You have a remarkable capacity for self-delusion as you believe yourself to be unimportant.”

I saw the corner of Helfdan's mouth creep up towards a smile. Svein shrugged and nodded his agreement with his ancient enemy.

“I would be interested in finding out how you come to that conclusion.” Helfdan said, just the hint of an edge about his voice.

“There is no great trick to it. When we knew what ship it was that waited for me, we thought about everything we knew about you and quickly found your patterns.”

He waited for a moment.

“I normally avoid rash decisions, but time is short so I will make one now. I will help you. What is it you wish to know?”

“You and the ice giants ruled this land before humans or Elves even thought about coming here.” Kerrass began promptly. “And indeed, before both had come to this part of the world.” The Priest agreed.

“So what happened the first time that the Ship came here?”

“Ah.”

-

At first we thought it was a weapon. A thing so very destructive to us and yet so empowering to our ancient enemy.

People talk about our enmity, between my people and yours but the truth in that matter is that you were victims of the cult that ruled these waters at the time. Our true enemy is our utter devotion to our religions which are many and varied. We are a people that worship with all of our souls because the alternative, that we might be wrong and that the next cult is right, is terrifying to us.

Or even worse, that there is actually nothing out there. That we are just deluding ourselves. That is truly terrifying. Hence the tendency to move towards worshipping actual things. The great beast Dagon and the Lady of the waters are good examples of things that ACTUALLY exist and can convey powers on their followers.

But at the time of your enslavement, these waters and your lands were under the influence of the cult of the Deep one. He who will rise and consume us all in his rising. Whose very existence will tear reality asunder and all that look upon him will know madness and disdain.

We now believe that he does not exist, ever since our Sorcerer scientists have been able to map the bed of the ocean and there is nowhere for the Deep one to exist. Your defeat of King Balor the One eye was seen as the final damnation of those people and they fled in order to search the oceans of the world in order to find him, wherever he may lie.

But I digress.

At first we thought that the Death Ship was a weapon. Sent against us by the Frost-Giants. Their own idea of heaven is the great frost where our idea of hell is the great freeze. At the time, our people were much more unified than they are now and as such it was a great terror to us when the waters around the islands started to freeze. We thought it was the herald of a great offensive by the Frost-Giants. They would be able to pass over the waves where they liked and the freezing of those waters would drive us away without a blow being thrown in anger. Terror is not the word for it. We have always dreaded the prospect that the Frost-Giants would be able to harness the magic that is at the root of their being and so, this was what we thought we were seeing.

After all, there is no magic that can be performed with water if an Ice-Giant can wave their hands and the wave, or water spout, or spear of water, or tidal wave or any of the other cataclysmic forms of water that our magic can summon will suddenly freeze before being able to actually achieve anything.

But those of our spies that were able to stand the colder temperatures of the surface told us that the Frost-Giants were just as confused as we were. The water was still cooling at the time but we were beginning to see the ice forming on the water.

Individual ice crystals were joining together and flowing together turning the water into slush. I suppose it would be similar to one of your people walking through high winds all the time. But to us, it was just as fearful.

The cold increased. We could occasionally still see the skies but now the landscape started to freeze. There were still the warm currents coming up from the south and from over the sea and this carved great caverns in the ice. But our greatest fears were being realised. We had outposts on the surface and we received our last messages from them which was that the skies had changed. There were great waves of light in the sky that moved in the same way that the tides do. The same way that waves wash against the shore. They told us that the stars were strange and unrecognisable. They told us that they were afraid.

Then it came.

It was like nothing we had ever seen before. We recognised it as a boat. The Giants don't bother with ships or boats of that kind on the grounds that they don't really need to move around a great deal and so they tend to stay in those places that leave them feeling the most comfortable.

The only boats and ships that we had seen on the waters at that point were the dwarves and the Vran, on those occasions when either of their people decided to take to the water. Which was rare. The dwarves tend to live below ground and the Vran tended to keep to their mountain fastnesses. The only people that really employed boats to live and work on the water were the Werebubbs. But their craft were simple things to be used on rivers and lakes in order to fish.

This was something else entirely. There was a line of logic to it. In the same way that your mighty longships and the ships of the continent are extensions and improvements on what those ancient river and lake craft of the werebubbs would be. So to, this would be a feet of nautical engineering that was greater and larger again. On top of what can already be achieved.

To us, it was like a thing from the future coming to our waters and were terrified of it. We immediately wondered what it could be and why it was coming for us. We now know that the creatures that walked about on it's deck were human. They would dress strange to you but at the time, we had no idea who they were or where they came from. There was a spectral light about them and our magic users were able to tell that there was a magic about the ship that they could not unravel or understand. They were afraid of it. They told the Priest Kings of the time that it was a magic of life, death and life-in-death. They told us these things but could not explain what that meant and this did not assuage our terror.

But it was a different ship then. Very different. There was no Albatross flying in the sky above the ship. There was none of the rage or anger about the thing. Indeed, the main thing that seemed to be true about the ship, was that it was afraid. Not just the people that were aboard the ship and moved up the masts to work the sails in attempts to try and work them in a way to make the best use of the wind in the air. But the ship itself seemed to be afraid in some way.

It was also lost. After a while, you can tell a ship that has lost it's way. Has it's star charts the wrong way round or is captained by someone who “is sure” that they are going the right way and as a result, won't listen to the other members of the crew that actually know what's going on.

It was wandering about. Going this way and that way. Part of the problem was that it was trapped in the ice caverns the same as anyone but even when it made it into the outside of things and into the open air, when anyone can take a bearing off the son during the day, or the stars at night. They would travel around in circles, often narrowly avoiding the ice that threatened to tear their hull out from underneath them. It was lost and the sailors were plainly terrified.

And angry. At each other but more especially, they were angry at one of their number.

As I say, our magic when it comes to things happening on the water is quite powerful and we can often see many things that would be hidden from the direct line of sight that is used by our eyes. There was one figure on the ship that was in a terrible state. Much more so than his fellows who were not doing well themselves.

You remember when I said earlier that there was no Albatross flying overhead. That was correct but it would be wrong to say that there was no albatross at all. The figure that I speak of was a man. He was thin by this point, all but a skeleton, a fraction of his former self. You could see the bones sticking out against his skin and he wailed most piteously.

The other men aboard ship ignored his pleas for mercy as their fury against his betrayal was all consuming. We never found out what that betrayal was but to signify that betrayal, as a reminder of that betrayal, they had tied the corpse of an Albatross around his neck. He was tied to the central mast of the ship and the corpse of that greatest and most mighty of sea birds was dragging at him.

It must have been an incredibly painful torture, the weight of the corpse along with it's stench, filth and disease that came with it, pulling down on his neck and tugging at his arms and body against the rope that bound him into place. I can only imagine the pain that he might have been in and it was said that his howls of agony were the only sound that was heard across the miles of frozen water.

The Ice giants had withdrawn to their caves while they tried to reason out what this all might mean and we had been driven below the ice in order to maintain our own survival so it must have been a hell-scape the likes of which we, here assembled, could never imagine. Your people are not made for the cold either and the crew of the thing that would go on to be called the death ship were suffering and beginning to fail.

It would seem that the man tied to the mast was not without recourse though. According to our mages that were watching, his cries of pain, fear and recrimination were only partially true. The rest of the time he was looking for a means of escape.

And he saw it.

The ship must have been passing one of the larger islands although I have no idea which. The islands actually change location over time and are now in different positions to where they were then. But just as the ship sailed out of one of the ice caverns, the captive saw a rocky protrusion. Correctly deciding that this meant that there was real land nearby and that he wouldn't be isolating himself on an ice flow, he looked to the albatross that was tied around his neck and saw the crossbow bolt embedded in the things corpse, presumably the thing that had killed it.

He leant his head forward and seized the bolt with his teeth and wrenched it free. Using the agility of the sailing profession, he worked the point of the bolt into his hands and was able to cut himself free while the others were not watching. Then he threw the corpse from his neck and hurled himself over the side of the ship to swim towards land.

He shouldn't have survived. In that kind of water, the shock of the cold alone should have forced the air out of his lungs. His limbs should have gone rigid as all of his muscles should have tensed up so that he couldn't move them and he should have sunk like a stone. That's what he should have done.

But he didn't.

Was there magic in it? Almost certainly. Because he did sink like a stone at first but then, by some effort, he started to move, swam for the surface and made it to the rocks where he was able to climb over the rocks and lie flat on the stone.

There were calls from the ship itself. Men called his name and tried to get him to come back. But whether by exhaustion or the cold, he could not even lift his head.

Ships like that don't just turn straight around and the death ship is still governed by the laws that keep the ships in the water. It cannot turn on a sword point. The escapee realised that his ship was coming back for him, leapt to his feet and fled, heading further inland and further from our sight.

We never saw him again.

The ship sailed around and around the area, the men calling out for their missing fellow. Eventually the ship faded and the ice melted in the normal way of things at that time of year.

And we thought that that was the end of it. We thought that it was all over. But it wasn't over. Six months later, the ship came again. In the middle of winter, this time, so that there wasn't that much difference. The winters were much colder back then so there wasn't really that much difference between how things were and how things seemed to get under the influence of the ship. But it came again.

This time we were prepared. Our swimmers and trackers had our cold water gear on. In the same way that you wear furs and wrap yourselves up in skins, eat hot food and take all kinds of other precautions, we have our own ways of staying warm in the coldest of temperatures. The problem being that we need to be prepared for such things.

No, we're not telling you how we do it so don't even ask. And yes, a few fathoms down our cold water gear is waiting for us so we don't give anything away to people who might still be enemies.

So we were able to track the movements of the ship much closer. But even then, and even now, there were some boundaries that we could not get close to. There was just no way that we could get close enough to the ship to properly communicate with it.

That first time that it came, it moved around at a frightening speed. With more sail on it's masts than anything we have ever seen, before or since and it sailed the seas with a power and a strength that was almost intimidating to see. It smashed through the ice flows sending chunks and splinters of that ice high into the air with the force of that impact. Impacts that would have torn steel let alone the wood that the ship seemed to be made out of.

There was no pattern to that first visitation. Or the second or even the third.

The fourth time it came, the Albatross flew above the mast, circling in greater and larger circles every time. The fear on the ship was palpable and almost pitiable. The bird, the crew, even the very ship itself seemed to cry out in fear, pain and longing for the missing man. We would have helped it if we could. Even our most hard-hearted warriors felt themselves tremble with the pity of the thing.

And so it was. It would be around the islands for a few days, sailing this way and that way in a frantic search before disappearing.

Then there was a long delay between visits and we thought that the ship had gone. That it had either found that person that it was looking for or that it had given up it's quest. We still kept an eye out for him and, occasionally, we did find things that would suggest that he had gone this way or that way but he seemed skilled at concealing his tracks and hiding his passing. We had no idea of his physical capabilities and for all we knew, he was magical in nature so...

But then the ship came back. As though it had provisioned itself properly for an extended period in distant waters. This time it started to search methodically, search properly with a structure. They were still worried but there was a slow, gradual, creeping kind of methodology to their searching. The pattern that is now the standard for it's movements became the normal for what it would do and how it would do it.

As the ice retreated and we learned more of men, we reasoned that the escaped man must have died. We even tried to tell the ship that. According to what few records we have of that time, the cult of the deep one having taken their own records with them, one of the agreements that we had with your people as part of the compact, was that the islands should be searched for this strange man. We did not have much of a description for him but anytime a strange, slightly shorter than normal skeleton was found, then we would try and leave it in a place that the ship and the circling Albatross would find it.

But over and over again, the ship would just ignore the corpse.

It was therefore proposed, that in the absence of any other kind of reasoning, that the man must have survived in some way and the ship, or whatever was controlling the ship, was looking for him. So we looked for the man.

But the ship was getting angry now. It's grief had moved onto anger. Instead of the cold that it brought with it being a kind of aura that floated round it in a cloud, now that cold was a hammer that it used against anything that tried to approach it. A weapon that it would use to defend itself. Like we know that your people have done, we attacked it and tried to drive it off, back when we still thought that it might be some kind of weapon or ally to the Frost-Giants. But the cold of the thing would just reach out and shatter our spears and bolts. Our magic would be swatted aside in the same off-hand way that you might swat aside a pebble, or an insect, or a floating puffball seed.

So we withdrew. In our minds, it changed from being an enemy force into being one of those supernatural occurrences that we could do nothing about. We treated it like a natural effect. The same way that we would treat an underwater eruption or a tremor. The way we avoid the filth and horror that comes out of the Pontar and Yaruga rivers now. It was a thing that we avoided. Sooner or later the tree must bend before the hurricane. It must bend or it will break.

The ship is the hurricane. Your people have bent before it for centuries. But if you have a way to dismiss it, or to end it's torment in any way. If you know where this person, this missing crewman is, then we will be grateful. It will forever change the power-structure of our people. But we would be grateful. Of that you can be sure of.

-

He stopped abruptly. I thought that there would be more to it than that.

But that was it.

Helfdan turned to Kerrass. “Is that enough?” He asked. “Does that get us what we need?”

“Oh yes.” Kerrass told him. “That is more than enough.”

It's been a while since I've talked about the day to day grind of a Witcher's life. The day to day tasks, the looking for notices on the noticeboards of the world. The trees, the fenceposts and the signposts. Scanning for details amongst those posters showing badly drawn pictures of wanted men and the bounties attached. Those notices for lost items or offerings of so much money for so many things to be gathered and delivered to such and such an address in order for payment to be received.

In amongst there there might be a notice for something strange happening. Something out of the ordinary that no-one can explain. Or sometimes it might be something simple. “Griffin terrorising cattle.” or “Dragon frightening towns folk.”

It's never a dragon. It's always a Wyvern of some kind. Do not be fooled.

But more often than not. There is something that needs to be investigated. “People going missing in local cave, strange tracks seen,” even if there isn't an overt sign saying “Witcher wanted.”

“The other method of finding work is the slightly less common method of approaching a town or a village and standing there, proud on a local landmark such as a tower or a small hill and allowing yourself to be seen with the two swords on your back so that everyone can tell that you are a Witcher. Then, if someone approaches with the offer of work, then you know to approach and enquire.

Then there is the time of investigation. That period of time where questions need to be asked and answered. Where witnesses need to be interrogated and small pieces of information need to be teased out of the locals in the same way that a mother might coax a small splinter out of the skin of a child. There is often a portion of reconnaissance, where the Witcher will go out and look at the tracks, examine the leavings and the slime and the remains of the creatures prey. The Witcher might watch the beast from a distance, taking notes so that they can be absolutely certain what they are dealing with.

This is because there are similarities in some of these creatures but although there might be outward similarities, the differences are pronounced and might require a different oil to put on the blade. Or it might be more advantageous to attack at night rather than during the day.

I don't talk about these things as much any more because after a while, it all becomes depressingly routine. Once you have gone on a few hunts, you've been on them all. So the only reason why tou would want to record them is if something interesting or out of the ordinary happens. Which is a lot rarer than you might think. Trust me when I say that I am well aware of the stupidity of the statement.

The fact is that, despite the exciting nature of the work from an outside perspective, even the exciting or the magical can become mundane to those people that have to live with it on a day to day basis. So such matters are only of interest to academics who want the detailed accounts of what it was that we were hunting which are published in the more official university journals. Kerrass has even argued in the past, that it is this precise boredom that has resulted in the deaths of more than one monster hunter. Although I can't comment on that.

But after all this routine, there comes a moment where all the preparations are done. When Kerrass has brewed the oils, has the necessary potions lined up in his belt and he knows exactly what he is facing. There is no longer any question of what it is that he is dealing with. He knows which way the creature is going to move, which way that it is going to jump and now all that is left is for the killing to happen.

When we get to this stage, a strange look of hunger comes over Kerrass' face. The hunger of a man that knows what needs to happen now and what he is going to do. The hunger of a man for whom all of the confusion has fallen away and now he is left with a certainty. That clarity is enviable and sometimes I wish for it to exist in my normal life.

But that clarity was on us then. There was only one thing to do now. We must sail back to Kaer Trolde and tell the Queen what we had found. If she agreed then the druid who had lied to us, as we knew he had, would probably be given to the ship in order to get rid of it. If she disagreed, then Kerrass and I would find alternative means of getting the information out of the man.

In truth though, I did not believe that it would come to that. I absolutely believed that we would be given the permission that we needed and I would find another piece of the puzzle in the mystery of where my sister had gone.

I did not allow myself the hope that the Druid would simply point to a map and say, “Your sister is there,” but I did hope that he would tell us where to go next. There were some other things as well. I wanted to be able to close off this chapter on the Skeleton Ship so that I could have it published. I rather thought that the world would like to know about everything that had happened and that it would be of interest to certain scholars. As well as an outsiders perspective on the islands.

But all that was ahead of me. Like Kerrass, I felt the hunger of wanting to get going. To, essentially, dump the Vodyanoi over the side and to get underway. Ciri looked a little wistful but the others seemed to share my thinking on one level or another.

“We do not have a lot of time.” The Priest told Helfdan. “One of my guards tells me that the Albatross has been spotted approaching these islands. Whether it senses us or if it is just coming this way on a whim is impossible to say. Normally these matters would be accompanied by ceremony and etiquette but time, it seems has caught up with us and it comes time to say farewell and part.”

“As you say, Farewell then.”

“You misunderstand.” The priest told an already moving Helfdan. “We have gifts for your Queen in the hope that, although such matters will take time, the world is shrinking and we would move towards understanding, even if we cannot manage trust and friendship. So I offer these relics of your people and mine that were taken from the cult of the Deep one when we drove them away.”

He gestured. The translator held out the box that was made out of an old weathered wood. “First the ceremonial head-dress of King Balor One-Eye.” The box was opened to display a crown of a black metal with deep green gems embedded in the points. The box was closed in short order and handed over to Svein with haste.

“And this spear was once wielded by one of the generals of the people who over-threw King Balor and cast him out of your islands. We know little about it other than it was as much a banner as a weapon and that your people called it “The Sun-Spear”. But we can't tell you much more about it than that.”

The priest held it out in both hands and bowed. Helfdan accepted the gesture a little awkwardly.

We all heard it then. The distant cry of a bird. It reminded me most of a sea-gull but it was both deeper, and more shrill.

There was no disguising the fear in the translator's voice then. “But now we must go. Come back and contact us again if you, or your Queen would like to speak further. Farewell.”

Then without leaving us any further time. The remaining Vodyanoi simply leapt over the side and vanished from sight almost as quickly.

“Fuck me.” Someone muttered.

Helfdan's mouth worked a bit, opening and closing a few times. As though he had been in the middle of a prepared speech and then someone had told him not to bother.

Then he shrugged.

“Kaer Trolde it is then.” He told us all. “Oars, best speed. Sounds like we get to race the Skeleton Ship.”

We did not hesitate to do what he ordered.

(A/N: Helfdan's story regarding the origins of the Skelligan people is mostly cribbed and adapted from the stories regarding the ancient settlers of Ireland. Although the Skelligans are mostly adapted from Norse mythology and culture there are elements of them that remind me more of ancient Celtic myth. Especially the facts regarding the invasion and subjugation by Cidaris that happened in Skelligan history. It is also a thing that resonates to me because the English voice acting on the Islands, in the game, is from Scotland, Ireland and Wales. So it just occurred to me to use Celtic myth there.It is also true that I know more about Celtic myth and Legend than I do about Norse myth and Legend. As always, thank you for reading.)