Marika and the Grelka, Part 1
by John Barker IV



Copyright: John Barker IV

2005

Adventuring Viking queen Marika takes on a legendary beast with her bare hands

The climb had been arduous, with rocks sliding down the side of the mountain
many times just as Marika thought she had a trustworthy hand or foothold. Yet,
though these created adrenalin-pumping close-calls, Marika had not let her
pace slacken because time was of the essence.

The grelka, the plague of the village below for time out of mind, would
ritually consume the living, conscious body of a girl child at exactly noon on
this last day of the solar month. Now Marika had never heard of a grelka. She
was amazed at the description of a beast, neither magical nor immortal, and
just like a tiger; a tiger with wings, that is.

Marika had been two hours too late to prevent the abduction. Judging by the
position of the sun, it was now past the 11th hour of the day. The description
of the grelka's lair was sketchy, since no living villager had dared climb to
it. She only knew that it was near the top of the mountain, and that the
grelka kept a renegade human as a sort of servant.

Nevertheless, in all of her 26 years, Marika had never backed away from a
challenge, especially in a good cause, and she reckoned the saving of a
child's life a sufficiently good cause to risk her own.

Marika had traveled far and wide, touching at many places where the waves of
the North or Baltic Seas lapped the shore. Her name was known as that of a
fierce raider in some places, as a wise and just ruler in others. But
everywhere she had been, and in some places she had not been, she was known as
a awe-inspiring, mighty warrior.

Mighty Marika was indeed. Now, as she climbed swiftly towards the probable
site of the grelka's lair, her powerfully muscled thighs pumped and stretched
and propelled upwards her 5'11" frame. Once her hand found a secure handhold,
her stupendously strong arms pulled her higher yet, fueled by 18 inch biceps
and powerful forearms and hands.

Marika was a warrior, who had fought and killed many, many times in the last
ten years. She had been trained for battle since the age of 6 by her chieftain
father, and, blessed by a superior physique and an iron will, as well as quick
intelligence, she had excelled all among the Norse-folk in physical combat.
She was strong, swift, quick-witted and, oh yes, beautiful.

Her long wavy blonde hair shone brightly in the sun as she made her way up the
mountain. Her skin, deeply tanned by exposure to the sun, rippled with
sensuous strength. Her perfect lips, now frowning with concentration, could
charm any king, prince, or bishop. Her breasts, large and firm, looked capable
of nursing a very large brood, which her wide hips promised that she could
produce. Her piercing blue eyes could entice any man, and quickly size up his
worth and utility as well.

By her side hung a huge sword that few but her could wield successfully, a
great double-edged affair with a tempered blade that she could ply with skill
with one hand, when most men would need both hands.

Marika had never heard of a grelka, the creature that infested this island off
the coast of still-savage Poland, that was entirely new to her. The idea of a
winged tiger sounded fantastical to her. She longed not only to save the young
child, her first priority of course, but to test her strength and skill
against this strange beast. She had fought many beasts and many men, and did
not fear this challenge.

Nearing the top of the mountain, she glanced again at the position of the sun
and knew she must not allow her pace to slacken. She could see that, 10 yards
up, there was something of a narrow plateau before the mountain reached its
summit. She guessed, on the available information, slim as it was, that the
grelka must make its home there.

Marika hoped for the element of surprise. The villagers had not offered the
slightest resistance to the grelka's blood toll in more than a century. Never
once had they fought back, tried to prevent the grelka from taking its victim,
or tried to rescue her. As far as she knew, the grelka had no notion of her
presence in the village, and though she could not be certain, hoped that her
ascent had not been observed.

Though it appalled her, she had to admit that the villagers had not been very
enthusiastic about the prospect of her attempting this rescue. Though they
professed to hate this monthly blood toll, they were a well-populated and
fecund people, and seemed willing to go along with the loss of a girl child
each month to prevent worse devastation. She was sure, however, that the
villagers had no way of contacting the grelka to warn it.

Marika was just within reach of the edge of the plateau, and, after gaining a
handhold, she stuck her head up to check the plateau's topography. Rocks.
Nothing growing, except what appeared to be a dead barren branch of a blasted
lifeless tree. A cave entrance ten feet from the edge of the plateau, but 30
yards to the left of where Marika was now.

Her heart sank when she saw that the entrance to the cave was guarded by a set
of iron bars.

>>From her right, there was a cackle, which turned her attention to that
direction. There she saw sitting with his back to her, the figure of a man,
white-haired and very lightly complected, but apparently not aged. An albino?
Yes, it must be, and a hunched-over albino to boot. Yet, the arms appeared
strong, and as the albino struck up a song, the lungs appeared potent.

She looked around more completely. The grelka was nowhere in sight. The albino
must be the henchman of the grelka, the renegade human mentioned by the
villagers.

Time was running out, yet Marika had to wait for the albino's (drunken?) song
to end. Marika had little liking for humans who connived at ungodly beasts'
devouring little girls as their prandial repast. She did not plan to be gentle
with the albino. Life may have dealt him a bad hand, but she had not time for
talking things out and trying to get in touch with the albino's inner child.

When the albino finally stopped his song, apparently failing to recall the
next words, Marika struck quickly. In a flash, she dove with her knees into
his back, bowling him forward. He was too startled to call out. Her hands
locked instantly under his chin, and with a single mighty yank backward
snapped his neck cleanly. She pulled back more, rupturing blood vessels, then
twisted the head to the side, until it was past the point at which an intact
neck should have offered resistance. The albino was limp in her hands. She
noted that his breathing had stopped. Clearly dead.

No time for pity or mercy, here. She dropped the lifeless corpse and got up.
There was an innocent life to save, and another guilty one to take if she
could.

But first, she must get past the entrance to the cave. How far in would she
need to go before she came upon the grelka and his intended victim?

She could not answer that question, but had to act as it would be noon in just
a few minutes. No time for finesse.

She darted to the entrance's edge, and peered in. Her eyes were not yet
adjusted to the darkness, and feared that the grelka was just on the other
side looking right at her. But there was no sound, except a clinking of chains
tens of yards inside the cave, it appeared by the sound. Listening longer, she
began to hear low animal sounds, also many yards inside the cave, and
apparently beyond a turn in the cave's tunnel. Ominously, the sound of a child
sobbing could be heard now, as well.

"Give me strength, Lord," for Marika had accepted the God of the Christians
some years before. The iron bars were a gate, and a gate that somehow was able
to be pulled up into the cave's ceiling, rather like a portcullis. But the
mechanism appeared to be inside the cave (so the grelka must operate it). The
bars were simple iron, not steel, but were about a half inch thick and six
inches apart.

If she made noise now, there was nothing she could do about it. She gripped
one of the bars in both her powerful hands, and braced her booted feet against
the retaining bar that ran a foot from their bottom. With all her considerable
might, she heaved, trying to force the bar to the right.

At first, it did not budge, despite her amazing strength. She poured more and
more of her enormous strength into the effort. Her whole body was shaking and
sweat was gushing from her every pore. The muscles of her arms and shoulders
stood out taught as heavy ropes. Again, she gathered herself, and again she
exerted incredible force against the bar.

Marika exerted herself against the bar for a full 200 seconds before a loud
metallic "TWANG" told her that she had broken the bond between the bar and the
upper horizontal retaining bar. Now, she gripped the section of the bar near
the lower retaining bar.

Using strength that five strong men would be hard-put to match, she pulled on
the severed upper portion of the bar, and it began to slowly bend to the right
in her mighty hands. The sound of the metal fatiguing and groaning as she bent
it was clearly audible to her.

She hoped the grelka was absorbed in contemplating his ritual meal, and
invoking whatever demons it served.

Finally the bar was bent at close enough to a right angle from the others to
make the beginning of an opening. But she would need to do the same to its
next neighbor to fit through.

She could detect no sign of the grelka approaching. "Please, Lord, let it be
in some sort of trance." But the noises from the interior of the cave did not
change.

Gripping the next bar, Marika began to pull it to the left with both hands,
again starting at the upper portion of the bar. Perhaps this bar was more
rusty than the first, or perhaps her arms were just pumped by the first
effort. But in either case, the "TWANG" seemed to come much more quickly this
time, after only 70 or 80 seconds of sustained effort.

Again, still gripping the bar in both hands, and with her feet braced against
the lower retaining bar, she exerted all her very considerable strength in
pulling the bar to the left, as close as she could practically get to the
bottom retaining bar. This bar began to bend under the amazing force she was
exerting on it about six inches higher than the first bar had bent. Again the
groaning of fatiguing iron could be heard, and again the bar was, after a
minute and a half (about 30 seconds quicker than with the first bar) at a
right angle to the others.