Island of the Valkyries
Marley Quinn
Island of the Valkyries
by Marley Quinn
Copyright Information
Island of the Valkyries
by Marley Quinn
© 2026 Marley Quinn
All rights reserved.
Author: Marley Quinn
Contact details: marleyquinn.reformist760@passinbox.com
Twitter/X: marleyquinn2000
Book cover, illustration: Marley Quinn
Editing, proofreading: Marley Quinn
This e-book, including its portions, is protected by copyright and may not be reproduced, resold, or redistributed without the permission of the author.
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Title of Contents
Copyright Information
Title of Contents
Shipwreck
Pig
Ticket to Valhalla
Five
Jars
Last a Thousand Years
Kehlsteinhaus
Hospitality
A Real Treat
More Civilized
Chariots of the Gods
Medieval
Blood Calls Out to Blood
Fire When Ready
Wily Creatures
Field Trip
Destiny
Jägermeister
The Hunter’s Responsibility
Kind of Sexist
Men’s Business
Great Promise
Volkskörper
Das Netzwerk
Prime Aryan
Screaming Monkey
Gut gemacht
An Angry God
Riding Out a Hurricane
What You Don’t Know
Skat
The Only Way Out is Through
Wild Animal
An Amusing Tale
Satchel
Coconuts
A Spark
The Other End of the Telescope
Heroic Last Stand
A Loin Cloth and a Spear
Wildcat
The Test
A Culture of Winning
The Bloodline
Shieldmaidens
Stud
Epic Release
Medieval Lord
Sehr gut
Patriarchy Crap
Separate But Equal
Suitable Mates
The Only Way to Preserve Honor
Your Lordship
Sehnsucht
A Towering Figure
Caged Beast
Hook, Line, and Sinker
Play It Safe
As You Wish
Vormund
The Contract
Cauldron
A Man of Honor
Light at the End of the Tunnel
Nervous Before Battle
Truly Epic
Becoming a Real Man
Battery
Unsettled
Different Frequencies
The Lady or the Tiger
Crystal Clear
Heroes Assemble
A Matter of Honor
Paid With Blood
Ich bin bereit
Howl
Epilogue - A Real Challenge
Epilogue - Back to Normal
Epilogue - Fantastisch
Also by Marley Quinn
Shipwreck
One minute, Ryan was lying there unconscious, and the next, a mouthful of seawater had him sitting bolt upright, coughing and spluttering.
When he finally managed to catch his breath, Ryan looked around, the bright sunlight amplifying his pounding headache. One of his ribs ached fiercely, and his tongue was swollen and parched.
He was on some kind of beach, that much was clear, but he had no idea how he had gotten there. Off to one side lay the gorgeous turquoise of the sea, to the other side, a narrow stretch of sand hemmed in by a dense stand of jungle foliage with no sign of civilization.
Under other circumstances, it would’ve made for an idyllic setting, but not when you were desperately thirsty and in pain.
Gasping with the effort, Ryan managed to get to his feet. His left ankle was slightly tender, forcing him to hobble as he made his way over to a piece of driftwood in the shade of a tree and sat down. As he did, he was hit by flashes of memory.
He’d been aboard an old fishing boat when the storm had sprung up out of nowhere. The German tourist he’d met in Tikal had said that it was better to take a boat from Guatemala to Belize rather than cross the land border due to political tensions between the two countries, and so Ryan had forked over his remaining quetzals and hoped for the best.
Traveling through Central America had been the trip of a lifetime for him. The people were universally friendly and welcoming, and the food was incredibly fresh and delicious. There was a pulse of life in the region that you couldn’t find back home. Even in the smallest villages, there were always parades going on and people dancing in the streets. Despite their poverty, it just felt like people were happier here than back home.
Being on a limited budget had worked in his favor, too. Ryan had met all kinds of interesting folks on the intercity transportation they called “chicken buses” because some farmers used them to bring poultry to market. Ryan had been invited into people’s homes, been served cups of spicy chocolate, and shaken the hands of many gap-toothed abuelitas.
Truly, it had been a blast, and Ryan’s Spanish language skills had improved by leaps and bounds. He was nowhere close to speaking like a native, but he knew enough to get around, ask where a low-cost hostel could be found, and order a cerveza. It had been an amazing summer, and he was not looking forward to when it came to an end and he had to return to the States to start his sophomore year of college.
Of course, he’d been warned before he left by his friends and family about the dangers of backpacking across Central America, with lurid tales of the cartels, human traffickers, and violent gangs that plagued so many of the otherwise beautiful cities. But Ryan hadn’t had any trouble, finding that the news reports were largely exaggerated and that most people in the region were kind, simple folk going about their daily lives.
But then that darn storm came in out of nowhere.
One minute, it was clear skies with water so clear he could see schools of colorful tropical fish swimming around, and the next, waves were crashing over the deck. The captain, a wizened Maya man who only spoke choppy Spanish, had tried his best to seek shelter in between two rocky outcroppings. But there was nothing anyone could do when the sea was that angry.
The last thing Ryan remembered was the sky turning pitch black and the boat being blown out to sea. After that, nothing except the roar of the wind. Yet here he was on a beach, meaning he’d somehow survived. The question then was where was he? Had he made it to Belize after all, or had the storm washed him back up on Guatemala? And was he on the mainland or on one of the hundreds of islands in the area?
That question could wait, though, as his most pressing need was to find something to drink. The sun overhead was relentless, feeling like a spike driving into the back of his skull.
Ryan spotted a palm tree a few yards away and hobbled over to investigate. A few green coconuts were lying there on the sand, and when he picked one up, he could hear liquid sloshing around inside, but he had no way of cracking it open.
Just then, Ryan spotted some plastic bottles dotted along the shore, most likely washed up by the tide. If Spanish was the language everyone spoke in the region, then plastic trash was their most common currency. Even in the tiniest of villages, he’d seen plastic garbage scattered everywhere and plastic-choked waterways. Truly, it was a scourge, but the locals always shook their heads as if there was nothing they could do about it.
Most of the bottles were empty, but he saw a Tiky one with a few drops of yellow liquid inside. Tiky was a popular brand of pineapple flavored drink amongst the locals, although not Ryan’s favorite, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to be picky. Ryan unscrewed the cap and gratefully swallowed down the contents. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, even if the hot, sickly sweet liquid made him want to gag.
It took him probably an hour, but Ryan managed to get enough swallows from cast-off Pepsi bottles and other kinds of abandoned soda bottles to dampen his thirst down to a dull roar. For some reason, the locals rarely drank bottled water, preferring their drinks to be as sweet as possible. All that sugar, though, was exacerbating his pounding headache.
Judging based on his injuries, Ryan figured that he must’ve gotten smacked into something when he was knocked overboard. His backpack and belongings were long gone, but since the sun was directly overhead, he knew he must’ve been unconscious for at least one day, perhaps two. His stomach was certainly rumbling enough to know that he hadn’t eaten in quite a while.
With the danger of dehydration momentarily at bay, the next issue was trying to figure out where he was. Although Ryan had no map, he knew that the vast majority of coastline was completely uninhabited. Indeed, the entire region of Central America was sparsely populated. For all he knew, he might be just a short walk away from a bustling resort town or dozens of miles from the nearest fishing village.
The fact that so much trash had washed up on the beach was potentially a good sign. Maybe there was an inhabited area nearby. Or maybe the currents had sent the detritus of modern civilization a long distance. There was just no way to know.
Using his hand to shield his eyes, Ryan scanned above the treetops, looking for smoke or other signs of human activity, but there was nothing, just an endless wall of green slowly swaying in the breeze. He then closed his eyes and concentrated on listening, hoping he could pick up a trace of a street parade or outboard motor, but all he could hear was a flock of birds chattering.
Limping back over to his driftwood seat, Ryan pondered what to do. He had no survival training, and the only time he’d ever been out in the woods by himself was during a night walk at summer camp when he was 12. He checked his pockets, hoping by some miracle that he’d find something useful, but there was nothing inside except a handful of sand.
The beach he was sitting on was in the form of a vast semi-circle, and the sand was fine-ground and very soft under his feet. It certainly would make for an ideal tourist spot, but there just wasn’t any sign of human visitors at all. Maybe there were even prettier beaches in the area, or maybe this place was just too inaccessible from the nearest road to make it worth someone’s while.
Starting to feel depressed, Ryan eased his way onto the sand so he could rest his neck on the piece of driftwood. Was this really his fate, then? To survive a shipwreck only to die all alone on a beach in paradise? That seemed fundamentally unfair. He wasn’t even 20 years old and had his whole life in front of him. Surely, this couldn’t be the end!
Thirsty, hot, and feeling lonelier than he ever had, Ryan took solace in the one thing still available to him: sleep. The gentle crash of the surf and the warm breeze were his lullaby, and he drifted off to a world without pain.
When he awoke, the sun had slanted over the jungle canopy, indicating several hours had passed. But it wasn’t the hunger cramps in his belly or the desperate craving for water that had woken him up.
It was the sound of voices!
Pig
At first, Ryan wondered whether he might be hallucinating hearing voices.
But as they got closer, there was no mistaking that he was overhearing a conversation. Even more exciting, he started making out a few words. His pulse really began to race when he realized they were speaking unaccented English.
Americans! They must be tourists! He was going to be saved.
He could tell by the timbre of their voices that they were both female, although he still couldn’t see anyone. Ryan scanned the tree line, trying to detect which way they were coming. The breeze was blowing, making it hard for him to get a bead on the exact direction, but they couldn’t be more than a couple of dozen yards away.
“Hello! Help!” shouted Ryan, although his parched throat made his words come out like a croak.
Ryan got to his feet and began waving his arms, hoping to catch their attention. Yet the two women blithely continued on with their conversation, saying something about a pig, it seemed. Ryan didn’t know and didn’t care, too thrilled that his salvation was at hand.
“Hello!” shouted Ryan, his weakened condition making him stumble and fall face-first into the sand, getting a few dusty grains in his mouth.
Unable to talk, Ryan nonetheless became excited when he caught a glimpse of someone’s legs moving behind the trees. Whoever the two women were, they were coming his way, so he propped himself up to wait for their arrival, his heart beating a mile a minute.
Had there been even a drop of moisture remaining in his mouth, he would’ve gasped when two young women stepped into view. One was slightly shorter than the other, but they were both gorgeous with long blonde hair in a braid and perfectly proportioned physiques. Yet oddly for tourists, they were both wearing homemade garments, some kind of shapeless homespun dresses.
Whether they were members of some strange religious cult or some kind of hippies, Ryan didn’t care. All he knew was that they were Americans. He staggered to his feet, continuing to wave his arms until the shorter of the two young women finally noticed him.
The two young women raced over to him, strange expressions on their faces.
“Oh, thank God,” said Ryan, his throat so dry that it was painful to speak. “Please, I need some water.”
“Holla, die Waldfee!” said the taller of the two women or something that sounded like that.
“Please help me,” croaked Ryan.
“Oh my goodness, it’s a man!” said the shorter of the two women, a delighted smile on her face.
“Please,” said Ryan. “I was on a boat that capsized. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I’m really thirsty. Do you have some water?”
“Nein, nein,” said the taller of the two women, shaking her head.
“Wait, we can give him a coconut, ja?” said the shorter of the two women.
“Yes, anything! Please,” said Ryan.
The taller woman nodded and unslung a machete from a scabbard on her back as her companion ran over to scoop up a couple of green coconuts. With a few short strokes, the woman with the machete had the top lopped off, and the shorter woman handed it to Ryan. He greedily gulped down the contents, his mouth singing with joy as the slightly sweet liquid slid down his throat.
“Oh my gosh, thank you so much,” said Ryan.
The two women said nothing, continuing to stare at him as they passed him coconuts, Ryan drinking his fill until juice was pouring down his chin.
“Can we keep him?” said the shorter of the two women to her companion. “I’ll let you get first dibs.”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” said the taller of the women. “Papa won’t be happy.”
“Papa doesn’t have to know,” said the shorter woman. “Please? We can keep him in Emerald Hollow. Papa never goes down there.”
“Think it through, Jess,” said the taller woman. “Look at him. He’s already half starved. Who’s going to bring him food? You? Papa will notice for sure.”
“He looks strong enough. I just want one night, maybe two with him,” said the shorter woman. “Come on. We can share him!”
“Um, I’m right here,” said Ryan, starting to wonder again whether he was hallucinating.
“Fine, but if he causes any trouble, I’m slitting his throat and dumping his body off the cliff,” said the taller woman.
“What?” said Ryan, taking a step back. “Who are you people?”
“Yes!” said the shorter woman, clapping her hands together with delight.
“First, tell us where you came from,” said the taller woman, pointing the tip of her machete at him.
“I told you. I was on a boat that capsized in a storm,” said Ryan. “I was trying to get to Belize. That’s where I am, right?”
“No,” said the shorter woman, vehemently shaking her head.
“Okay, well, whatever,” said Ryan, still trying to figure out what was going on.
“You are a government agent! I can smell it on you,” said the taller woman, her eyes flashing. “Soldier? CIA? FBI?”
Ticket to Valhalla
“Huh? No. I’m just a tourist passing through,” said Ryan. “I’m a college student.”
“Oh, yeah? Which college?” said the taller woman.
“Crestwood University,” said Ryan. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, okay? I don’t mean you any trouble.”
"Never heard of it," said the taller woman before turning to her companion. "I'm telling you, he's a fed."
“So what? Let’s keep him,” said the shorter woman, eyeing him in a way that made him feel deeply uncomfortable.
“Hmm,” said the taller woman. “What’s your name, fed?”
“Ryan,” said Ryan. “Ryan Zimmerman. And I'm not a fed.”
As soon as they heard his last name, the two women exchanged a quick glance of surprise.
“You are German?” said the taller woman.
“Um, maybe my great-grandparents were,” said Ryan. “But me? I’m American.”
“See? He’s of good stock,” said the shorter woman. “He could be our ticket to Valhalla!”
“I’ll be the one who decides that,” said the taller woman. “Ryan, my name is Ulrike. This is my sister Jessica.”
“Hi, cutie,” said the shorter woman, giving him a shy wave.
“Um, nice to meet you,” said Ryan, wondering whether heat stroke was to blame for this weird encounter.
“To answer your earlier question,” said Ulrike, finally lowering her machete. “You are not in Belize. You are on Wexler Island, which is off the coast of Belize. This island, however, is private property.”
“Ah,” said Ryan.
“Visitors are not allowed here,” said Ulrike, frowning. “But there was a strong storm two days ago, so your story is at least somewhat plausible.”
“I swear, it’s all true,” said Ryan. “I left on a fishing boat from Puerto Barrios in Guatemala. I don’t remember the name of the boat, but I’m sure you can look it up on the news. Someone has got to have reported me missing by now.”
“There’s no need for any of that,” said Ulrike. “Since you are illegally trespassing on our island, you now belong to us.”
“What?” said Ryan, dumbfounded.
“Yeah, you belong to us!” said the one called Jessica with a laugh.
“Look, just take me to a phone or something and I’ll be out of your hair,” said Ryan. “I really don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“Oh, there’s not going to be any trouble,” said Ulrike with a leering grin. “Jess, tie him up.”
Ryan wanted to protest, but he knew he was too weak to take on the two young women. Besides, what was he going to do? Engage them in combat? And then what? Even if he could somehow overpower them, he was shipwrecked on their island and still in urgent need of food, medicine, and water. Their base with its supplies could be 100 yards away or miles away. No, he needed them, no matter how unusual they were behaving.
Clearly, the only plausible explanation was that he had fallen in with some kind of religious fanatics. That would explain their odd clothes and the fact that they were living on a remote island. He would just have to play along until he was stronger and knew exactly what was going on. Besides, they were both very physically attractive.
That is why Ryan offered no resistance when Jessica used some vines to secure his hands behind his back. Ulrike then gestured for him to march behind the two young women, wending their way along a narrow path that led through the dense foliage. Despite his predicament, it was several degrees cooler in the shade of the trees, which was a welcome relief.
At first, the walk through the jungle was almost pleasant, but it wasn’t long before Ryan started to feel fatigued as the path was on an uphill incline. Even when they passed by a small waterfall, the cataract plunging into a gorge far below, it was hard to get excited by the natural beauty due to his exhaustion. Meanwhile, the two young women were discussing something amongst themselves, their words too faint for him to make out.
“Are we almost there yet?” called out Ryan, hoping for some relief, but the two women continued on, forcing him to pick up the pace so he didn’t get left behind.
At long last, they reached the opening to a small cave cut into the side of a hill. Ryan was no geological expert, but it didn’t look manmade. Ulrike gestured for him to sit, which he did with a thud, his hands tied behind his back causing him to lose his balance.
“Bring him some water,” said Ulrike, and Jessica sprang into the cave, returning a moment later with a misshapen clay vessel filled with water, which she held to his lips.
Ryan drank his fill, but the water had only served to sharpen his appetite.
“So, are you going to go first or am I?” said Jessica, animatedly bouncing up and down. “I’m the one who found him, remember?”
“Yes, and I’m the eldest, so I get first dibs,” said Ulrike.
“Fine,” said Jessica, pouting.
“Are you guys in some kind of cult or something?” said Ryan. “If so, that’s cool. I’m just curious.”
“Be quiet and take off your shorts,” said Ulrike.
“What?” gasped Ryan.
“Here, I’ll do it,” said Jessica, her eyes shimmering with excitement as she began fumbling with the clasp on his shorts.
“Hold on a minute,” said Ryan with a forced chuckle. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but shouldn’t we get to know each other a little better first?”
“Shut your mouth or I’ll cut your pecker off,” said Ulrike, unsheathing her machete. “Jess, do it.”
Jessica nodded and yanked down his shorts, soon followed by his boxers. Ryan felt utterly humiliated and embarrassed, but the two young women ignored him, too preoccupied with staring at his cock.
“You see? I told you he was of good stock,” said Jessica.
“Yes, that’ll definitely do,” said Ulrike with a smile that sent a shiver of fear racing down his spine.
And then, as if things couldn’t get any stranger, she began unfastening the laces of her homespun dress.
Five
Despite being injured, dehydrated, and not having eaten in days, there was some part of Ryan that couldn’t help but be turned on.
Yes, it was undeniably strange that he had washed up on an island inhabited by religious freaks. And yes, all the talk about cutting his throat and throwing his body over the cliff had scared him. But how else was he supposed to react when in the company of two attractive young women who wanted to have sex with him?
“That’s it, yes,” said Jessica, the younger of the two, her eyes as wide as saucers.
“Like what you see, fed?” said Ulrike, letting her homespun dress drop to the ground, revealing the glory of her naked body to him.
Despite his hands being tied behind his back and not usually interested in being in such a submissive position, Ryan felt his cock begin to stiffen. His rational mind might’ve been confused by the situation, but his dick certainly was not. There was a hot girl in front of him who was eager and willing, and that was good enough.
Just then, though, a third young blonde woman appeared, perhaps a year or so younger than Jessica.
“There you are!” cried the newcomer. “Papa’s been looking for you two everywhere.”
“Go away, Anja,” growled Ulrike, advancing toward Ryan. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“What are you doing?” said the newcomer, a quizzical expression on her face. “Wait, is that a man?”
“Yep! We found him on the beach,” said Jessica, bouncing up and down with excitement. “If you promise not to tell Papa, we'll let you have a turn with him.”
“Not until I’ve gotten my full measure of satisfaction,” said Ulrike, a hungry light in her eyes as she grabbed Ryan’s cock.
“Hey! There you are,” said another young blonde woman dressed identically to the others, appearing at the entrance of the cave. “Woah! Where’d you guys find a man?”
“He washed up on the beach,” said Jessica.
“Yeah, and we’re all gonna take turns fucking him,” said Anja. “If he’s got enough juice in the tank to satisfy all of us that is.”
“Just my luck,” said the fourth young blonde woman, frowning. “He’ll be milked dry by the time you bitches get through with him.”
“Watch and learn, girls. Watch and learn,” said Ulrike with a chuckle as she began stroking Ryan's dick.
He could scarcely believe what was going on. How many attractive young blonde women were there on this island? And why were they so eager to have sex with him? Clearly, they must be cult members. There was no other way to explain their strange behavior.
Yet just when things couldn’t possibly get any more bizarre, a fifth young blonde woman wearing a homespun dress popped her head around the corner.
“Woah, I knew you guys were up to something,” said the newcomer. “What’s this? You’re having a party and didn’t invite me?”
“Ulrike found a man of good stock,” said Anja. “We’re all gonna share him.”
“No, I found him,” said Jessica. “By rights, I should get to fuck him first. But Ulrike is being a bully as usual.”
“No I’m not, you little whore,” said Ulrike. “I’m the oldest, so I should go first.”
“So what? I need him more than you guys do,” said the fourth young blonde woman.
The five women then began to bicker and argue over who would get to have sex with him first. In a way, it was quite arousing to have so many hot girls fighting over him, but it was also disturbing.
Although several women in the past had told him he was cute and had nice eyes, Ryan knew he was far from being the most handsome guy in the world, so what was motivating these blonde girls' eagerness to have sex with him? It just didn’t make any sense. Nonetheless, all of his biological instincts were fired up at the prospect of participating in such a wildly decadent orgy.
However, as it turned out, there wasn’t to be anything like that happening because there was a loud boom in the distance, sounding almost like a cannon being fired that instantly brought the girls’ quarrel to an end.
“Oh crap, that’s Papa,” said Anja, a fearful expression on her face. “We better go.”
“I sure hope he's not in one of his tempers,” said Ulrike, rushing to put her homespun dress back on.
“What’s going on?” asked Ryan.
"That's the signal for us to return to the main house,” said Jessica. “But you’ll be all right for a bit on your own. There are several jars of water in the cave if you're still thirsty.”
“Wait, you’re leaving me?” said Ryan. “At least untie me first!”
“Nah, leave him as he is,” said Ulrike. “Can’t have the fed wandering around where Papa might find him.”
“Save some cum for me later, cutie,” said Jessica, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“When are you coming back?” said Ryan, starting to panic. “Please don’t do this. I need food and medical attention.”
“He’ll live,” said Ulrike. “Now come on, let’s go.”
And with that, all five women turned and departed. For a brief moment, Ryan debated going after them, but all that talk about the mysterious “Papa” figure had him feeling apprehensive. Was he their cult leader? If so, what was he going to do if he found out his followers wanted to have sex with him? Somehow, Ryan didn’t imagine he’d be pleased.
So Ryan stayed right where he was. He caught the occasional glimpse of the five young women through the trees as they made their way up the path. That’s when he noticed that there was some type of manmade structure just barely visible on the crest of the ridgeline. Was that the main house they had been talking about?
Once the girls were fully out of sight, Ryan decided to have a quick look around the cave. He had to bend over almost in half to get past the narrow entrance, but inside the ceiling was high enough that he could stand.
The cave wasn’t particularly large, but there was enough room for two or three people to take shelter from the weather, and he could see the remains of a fire in the center of the floor. Along one wall, someone had crafted a bench by chipping away at the rock. Sitting on the bench were three clay jugs that looked handmade because of their irregular design.
Was the cult that the girls belonged to some kind of traditionalists? The homespun dresses and handmade clay jugs certainly suggested so.
Maybe they were some kind of survivalists who had retreated to the island to live in a self-sufficient fashion. Ryan had certainly heard many of his friends talk about buying some land in the countryside and going “off-grid” in response to stuff like wars, political instability and rising food prices, but he’d never actually met anyone who practiced that lifestyle.
Okay, so they were survivalists of some kind, and probably religious fundamentalists. An island off the coast of Belize was certainly a good choice to get away from the modern world with its abundant rainfall and year-round warm weather.
But what explained the fact that all the young women were blonde and shared similar physical characteristics? Were they sisters?
That was certainly an intriguing thought.
Jars
Ryan had definitely fantasized about having sex with twins before, but five sisters all from the same family?
Very hot. Except for the fact that their "Papa" was out there somewhere, and Ryan was almost certain that he had to be their biological father. He definitely wouldn’t be amused by Ryan consorting with his daughters!
Even more worrisome was the knowledge that Ulrike had told him this island was privately owned and that trespassers weren’t welcome because that strongly suggested that Papa was trying to protect his girls from outsiders. You know, guys like Ryan.
Ulrike had threatened to slit his throat, so what was her Papa going to do when he found out a young man was on his island messing with his daughters?
The whole set-up was bizarre for sure, but Ryan was going to have to wait until the girls returned to get some answers. In the meantime, his number one priority was to figure out how to get those jars open because he was still desperately thirsty.
Kneeling down so he could examine them more closely, it appeared that the stopper on the clay jars had been whittled from wood. If his hands weren’t tied behind his back, it would probably be a simple task to pop open a jar and drink his fill of the water inside. Therefore, his first order of business was to free his hands from the vines binding them together.
Unfortunately, there were no handy knives or cutting implements in the cave. There weren’t even any particularly sharp looking stone edges. Carefully and methodically, Ryan did a full sweep of the cave interior, looking for something he could try and rub the vines against to saw them open.
Not having much luck, he stepped outside of the cave to continue his search. It took him a while, but he finally found a small rock that looked promising with a tapered edge on one side. Picking it up, though, was another matter. In the end, Ryan had to lie down on his back and then wiggle over before his hand finally closed around the rock, and then getting back to his feet was a major ordeal.
Exhausted and still in pain from his injuries, Ryan took a seat on the impromptu bench inside the cave and then began trying to use the rock to cut through the vines. It was very slowgoing work, made even more difficult because he couldn’t see what he was doing. Furthermore, all the exertion was exacerbating his thirst.
Knowing that there was plenty of water nearby in those clay jugs was a special kind of torture. As he patiently worked to saw through the vines, he started imagining how good it would be to unstopper one of those jugs and lift it to his face, a stream of water filling his mouth and dripping down his chin. The fantasy grew so vivid that his throat began to painfully spasm and clench in anticipation of that sweet relief, so he had to force himself to stop daydreaming and get back to work.
It was impossible to say how long he continued his futile efforts, but when the ache in his wrist muscles finally got too painful, Ryan let the rock drop onto the bench. Clearly, the vines were too thick to cut through with it, and now he was mad with thirst. Somehow, he had to find a way to get a jar open so he could drink!
Just then, an idea popped into his head. What if he backed up to one of the jars and used his fingers to unstopper it? Then he could use his nose to tilt the jar over until the water began to pour out. It wasn’t the most elegant solution, and he was probably going to spill a lot, but if even a drop got in his mouth, it would be worth it.
Getting the stopper out proved to be fairly easy even with his back turned to the jar. The next part, though, was much trickier. Ryan got to his knees and then tried to use his nose to tip the jar over in his direction, but it was just too heavy, so all that happened was that he bruised his nose.
With no other choice, Ryan clamped his teeth around the lip of the jar and pulled. The hard clay in his mouth tasted awful, but he was elated as he felt the jar begin to tilt. Yet even when he bent over as far as he could, the angle wasn’t sufficient to let the water flow out because the bench the jar was sitting on was too close to the ground.
“Fuck!” shouted Ryan, letting the jar crash onto the floor of the cave and splinter into more than a dozen jagged shards.
Ryan was so thirsty at that point that he could smell the water. Most of it instantly seeped into the dusty rock floor of the cave, of course, but a few of the shards were shaped in such a way that they got filled with a few drops of water.
Ryan had to get down onto his belly to drink, but it was worth it as he eagerly slurped every molecule that he could, including by sucking on a few of the smaller pieces that had merely gotten wet.
Nonetheless, Ryan knew that he had consumed perhaps a teaspoon of water in total, nowhere near enough that his body so desperately craved. But as he struggled to regain his feet, he realized that some of the broken pieces had a sharp edge. Therefore, he went through the painful process again of lying down and rolling over until he could grasp one of the pieces in his hands.
This time it was going to be better, he could tell as he ran his thumb over the edge of the pottery shard because he could feel it was much sharper than the rock had been. Sure enough, after perhaps half an hour of patient sawing, he felt some of the vines begin to loosen and snap apart.
All told, the sun had begun to sink beneath the horizon by the time Ryan wrenched one of his hands loose with a triumphant roar. Without waiting to remove the vines from his other hand, he raced over to one of the intact jars, removed the stopper, and lifted it to his face.
“Double fucking fuck!” screamed Ryan when all he got for his efforts was a trickle of sand in his mouth, the jar being completely empty.
Thankfully, the third and final jar was full of water, and Ryan guzzled it down until his stomach began to ache. The water tasted incredibly sweet, sweeter even than that hot Tiky pineapple soda he had drunk on the beach, sweeter than any beverage he had ever consumed in his entire life.
Finally sated, Ryan let out a little belch and then collapsed onto the bench. He then searched around for the broken shard of pottery and used it to slice through the remaining vines wrapped around his other hand. He then massaged his aching wrists and pondered his next move.
Now that he was no longer in danger of dying of dehydration, the next order of business was to find some food. But where? Ryan hadn’t seen any fruit trees during his brief time on the island, and there was no food stored in the cave. He was hungry enough to eat an insect at that point, but he hadn’t seen any of those either.
Yet just as Ryan stepped out of the cave to have another look around, he saw a man dressed in all khaki coming up the path, holding a rifle in his hands. Ryan’s instinct was to flee, but it was too late. The man had already spotted him.
“Halt!” shouted the man as he charged toward Ryan.
Last a Thousand Years
Ryan had been on the island for less than a day, and twice already he had been threatened by someone with a weapon.
Too tired and hungry to risk fleeing, Ryan held up his hands and tried to look as non-threatening as possible as the man with the gun rushed over toward him. The man had brown hair, cut almost obscenely short, and brown eyes. If he was the “Papa” of the five blonde girls, Ryan certainly couldn’t see any physical resemblance.
“Wer bist du?" "Woher kommst du?” angrily shouted the man.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying,” said Ryan, trying not to look at the gun pointed at his midsection. “Do you speak English? ¿Habla usted español?”
“Ah, you are American?” said the man, his English fluent with only the slightest trace of an accent.
“Yes, that’s right. I’m American,” said Ryan, relieved to know he could communicate with the armed man.
“What are you doing on my island?” said the man. “You are a government agent?”
“No, no, just a college student,” said Ryan, trying his best to sound nonchalant. “I was on a boat that capsized in a storm. I’m not here to cause any trouble, sir.”
“Show me your ID!” demanded the man.
“Um, I don’t have any,” said Ryan. “I washed up on the beach a few hours ago, and all of my possessions are gone.”
“If you are a government agent, you must tell me!” snarled the man.
“Dude, what is up with you people?” said Ryan, getting fed up with all the accusations. “I’m just a friggin' tourist, okay? I was trying to get to Belize. That’s it.”
“Belize?” said the man, blinking his eyes.
“Yeah,” said Ryan. “If you can help get me there, I’ll be more than happy to leave your island.”
“This is private property!” thundered the man.
“Yes, so I’ve heard,” said Ryan, wondering if everyone on the island was some kind of lunatic. “Look, I don’t know what kind of thing you’ve got going on here, and I don’t care. Just kindly let me use your phone, and I’ll be on my way.”
“What is your name?” said the man.
“Ryan,” said Ryan. “Ryan Zimmerman.”
“Ja?” said the man, his eyes wide with surprise. “Du bist ein Deutscher?”
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” said Ryan. “But if you’re asking me if I’m German, the answer is no. I mean, maybe my great-grandfather was, but I’m American, you know what I mean?”
“Ah, you have the cheekbones of a German,” said the man, smiling and lowering his gun. “You really should learn the language of your ancestors.”
“Yeah, maybe I will,” said Ryan, relieved to be able to put his hands down. “When I get back home to the United States.”
“America is a cesspit of sin and depravity,” said the man, giving Ryan a hard stare.
“Can’t argue with you there, man,” said Ryan with a forced chuckle.
“I am Klaus. Klaus Wexler,” said the man, pronouncing his last name with a “V” and extending his hand.
“Nice to, um, meet you, sir,” said Ryan. “And quite a lovely island you’ve got.”
“Yes,” said Klaus. “The heat is unbearable sometimes, but this is my fortress of solitude. Unfortunately, while the mainland is still occupied by degenerates, it is the closest I can get to recreating paradise.”
“Sure thing,” said Ryan, not quite understanding and too tired to care. “So, Mr. Wexler sir, do you have a phone I could use? Or maybe a boat I could borrow?”
“Nonsense, nonsense,” said Klaus, surprising Ryan by clapping him on the shoulder. “You must come up to the big house and refresh yourself.”
The big house? Oh boy. Between the guy’s last name and that comment, he was almost certainly the five blonde girls’ Papa. The last thing Ryan needed was to get on his bad side.
“Um, I think I’ve already caused enough trouble as it is,” said Ryan.
“We Germans are renowned for our hospitality,” said Klaus, giving Ryan a hard look. “Come. I insist.”
“All right, then,” said Ryan, letting out a small sigh as he fell in behind Klaus.
Just as Ryan had feared, Klaus led him up a path that slowly climbed toward the ridgeline. The fact that Ryan had German ancestry had appeased Papa for now, but what was he going to do when he discovered that Ryan had already met his daughters? Or was something else even weirder going on?
Despite his misgivings, Ryan was relieved that Klaus wasn’t sporting any religious insignia or talking any theological nonsense. Maybe he was a secular survivalist, not hiding out on some remote island for ideological reasons. Or maybe he was as mad as a hatter. There really was no way to tell.
“This boat that capsized, this was your boat?” asked Klaus.
“No, no,” said Ryan. “I paid a local guy to take me to Belize, captain of a fishing boat.”
“Local guy?” said Klaus.
“Yeah, from Punto Barrios in Guatemala if you know it,” said Ryan.
“Meh! Filthy savages, the lot of ’em,” said Klaus, turning his head to spit. “It is no wonder that your boat sank. Guatemala is infested with mudbloods from top to bottom.”
Mudbloods? Had Ryan somehow stumbled upon a Harry Potter fan? If so, it was a deliciously weird detail. Assuming he managed to successfully get off the island in one piece, Ryan was going to have one heck of a tale to tell his friends and family.
"Um, yeah," said Ryan, not knowing what else to say.
“When did this storm occur?” said Klaus, not even breathing hard despite the steep incline of their ascent.
“Um, two days ago, I think,” said Ryan. “Maybe three. I really don’t know. I hit my head when I went overboard.”
“Yes, there was a strong squall in this area two days ago,” said Klaus, nodding. “Even more reason for you to rest and take refreshments. Come!”
“I’m walking as fast as I can, dude,” muttered Ryan to himself, struggling to keep up with the older man.
Ryan was drenched in sweat and his legs had turned to jelly by the time they finally crested the ridgeline and a house came into view.
Actually, it looked more like a castle than a house with four round towers on each corner. Despite his exhaustion, Ryan had to admit that it was quite a stunning feat of architecture, especially in such a remote place as this.
“Welcome,” said Klaus with a conciliatory gesture. “To my island steadfast. May its walls last a thousand years!”
“Pretty nice place you’ve got here,” said Ryan.
But instead of leading him inside, Klaus picked up a long, curved musical instrument of some kind and blew a deep, sonorous note that echoed off the thick jungle foliage in the valley below.