Etched in Stone: Vimanas II

By R. Russell Brown

An indentured Celt in ancient times steals his master’s boat to sail to the new world in search of trade with rumored Norse colonies on the east coast of the North American continent. Blown off course by a hurricane, the adventurer and his men discover the mouth of the Mississippi River and follow it north. One of its many tributaries leads the Celt and his crew to a cave in western Oklahoma. Juil’s master, Laeg sails after Juil, and after a lengthy search returns him, along with a vast treasure in artifacts, back to Ireland.
In present time, Dan Crandell’s friend Zane, in an attempt to get Dan’s mind off a pressing personal problem, suggests they go inspect the mysterious writings in the rumored cave in Oklahoma. When Dan translates Juil’s stone carvings at the cave site, the two men embark on a mission to follow Juil’s ancient trail, marked in stone. The trail leads them west to areas of the Grand Canyon, which are strangely forbidden to public access. There, they find an old acquaintance, Dr. Julius Deaver, from a national museum in Washington involved in artifact theft and a governmental cover-up of ancient technology found hidden in deep underground caves far beneath the Canyon floor. Deaver and his cohorts capture the pair, and after a desperate escape through a maze of underground tunnels, they end up in an all out battle with Deaver, and elements of several government agencies to expose the dirty dealings of the national museum, and the thieves of a world changing new technology.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Russell Brown
• Release date: Jan 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301840250

R. Russell Brown

R. Russell Brown arrived by a circuitous route to the craft of writing of fiction novels. After graduating from West Texas Sate University with a BA degree in English and History, he served two years in the Army as a reserve officer. A year at Ft. Riley Kansas, and a tour in Vietnam, as a company executive officer and an infantry platoon leader paved the way for graduate school, where he worked toward a Masters of Fine Art degree and dabbled in the radio/television field. Brown has worked at many professions throughout his lifetime. He is an internationally known, award winning watercolor artist, worked for an interior decorator, been the Temporary Curator of Exhibits at a top rated Texas museum, he is an accomplished musician, spent two years in a gunfight reenactment group, is a small business entrepreneur and artist in residence for several Texas concerns on a state and local level. Writing and storytelling has been a part of his family history dating back to his roots in Europe and England. He lives in the Texas Panhandle, and operates a gallery featuring his own works. He is married to a retired school teacher and has a grown daughter, who is married, and also lives in Texas.

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Preface

I remember in the late 1960s, taking a trip to Washington D.C. to attend a friend’s wedding. During my time in the capital city, a visit to many of the great museums there changed my life forever. Visitors to the museums could spend a lifetime going through all the buildings, if they took time to peruse every exhibit. Huge rooms filled to the brim with objects from the past stirred deep emotions wondering about the living souls that touched the myriads of objects on this blue marble in times gone by.

In recent years, there have been questions raised as to how some of the museums handled certain archeological finds; especially one rather interesting discovery just after the turn of the last century involving a certain cave and its contents located deep in the bowels of the majestic Grand Canyon of Arizona. Regardless whether these accusations are true or false, they do make an excellent subject of endless speculation for a work of fiction.

Several years back, a friend mentioned a mysterious cave in the Black Mesa country of western Oklahoma, where carvings of Celtic, Norse and even Egyptian origin had been found etched into the walls. A Dr. in Boise City was said to have a video about the mysterious cave, but I was never able to track it down. Over the period of several years, I dug up all the information I could about Anubis Cave and a storyline came to me as a follow up to my first book Vimanas. It was an excellent new plot to carry on Dan Crandall’s quest for ancient artifacts in the Southwest, introduce a new villain, and an interesting new character. The new character, Juil is a means for a purely a speculative explanation of how the writings in the cave came to be etched into the walls of a cave in western Oklahoma. We will probably never know for sure just how those ancient pictures and writings came to be carved there in such a remote area far from their ancient origins.

Chapter 1

Juil, the indentured ship builder, stood with his hands on his hips by the tiller at the rear of the Celtic long boat he had put blood, sweat, and tears into building over the better part of a year. It was not his personal boat; yet he felt like it not only belonged, at least partly to him, but that the ship was also an extension of his very being. Each mortise and tenon joint had been fashioned out of the finest oak wood available by his own strong hands to precisely fit together so closely that the oakum stuffed between the joints to waterproof the ship could barely be inserted.

The unique design was his own, an altogether new design for a Celtic trading ship. The wind was up, and the force of it literally blew the foam off the whitecaps, almost before it could form. This first trial run would be a good test, and Juil looked forward to the challenge. He loved to sail more than anything, and when he felt the sea moving directly beneath his feet, it felt like he stood as master over a living thing.

Most Celtic ships designed for trade had high sides designed to hold heavy cargo, making them highly unstable and dangerous in rough seas; especially, when fully loaded. Juil knew the future of this hand fashioned boat held anything but calm seas and easy sailing. It would have to serve him well, to accommodate a crew of almost 50 men in the months, perhaps years to come.

This 19th day of April 625 AD, would prove the seaworthiness of his unique design. The skeleton crew of eight good men would make sure the ship had no leaks during her maiden voyage. They would make sure the sail worked properly, and that she would be stable in rough seas. She had been loaded with heavy stones to simulate a full, heavy cargo load.

The colorful red and white striped sail billowed full out in the strong easterly wind, driving the large ship along at a good pace, even though the waves broke high against the sides of the newly constructed ship, restricting its full forward speed by almost half.

Juil hated to steal this prize away from Laeg the master trader, who had been not only his master, but also a close friend for more than six years. Though indentured to Laeg, the man had never treated Juil like a servant. It made Juil feel traitorous to abscond with the ship, but Laeg had given him an emphatic NO, when he had pleaded with him to sail to the new world to discover what trade goods might lay in that infinite land. It really wasn’t stealing, Juil thought, only borrowing to make Laeg a richer man than he had already become through all his vast trading interests.

If he made it back alive from his venture, which grew more doubtful with every story he heard of the hazards in sailing to the new world, he would return the boat to Laeg along with any trade goods he secured. A reputation as a world voyager, and the freedom to find backers to establish a trade route of his own seemed to Juil a most worthy goal.

The bulk of his information on the New World came from a part Viking lad captured on one of their numerous raids along the north coast. The boy’s Viking father had told him many stories of a new world that lay far to the west. Juil talked for many hours with the boy, prying story after story out of him. Juil had conscripted the boy to work on the newly designed boat, but unfortunately, a barrel of pitch had been carelessly slipped from its perch and dropped from some height, crushing the young lad’s neck. He had lived for a few days in great pain, and died suddenly one night, as Juil sat faithfully by his bedside comforting him.

The sun had set on Croagh Patrick, the pyramid mountain, one day before the shakedown cruise, affirming Juil’s prayers to the gods that he must leave this soggy land to seek his fortune. He had often watched the phenomenon created, as the sun appeared to roll down the side of Croagh Patrick’s top, an optical illusion produced only twice a year. That alone, he thought, had to be a sign, that the time was right to make his escape.

As if by fate’s hand, Laeg had been called away to his country home with a sickness in his family, and Juil saw it a perfect chance to steal away to the west in the boat he had spent a year preparing for the enterprise.

On the first day of a new week, Juil handpicked his men, traded for provisions, and made plans, though his strategies remained somewhat vague for sailing off into the unknown.

Three days later Juil and his crew set off in the growing darkness of the evening tide, supposedly to make a trading venture to the Mediterranean Sea; however, this ship would never see the calm waters of the Mediterranean. As soon as the ship’s bright sail dipped out of the sight of land, Juil turned the bow northwest heading straight for the new world he had heard so many exhilarating tales about.

Juil had no maps, other than the ones Laeg had given him of the Mediterranean ports where he often traded for goods. He had new maps, ones burned indelibly in his head by the stories told by old men of the sea, who claimed to have seen wondrous lands, sparsely populated and far off to the west in a fresh new world. His memory, imagination, and sailing knowledge would have to suffice for their voyage west.

All the stories Juil had heard, though, did not have happy endings. There were gruesome tales told by the old sailors of storms, monstrous creatures, and brutal people armed with strange weapons; the of lost comrades with tears in their aged, wrinkled eyes, relating hardships filled with tragedies, unimaginable to a common man.

Juil had no fear, only wonder laced with the imagination of his youth for what lay ahead. As long as he had the sun and the stars to guide him, he felt unconquerable by man or nature. Even the superstitions of a flat world that suddenly dropped off into infinity didn’t deter Juil from his quest. He didn’t believe those speculations, and had formed the opinion that the world was round, much like the moon.

Juil, a burly young man, standing five feet and eleven inches tall kept himself in fine shape hardened by his strenuous work building boats. Juil could fell an oak with fewer strokes of the axe than any other man he knew. His long days of sawing, lifting, pegging, and pulling ropes had made his muscles hard, honing his body to a fine edge, with endurance beyond that of the average underfed Celt. The extra rations provided to him for his shipbuilding expertise helped in that respect too.

At his side, he wore a Roman short sword once found as a child in an ancient ring fort not far from the land his father worked. It had been buried there, wrapped in oiled skins, protected from the damp climate. He kept the sword secret from his family, playing with it only when alone, or with a few trusted friends. He kept the sword razor sharp, polished and oiled with pig grease to prevent rust and deterioration. It was his prize possession, and it became an extension of his brawny right arm.

When he reached eighteen years of age, he began to carry the sword openly at all times. He had slain men with the sword, but only those that meant him, or his family members harm.

Like most Celts, he presented himself as a formidable man without the sword, standing almost five feet, ten inches tall. His broad shoulders supported a head topped with flaming red hair, but not the temper that often accompanied that shade of curly locks.

Unlike his peers, Juil tempered his existence by staying away from strong drink, gambling, and the wiles of rowdy women. Juil used his brain more than his brawn. He had a likeable nature; yet presented a presence commanding respect of almost everyone he met. Juil had become an as yet, untried leader, an uncommon man in very common times.

He hoped Laeg had not noticed strong his leadership traits, or his tendency to take charge as a hint of his plan. Though his secret voyage was fully meant to enrich Laeg's coffers, Juil knew Laeg would not understand when he did not return within the allotted time from this voyage to the Mediterranean.

With luck, it would be more than a year before Laeg realized he had absconded with his boat, and by that time, Juil planned to be on his way back from the New World, of which the Viking lad had told him so many colorful stories about.

Juil’s older relatives had explained to him as a child, that he was descended from the great builders of Newgrange, the megalithic monument built by the ancients long before the great pyramids were constructed. He had plied information out of anyone having knowledge to share about Newgrange and his ancestors.

Through his endless queries, he gained vast knowledge about using astronomy, and the movements of the stars to navigate the open sea. He learned about winter and summer solstices, finding out how to mark them with stone carvings in order to plan events around those crucial times.

Juil could read and write Ogham, the Celtic tree alphabet, and knew bits and pieces of other languages picked up on trading expeditions for his master, Laeg. He had studied the ancient circle wheels and the intricate spirals carved in the sacred stones describing the movements of the stars, which painted a vivid picture of the Celtic solar year. He desperately wanted to visit the places the sun traveled after passing over the emerald isle to make its rounds on the far side of the great ocean.

The maiden voyage went so well, Juil moved up the date of his departure. His handpicked crew was already at hand, and Laeg was away. So, why wait. Under the cover of darkness, provisions were loaded, and the ship made ready to sail.

Juil thought about his plan of action, and it took him a full two minutes to make up his mind to go ahead with the bold plan. In the early morning hours just before dawn, Juil gave the word and the crew silently boarded and waited patiently all day, making last minute preparations for the long journey to the west.

In the fading light of day, they slipped the craft out of the harbor, as they had a hundred times before. Only this time, as they made their way out of the harbor, supposedly to trade in the Mediterranean, they changed their course after passing out of sight of land, setting a true course to the northwest.

Juil fretted for the first few days, wondering if he’d made the right decision, but as the last of the land birds disappeared behind them, so did his feelings of betrayal and the doubts about his actions. He vowed silently to himself to make Laeg proud with the riches he would bring back.

The first thirty days of Juil’s voyage to the new world, uneventful as it seemed to be, afforded a learning experience of its own. The ship proved to be a strong, worthy opponent of every challenge they met. After making a few modifications to the new tiller, and a minor adjustment to the sail, they were well on their way. Juil hoped he could turn the trading goods meant for the Mediterranean into a great fortune to bring back for Laeg and his two other partners.

His objective lay almost straight across the great sea. The old sailors had told him of a few small Viking colonies located on the north coast of the new world, directly across the ocean from his homeland inhabited by Vikings from the north. Supposedly, they had a great wealth of things to trade.

One had to be careful, he was told, for the Vikings located in the New World were a rough lot, and would just as soon cut your throat as look at you. Their settlements were small, but well fortified. Juil had little worry in that respect. He had handpicked a good lot of rough young men and a few old salts to accompany him, every one of them a trusted companion. He felt confident they could master any situation that confronted them.

If he pulled this trip off, he would be known as a great man among men. If he failed, he would be scorned by all, and friend or not probably beheaded by Laeg. It was something to think about, but Juil didn’t dwell on it long. He had never failed at any undertaking. Failure was not a word in his vocabulary.

Juil woke up one morning and took a captain’s stance back by the tiller, looking down the length of the ship he’d built with his own hands. His crew, after almost two months at sea, seemed to be fairing well. They were strong, hard men, all handpicked by him, or his first mate, Cian. Stores were holding out with minimum spoilage. They had plenty of water, gathering more as they went, from rain draining off the sail during small and frequent storms.

Spirits seemed to be about average for a crew facing months at sea, but Juil could read growing concern and a touch of uncertainty in their faces, as the seemingly endless days wore on.

About noon on the eighty-fifth day, the wind died away, and stayed away, placing the ship and its crew on calm water with an eerie feeling of impending change in the weather. Juil thought from his last consult with the stars, that he had veered off much too far to the south. He just could not know how much off course they had drifted. His knowledge of the heavens was honed to much more familiar waters.

The five oarlocks on each side of the boat would accept ten strong oars, so Juil put men on the oars after two days of dead calm to keep them occupied, and the boat moving, although rowing proved to move the ship at a snail’s pace compared to the speed a favorable wind would offer.

Juil didn’t push the men hard at the oars. There was no use in overexerting already exhausted men. It was merely something to pass the dull hours away and give them the sense of movement sailors required at sea.

After five days of rowing, the wind began to pick up again, blowing in ominous looking clouds from the southeast. It didn’t take much intellect to know they were in for an enormous blow of the worst sort. Juil had been through bad storms before, and he had weathered every one. He liked the show of power in the lightning and the rolling thunder.

As a child, he had pretended it was his short sword making the lightning, and the falling heads of his enemies rolling downhill that made the sound of the rolling thunder.

That night, lightning under the darkening clouds flashed incessantly, and thunder began to grow louder, as the billowing mass of turbulence boiled in overhead. Juil reveled in the fact that he had built the sturdy A-frame shelter for the more perishable cargo and the crew. He stood at the front of the shelter and gazed into the oncoming storm, as the swells rapidly became what he now considered dangerous.

He walked unsteadily across the rolling deck to the back of the ship, relieving Cian at the tiller. Cian was as much of an adventurer as Juil, and if it came right down to it, probably a better navigator.

Reluctantly, Cian turned over the steering position to Juil. Juil noticed that it was all Cian could do to make his way to the shelter without taking a serious fall, or being washed helplessly over the sides of the ship; even while holding fast to the safety line Juil had installed down the center of the ship, tied off at intervals to the mainmast and massive copper grommets strategically placed along the way.

The storm raged on with a fierceness, the like of which none of the sailors had ever seen. They had all weathered storms on previous trading ventures, but nothing like this one.

Juil had the men shorten the huge square sail to almost nothing before the storm hit; still, the storm tossed them about like a cork on a raging river. The swells had grown so high at times, when the boat reached the bottom, he could not even see the lightning in the storm overhead, and then the massive wave would break violently over the boat, threatening to drive them deep down to the deathly silence of a waiting ocean floor.

In the A-frame shelter, the crew sat silently, the oil lamp swaying back and forth on its hanger, casting an eerie glow on wild, frightened eyes set deep in sweat-drenched faces, pinched and drawn in fear.

One of the crewmen, Gahmal the Younger, stood, unsteadily making his way over to the keg fastened on the frame at the far end of the shelter. He put a stoneware cup under the spigot, pouring himself a full portion of the dark mead-like brew, with great difficulty, as the ship rocked violently from every direction.

He held the cup filled with the strong smelling contents as level as he could, sloshing the brew out wildly over the sides with each roll of the ship. He pulled the cup to his lips downing the dark ale in one gulp, shouting to be heard above the gale, About time we had some excitement, eh? This brought a few wry smiles, along with several rasps of coarse, forced laughter from the crew.

Cian told him to sit down and shut up, but not until he had brought him a cup too. This brought more smiles, which quickly faded, as the boat slammed violently to the bottom of the next swell with a reverberating roar. It sounded as though the ship would come apart and fling them all into the raging sea.

Some of the supplies that had not been lashed down securely began to dance like puppets in a show as the ship rose and then fell, leaving the items weightless for a split second, only to crash down again against the deck as gravity regained its hold.

Cian shouted orders for the men to get off their asses and tie down the supplies correctly, lest they be lost, or damaged.

Juil, alone in the storm at the tiller, grasped the heavy pole under both arms and gripped it with all his might, trying to steer the ship away from total disaster, which seemed likely to come with each new cresting wave. He hoped through sheer will and strength, he could pilot this craft through the storm. It did not look good at the moment.

The intensity of the storm seemed to be growing, not fading, with each new squall that passed. Maybe, he thought, this was not a series of squalls, but one large storm, one like he had heard of, but never seen. So, this is what fear feels like, his mind told him. With wild-eyed incredulity he grasped the tiller even more firmly and steered the boat to the right.

Though wrought with fear, a wry smile crossed his lips. He had known this would come upon them, but he knew somehow, they would be able to face the challenge. He smiled a dripping smile, as he wondered if his crew held up better than he was inside the sturdy A-frame shelter.

He could see no stars through the boiling black cloud. It wouldn’t matter if he could. He could only steer the boat from crisis to crisis, trying diligently to avoid being swept overboard by the giant waves, which now rose more than twenty; even thirty feet high at times to come crashing violently down on him, the salt water stinging his eyes and ears.

Cian had tried twice to relieve him at the tiller, but both times he could only yell from a distance, unable to get more than halfway to where Juil sat, slumped over the tiller, before having to turn back to the safety of the A-frame shelter.

Two days later, the men inside the shelter felt the storm abate, as quickly as it had come upon them. The violent slamming of the boat back onto the water, after being lifted high in the air by the huge waves, seemed to ease a bit.

Cian pulled back the soggy hide covering of the shelter opening to gaze out at partly cloudy, clearing skies. He could see Juil slumped over the tiller with both his arms wrapped around its length like clinging vines. He called out to the men inside the shelter. Three of the men came stiffly out of the A-frame and rushed to Juil on unsteady legs, prying his stone-like hands from a viselike grasp on the tiller shaft. Two of the men carried Juil inside to rest, while Cian took over the steering, relieved that Juil had survived the storm.

It was two full days before Juil regained consciousness. The sea had calmed, but as Juil, on wobbly legs ventured out to look at the sky, bordered on the horizon by an endless flat line, he had no idea of their whereabouts, or how far they had strayed off their already uncharted course. Juil wondered if the world really could be flat, like some people believed it to be?

In the confusion of the storm, they had forgotten to gather rainwater from the sails; now they ran desperately low, and what precious water they had left had been fouled with seawater. Protected, as it was by the shelter, not all of the provisions had been ruined or spoiled, but with the passage of time, a good deal of the stores had begun to go bad. Things were not yet critical, but there was some cause for concern and it played on Juil’s mind.

The crew, heartened by the fact that the storm had passed, felt the adrenaline rush induced by it recede; they needed to find land, a place to resupply, and soon. Juil ordered full sail put out once again and they began again their journey to the west, not knowing where they were headed, if anywhere.

Four days later, the venture took a turn for the worse. Keelin, one of the older men in the crew just fell over dead, where he sat mending rope. He had been acting a bit strange, Juil thought, but he was an older man and he figured the man had not gotten over the storm for some reason.

After some inspection, the sailors found a laceration in the top of Keelin’s head, deciding that he had hit it during the storm, causing some type of damage inside his skull. They sewed him in a rough bag made of rough linen, and then held a small service overseen by Juil, who prayed to the god protector, Dagda to watch over Keelin on his journey to heaven.

Keelin’s death caused a great sense of loss among the crew, as being the oldest of the crew, he had been a father figure to them all. As they slipped the lifeless body bag over the side into the waiting sea, the crewman on watch yelled out from the top of the A-frame shelter the words they all longed to hear. Land Ho! Land had indeed been sighted!

Juil climbed as fast as his spent body could take him to the top of the shelter. Sure enough, a green, rich looking strip of dark foliage rose as a dark line above the horizon off to the northwest, meaning that land had indeed been sighted. It was not a mirage, or simply more dark clouds rimming the horizon. It was really land, and just in time.

He yelled down to the pilot to change his course making for the strip of land with all haste, pointing with his outstretched hand the course to take. As the land grew nearer, Juil noted that its color, lush green, meant it might possibly afford fresh food and water.

When they pulled within a distance of approximately a mile offshore, Juil had the square sail adjusted, changing his course to follow the coastline, looking for the mouth of a stream or a river of some size that might offer a route in, fresh water, and much needed food. A long rest on solid ground wouldn’t be bad either, he thought. His concern was that the land lay to the north, when it should be to the west. The storm had definitely sent them way off course.

He thought too, one can never be too careful when exploring a new land, not knowing what might lie among the trees, just beyond the deserted beach. The men wanted to go straight in, but Juil explained the need for caution. After a time, the excitement of seeing land for the first time in almost four months settled into their minds; they began to agree with Juil. Juil ordered them to get their weapons out, just in case, thinking that a thorough check of their weapons might keep them occupied, at least until they found a suitable place to go ashore.

As they eased west along the coastline for several days, Juil made mental notes of what lay behind them, recording in the back of his mind every major visual object for future reference. They found several smaller rivers and streams where Juil put in to shore for short stops to replenish their water supply, but none of them afforded a navigable way upstream for the large craft.

On one occasion, they came upon a school of fish, and with the aid of a small net, a number were caught. The men were anxious for the taste of red meat, but the fish tasted like rare steaks to them, after eating spoiled rations for days on end.

About the time the men had reached the end of their patience, the ship came upon a great river flowing out to the sea fed by many tributaries, branching out in all directions to feed the hungry sea with fresh water.

Juil ordered the helmsman to make for the largest navigable opening, placing two men, one on each side of the ship, to monitor for sand bars, or other hazards in the water. Through the largest gaps in the sand bars the Celts made their way slowly through the maze and up a navigable spot to the main waterway, their eyes wide with wonder at this vast new land.

At last, they found themselves in what Juil decided was the main river, sailing against a strong current. The current forced them to employ the oars in order to move up past the strong current at the mouth of the river, which seemed to be as wide as most lakes Juil could remember. Even with wind behind them and the oars in play, the ship plodded upriver at a snail’s pace.

He found that if they stayed to the side waters out of the main current, they could travel at an acceptable rate of speed, covering a good deal of distance without wearing out the oarsmen. He had two groups of men to man the oars, changing out the men periodically to offset fatigue.

The men didn’t seem to mind rowing in spells with time off now and again to gawk at the beautiful scenery. After several hours, the men became impatient to go ashore for water and food. It wasn’t long before Juil spotted the perfect place at a bend in the river.

He pulled the long ship into the still waters behind the curve of land that formed the S shape in the river. They anchored the ship next to a high bank where some of the men touched terra firma for the first time in months. Cian lay down in the tall grass on the bank, but hopped quickly to his feet screaming like a woman, as a large black snake slithered past his right arm and darted into the river with a splash.

Juil organized two small teams to go off in search of food and water, leaving eight men to stand guard at the boat. The two groups headed off in opposite directions watching out for new forms of wildlife, following the paths of least resistance until they located a way through the dense undergrowth.

The men that stayed with the boat decided to try their luck at river fishing. In two hours they caught some of the strangest fish they had ever seen, some weighing up to five stone weight. They were still arguing over whether the ugly creatures were edible, when the first group returned bearing two turkeys, a beaver, and several muskrats.

In about an hour, the second group returned with full water bladders, a pouch of dark, tasty nuts, and a deer. Each group had found a few wild plums, but had eaten all but a few by the time they got back to the boat.

Both groups had incredible stories of odd, unfamiliar things they had seen on their foraging expeditions into the new world, but group two won that contest when they told of almost being eaten by a huge dragon like creature with rows of huge sharp teeth, and a tail ten feet long. Group two had seen their first alligator and vowed to avoid the vile creatures on future forays into the wild.

Several of the crewmen struck a large fire on a sand bar a short distance from the boat, while the others set about skinning and preparing the meat for the fire. They buried the beaver, with its strong castor smell and hideous face, with promises never to bring one into camp again. The roast turkeys were enjoyed, but the favorite dish of the meal was the ugly fish with the cat whiskers the crew at the boat had caught.

The men, now watered, sleepy, and over fed decided to spend the night onboard the boat for safety reasons, with the idea of continuing their journey in the morning, after replenishing their stores. Juil now knew they would not starve, and he decided the sailors could live off the land as long as this new world provided so abundantly for them.

The next morning Juil awoke with the rising sun. He let the men sleep, deciding to let them rest until they woke up of their own accord, even so, by mid morning the Celtic ship made its way slowly up river, fighting a strong current. They headed north on the river for four days, stopping occasionally to hunt and forage. They were amazed at the amount of game and edible plants found growing in lush abundance along the big river.

The morning of the tenth day up river, they came upon a good-sized tributary, emptying clear, fresh water into the larger river. Juil decided they needed to make their way up the smaller river, since the current seemed less halting than that in the larger one. Juil's thought was that one river might be as good as the other in this vast expanse. The water was fresher and clearer than that in the big river, and as long as they were able to navigate with water under their keel, they would be in good shape. They could always turn around. They had seen no sign of inhabitants thus far, deciding they were most likely the first humans to see this land.

The sailors went upriver for almost two weeks. The river began to pose problems for the larger boat, so Juil, at Cian’s suggestion decided to make several smaller craft, stash the larger boat, and keep going up the smaller waterway to see where it led, and what spoils it offered.

As they traveled up the smaller tributary, an abundance of game, large and small, abounded. Edible vegetation like wild plums and an assortment of berries flourished near a large lake that opened up along the course of the river, which afforded a suitably sheltered place to stop for an extended period of time. They found an adequate place to moor the trading vessel near a deep cave, that they could use for shelter, while they crafted their new boats.

The moist walls of the sandstone cave provided a good surface for Juil to carve out a record of his journey, so with an awl from the ship’s tool chest, he set to work carving on the back wall of the cave. He began by gouging out his name in Ogham, the tree alphabet, simply drawn, written, and understood by most of the cultures from Ireland to Iberia. Juil was lost in his work, not fully understanding why it felt so important to him to leave a record of their journey on these stark walls, but nevertheless, compelled to do so just the same.

Leaving a record of his passing just seemed to be the natural thing to do for Juil. He carved by day and by night, moving from one thing to another like a man possessed. He carved solar wheels, spirals, and wrote of the direction they would take when they left this place. He chiseled a magnificent representation of their ship, complete with a carved representation of the colorful striped sail. He tinted the grooves of the sail with natural ochers and red pigments he found in abundance near the cave.

Juil worked with passion, almost to a point of exhaustion. Cian made sure meals were sent in to him, and that he ate what was brought him in the cave. Still, he worked on, creating wall after wall of carvings.

More than two weeks later, as he completed a carving of himself standing at the helm of Laeg’s ship, Cian came into the cave and announced that the small boats had been finished. According to Cian, the crew had growing concerns about his absence in the recesses of the cave, and was anxious to leave this place to explore the region to the west. Juil could not believe that so much time had passed while he focused his full attention on the carvings in the cave. He had been totally focused in his work to record their travels.

Juil stood back admiring his work. Cian too was amazed at his handiwork and commented on the detail. Juil gathered his tools, once like new, which were now mere stubs, and walked back to the area where his men had been constructing the boats. The men had formed ten small four-man canoes out of the large trees that bordered the lake.

Their boats were as finely carved as the runes he had etched into the walls of the cave. Juil inspected each boat carefully, and the men had done an excellent job in building the small boats. Juil made sure all the men knew how pleased he was with their exceptional crafting of the boats. He led the men back to the cave and having them kneel in front of his wall carvings, he offered up prayers to Dagda and Essus, asking the Celtic gods to bless their future journey into the unknown.

Putting the strongest oarsmen in each boat for the first leg of the journey, the adventurers paddled their way upstream, stopping at every point of interest.

This was a vast land, thousands of times larger than their Celtic homeland. At places along the river where they stopped, they occasionally found fires where some humans had camped previously, but no sign of any human, other than a few footprints or fire rings, could be found. They had encountered not even one boat on the river;