We posted a week or two ago about the great scrolls found in a Canister in Norway by Robert Hamstrangler, Norway’s greatest anthropologist and hot water blower upper that told the story of Ginger Volk.
You can read Part 1 Here; Part 2 Here; Part 3 Here, Part 4 Here, Part 5 Here and Part 6 Here
Now ’tis time for Part 7……..
THE GINGER SCROLLS – THE DEPARTURE continued……
Some swore they saw mother Sun beyond the Horizon, at last revealing herself to us after wait so long and tragic. Hope built once more like the snow mason constructing a new home cube by cube.
But it was not to be.
Princess Treytel loved Vos as deep as the ocean and as high as the sky. For each day of passage the lovers would look across to each other and utter betrothals of love. Each day Vos’ became more and more fevered with loss for his bride and eager for his love’s embrace. Finally, foolishly, and like all young love – stupidly – Vos leapt from his vessel and sought to swim the narrow channel between to reach his love.
Treytel saw him fall under the foaming water and never saw him return to the surface as a mortal. A dolphin took his place and wore his little leather cap until it too was lost to the deep. Treytel maintained an eye upon the smiling face of her dolphin lover as he swam nearby, singing to her with a series of clicks and fish impressions which only he understood. But they still made her laugh, the laughter of lovers. Her tears fell at night worried about married life with a dolphin and how she would survive in the water for any prolonged period but love would accommodate her fears and allow her to avoid salt damaged skin. She hoped at least.
Melancholy sat over the vessels like a mighty cheese, dripping salty distemper amongst the flame haired. So much death. So much sadness.
When would the fates allow them to come ashore? What would they find when they reached land? Heroes and hand maidens or goblins and left handed people?
The darkness blackened their souls. Hatred returned when for generations they had existed without it.
Treytel’s tears would not abate, as Vos skitted one final time, bade his love a clicky farewell and swam with his new family away as their protectors and toward the open sea and a rendezvous with Sea World (note – possible translation error). As she watched him swim away, Treytel cried after her love,
Run to my memory
Along the shore
Swim to my memory
Across the ocean
Climb to my memory
To the highest peak
And when you arrive
Forget not your labour and do not forget me
Will I lay with you upon a bed of foaming sea?
The quilted tide warming our bones
Will I hold your heart?
As we float toward Epthereon
Will you my love, love me?
I am distant from your shore
Will you wait for me?
Such sadness consumed her that she fled her vessel and met the sea water with a diffident splash never to be seen again. The sorrow of the Ghingars at losing their beloved princess was now complete. No words or songs could rest their weary hearts. No tales of the brave or the beautiful would suffice them. Their misery now total.
Krol spoke to his people, in quiet hushed tones, mournful in full and suffering from a rooted wind;
“When I see your face
I know that I am not past
To the Northern skies I shall turn
And watch the winds dance atop our lands
I will bade them sad departure
As my homeland is now far
Oh! Joy of Galleothon bid that I
Even as an old man who asks not for life long
But to sit by your shoulder
And at peace finally I set
My home
My land
Of snow
Of Ice
But the warmth of my kin
Shall stay anymore sadness
Krol finished his sentence and at the moment the wind dropped and the sea was calm, flat like the milkmaid’s embrace. There was silence amongst the Ghingars, for once dropping their daytime incantations. A great hand, cupped into a fist came from the water. It smashed down upon satin sea and threw up a great plume of spray, covering the lard hair vessels.
The fist smote the water once more, again deluging the fearful crews and their broken hearted cargo. And then it was gone. The water’s returned to their calm status, benign and forgiving.
Then from the sea a beam of light poured out, shooting to the heavens and in the beam a great figure, shadowy at first but gaining depth and texture with each moment, emerged. The figure stepped out of the Ray of Light.
Krol fell to his knees, tears fell down his cheeks and he beat his chest with his mittened hands. “Lord Galleothon! Thou hast come! Thou hast answered our prayers and heard our laments” We are blessed Lord by your presence.”
Galleothon rose to his full height of 4 adult sheep. He spoke;
“I am with you people of Ghingar. Your time in the North is now at an end. You are chosen. Your history was written eons ago by myself and my cousin Borofron, keeper of the saints shoes. It is now time for the next part of your history to unfold.”
To be continued……..
