The Offering

A nasal chuckle escaped as the metal detector in his hands beeped an alert. When the noise stopped he paused before sweeping the area again. Triumph bloomed in his heart as the alarm sounded. He dug a hole with one steel toed boot.

“Careful now,” he told himself. “Could be anything.” But he knew this was it. He’d beat them all this time. He began compiling a mental checklist of the people he would gloat over. Larry the Loser; they all called him that. Well, not any more.

He returned to the bundle lying at the bottom of the rock pile he’d climbed over. Climbing the sharp edged, salt-slicked rock formation had taken him nearly an hour. Since he had gotten wind of the archeological discovery nearby, he had known. It was easy money. None of the others had been searching this stretch of water, not yet.

The ragged bundle had begun life a serviceable army green backpack. Now faded to a greenish brown, its canvas straps frayed in places, it was Larry’s oldest friend. He rifled through it and pulled out a camp shovel. Freeing it from a tangle of rope, he turned and headed back to the place he had marked. A pass of the metal detector and another satisfying beep later, he began to dig.

Newspapers had published several articles on the archeological dig being hailed as the “find of the century.” A farmer out grazing his sheep had stumbled into a sinkhole and found a ruined temple. The story of the Viking-era find was leaked to the media. Shortly thereafter the vultures had begun their descent – reporters, curiosity seekers, treasure hunters like Larry himself.

“Look, here comes Larry,” the hunters had laughed at him. He listened as they talked over the most likely sites to search. The site was off limits and monitored – it appeared to be a temple to one of the old sea gods, perhaps Aegir or Ran, and this was thrilling. It was the first find of its kind –no temple to the sea gods had ever been discovered.

“Where there’s temples there’s offerings,” Larry muttered as he worked, digging at the sand. The trick was to find the sacrificial horde before the archeologists did. It was illegal to sell horde items – but that never stopped anyone.

The shovel connected to metal with a crack. He eagerly knelt over the hole. Bony fingers groped in the sand, outlining a shape. He stood with a sly smile and dug around the item he had unearthed. His shovel had clanged against a metal band across the top of a chest. Larry cleaned off as much sand as he could. The hasps had fused with corrosion and age. Although small, roughly two feet wide and not more than a foot thick, the chest was too heavy for him to lug with him back over the rocks that secluded this area of the beach. He had to break it open.

Several hard strikes with the shovel finally broke through the ancient wood. A wave, nearly spent, caressed the edges of Larry’s boots before hissing back to join the larger mass of ocean. He didn’t notice. Fixated on the chest, he began prying away bits of wood from the top. Runnels of water glided in like random explorers, investigating Larry’s boots before edging inexorably back into line.

Larry ran one thin hand through his dirty hair. The hole in the wood was big enough for his hands. Reaching down, he grabbed the first hard object meeting his questing fingers and drew it out. He recognized it instantly. It was a torc shaped of braided metal. Large enough to be worn around a man’s neck, on its ends were the heads of birds. Larry studied them. They resembled either ravens or images of the local sea birds. Black glittered in their eye sockets-onyx, he thought, or obsidian. He scraped the accumulated grime off a small section with his thumbnail.

“Gold,” Larry breathed. His sudden cackle cut through the rolling sound of the waves. Setting the neckpiece aside, he reached into the chest.

Item after item emerged. Normally finds like this were a combination of metal objects, mostly silver. As near as Larry could tell under the mantle of age all the items were gold. He lost track of time, kneeling at the edge of the hole he had dug, pulling out various pieces. The value was beyond Larry’s wildest estimations.

A sudden roaring alerted him. He snapped his head around. The tide was coming in fast. Cursing, Larry shook his fist at the onrush of cold water. Ripping off his jacket, still swearing, he began to shovel the treasure into it. Waves began lunging at him, rolling back only to return with redoubled force. He worked faster – that gold was his. For its part, the water continued to rise.

Snatching the last piece as a wave began to drag it away, Larry grabbed the edges of his coat and stood. The weight of sodden material and metal made him stagger. At the same instant, a particularly large wave crashed into the backs of his thighs. Startled, he fell forward. The jacket flew open, pieces of gold scattering. The wave pulled back and the gold moved with it, lighter items dancing along the sand. Larry scrambled on hands and knees, trying to catch the pieces. Another wave chose that moment to slam into him. Already down, Larry clawed for purchase. Undertow drew his slight frame into its embrace. Light exploded behind his eyes as he struggled for air. Something struck his head – the heavy base of the metal detector. Surprised lungs expanded, water flooding into his mouth and nose at the involuntary inhalation.

The tide flowed in to shore. Soon the beach was smooth, unmarred save for a worn out army surplus backpack. Hours later the ocean retreated again. The hole had filled in. The gold, the chest, and Larry were gone.

-TRK-

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