Morning came bright and clear over the island. Domhnall awoke to the smell of roasting fish. He looked up to see his brother turning his catch over the little fire.
“Finally awake I see,” said Conall.
“We thought you might sleep the day away,” added Saoirse.
“It was a long night,” replied Domhnall. “How about we cut the commentary and hand over some food.”
Conall obliged, handing his brother a large leaf with some fish on it, which Domhnall readily ate.
“How far away is your village?” asked Conall.
“It’s on the other side of the island,” replied Saoirse.
“It would probably be quicker and safer if we went by boat,” said Domhnall.
“Faster, maybe, but not necessarily safer,” said Saoirse. “The seas have their own dangers as I’m sure you’re already aware.”
It was at that moment that Domhnall saw a peculiar movement at the edge of the forest.
“Get down!” he cried, pushing Conall out of the way of an oncoming arrow. A rain of darts rained down from the edge of the wood, as the enraged Pugwak warriors vented their wrath upon the Hibernians.
“To the boat!” Conall cried.
Grasping Saoirse by the arm, Domhnall made a break for the boat, Conall coming behind them. Domhnall lifted Saoirse up and tossed her into the boat like a sack of carrots. The Hibernians shoved the boat off the white sands as fast as their strength would allow. The Pugwaks flooded the beech, their wild howls filling the morning air. Domhnall leaped into the boat. Reaching into the boat, Conall drew out his wicker and hide shield, his battle axe and his spear.
“Conall, what are you doing?” asked Domhnall.
“Saving your arse!”
Conall then turned about and with a mighty howl, charged toward the approaching foe.
“CONALL!” Cried Domhnall as the boat drifted further and further away.
Domhnall rowed silently around the coast of the strange island. He simply could not believe that Conall had sacrificed his life that way. The stupid fool! How could he go and do that and leave Domhnall to go all the way back to Hibernia alone?
Saoirse sat near the prow of the boat, watching her rescuer as he rowed.
“You’ve been rowing for a long time, Domhnall,” she said at last. “Shouldn’t you take a rest?”
“Nay,” grunted Domhnall. “Need to get to the other side of the island.”
“It’s alright to grieve, you know,” said Saoirse.
Domhnall answered not, but kept on rowing around the island.
“Are you not going to say anything at all?”
Domhnall paused in his rowing.
“There ain’t nothing to say, Saoirse. My brother is surely dead and he died because of me.”
“He died to save us. He did it freely. So don’t wallow in self-pity. It’s unbecoming.”
Domhnall sighed. She was right of course, but his heart burned with anger still.
A few yards away, there was a sudden mass of bubbles on the surface of the waters.
“We need to get to land, NOW!” said Saoirse emphatically.
“What is it?” asked Domhnall.
“Don’t ask questions, just row!”
Domhnall immediately turned the ship about and headed for shore. Saoirse sat down next to him and taking the other oar, began rowing at his side with all her might. She was surprisingly strong for her size.
Suddenly out of the sea came the toothy jaws of something massive. A huge, scaley head lifted out of the water, its jaws snapping closed on the end of the boat with a tremendous crack. Domhnall screamed with terror and, taking spear in hand, thrust it straight into the eye of the beast. The monster bellowed loudly disappearing beneath the waves.
They were not out of danger, however. The boat was destroyed and sinking fast. The two grabbed hold of the floating debris and made for the shore as quickly as they could go.
“What on earth was that?” exclaimed Conall.
“Wuquok,” replied Saoirse. “I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you they roam these waters.”
“They? There’s more than one?”
“There aren’t many left.”
“Well, that’s comforting, Saoirse. Where do we go now?”
“That way is the quickest,” she replied, pointing, “but it will take us through the realm of the hairy ones.”
“And who, or what are they?”
“I hope you never find out.”
With that, Saoirse proceeded into the jungle.
“Wait a minute!” said Domhnall following after her.
They beat a trail through the trackless wilderness, Domhnall cutting through the thick vegetation with his large knife.
“Seems odd,” he said. “Seems like we should have passed some ruins here.”
“My ancestors never built any permanent dwellings here. This land belongs to the hairy ones.”
“Are you ever going to explain what they are?”
Suddenly there came such a howling through the forest as Domhnall had never heard in all his life. Every hair stood on end as the unholy choir sang its hideous song. Finally, it ceased.
“What was that?” asked Domhnall.
“The hairy ones,” replied Saoirse, fearfully, before proceeding through the forest.
It was nearly nightfall when Domhnall decided he would go out from the camp they have made by the cliffside to stalk game. Despite the warnings and his own trepidation, he needed to eat.
He had followed a group of large birds, the like of which he had never seen before. They were large, taller than the height of a man, covered with bluish plumage, but entirely flightless. They stopped by a stream to take a drink. Domhnall readied his spear for the kill when suddenly out of the forest burst a group of beasts such as Domhnall had never set eyes upon before, and hoped that he never would again.
They were great brutes, bearing the semblance of men, but much more robust and covered with coarse hair. With their large cruel hands and enormous teeth, they rent the flesh of the birds in pieces. Hideous howls filled the gathering twilight as they called their grotesque brethren to join in the bloody feast. Domhnall’s heart melted like wax. Backing away as quietly and as slowly as he could, the Hibernian crept away from the gruesome sight.
Suddenly, one of the beasts raised its ugly head, blood dripping from its maw, and stared directly at Domhnall, its yellow eyes filled with ages of malice. The creature roared, gesturing in the fisherman’s direction. Domhnall cursed under his breath, running through the forest as quickly as his legs could carry him. The great ape-men chased after him, hooting and howling, breaking branches and throwing stones at him.
The only thought in Domhnall’s mind was protecting Saoirse, so he did not run back to the camp, lest he lead the monsters there and doom her to her fate. Running of course, proved futile, as the brutes were far quicker than Domhnall, fleet of foot as he was. He could hear their odious grunts closing in about him in the forest. Finally, one of the great monsters stepped directly into his path. Domhnall squared himself up to the beast; if this was to be his end, he would go down fighting like a true Hibernian.
Uttering a quick plea to the Almighty, Domhnall tossed his spear mightily, piercing the brute through the chest. It fell stone dead, causing great consternation among his fellows. Another one of the ape-men lurched out of the woods, wielding a great club. Drawing his short sword, Domhnall braced himself for another fight, when suddenly the creature fell its face, a spear protruding from his back.
Behind the monster stood none other than Conall.
“Having a party and didn’t invite me? I’m hurt.”
“Conall!” cried Domhnall, stepping over the dead brute and embracing his brother. “How did you survive?”
“That’s a story for another time when we’re not surrounded by monsters.”
The brothers ran through the forest as quickly as they could, dodging thrown rocks all the way. Finally, they came to a river. Domhnall hesitated at the bank.
“What’re you waiting for, porridge-head?” said Conall. “Jump in!”
“I’ve learned to be wary of the water on this island,” replied Domhnall. Just then a rock whizzed past his red head. Without another thought, the fisherman leaped into the water. They swam safely to the opposite bank. The ape-men stood at the edge of the river, shrieking and howling and throwing rocks.
“Oh, don’t like water, do ya?” taunted Conall. “All bluster until it’s time to get wet! Ha!”
Suddenly a great serpentine shape emerged from the river and took hold of one of the creatures, dragging it into the river.
The brothers simultaneously stepped away from the water.
“Is there no limit to horrors on this island?” exclaimed Domhnall.
“Buck up, lad! At least it was the hairy fellows who got eaten and not us. By the way, where is Saoirse?”
“Back at camp.”
“Where’s camp?”
Domhnall paused. In his mad dash to escape the monsters, he had completely lost track of where he had been going.
“Damn it! We’re lost!” cursed Domhnall.
“Buck up, Domhnall! We can’t be too far out of the way; it’s only a small island,” said Conall.
“Aye, but with those hairy things between us and the camp, I don’t see how we’ll get back to Saoirse,” retorted Domhnall.
“Come on then, we’ve been through worse! Now, which direction do you think camp is in?”
“I think I ran south, but I don’t know.”
Conall chewed his mustache thoughtfully.
“We head that way,” he said gesturing.
“Why that way?” asked Domhnall.
“Seems as good a way as any.”
Having no good argument, Domhnall followed his brother through the undergrowth toward what they hoped would be their camp – and Saoirse.