Milleniums of Jorth
by Adam Manning
Chapter 1
The End
Bragi felt the breath of death on his back. His legs
stumbled on the irregular forest floor, so tired and numb now. Already his
evil-soaked follower had taken the lives of all their comrades until only Bragi
was left. The death that chased him was too strong and too sly for any normal
man to lose even in the unexplored, dark tree world in which they ran. With
every laugh from his pursuer’s feral throat, Bragi knew that he was lost too.
Once or twice he glanced back to see what distance there remained between them
only to note the gains the other made with every stride. The naked sky-coloured
figure, arms held aloft momentarily, howled in victory and then leapt after him
again. Bragi knew death was on his heel. And this death was his older brother
and Captain, Leif Ericsson.
Why could he not turn and plead with him to spare his life,
that of his only brother? Surely Leif would listen. That was suicidal folly
though; Leif had plunged into an abyss bereft of reason these past few days.
Perhaps the woad, the light blue skin paint of the warrior, which he had daubed
all over him gave Leif the magical strength to keep running when others would
have long since come to a halt. Leif had boasted the previous night that he had
gained the favour of the gods, that Odin himself now dwelled within his body.
If this was so, should he not stop and let the gods mete out their own justice
upon him? To do otherwise would be to
question the gods themselves. His mind a reeling confusion, Bragi did not
notice as his legs began to falter even more.
The gods. How different had Leif’s teaching on such matters
been before they had come to this island. Like a gull returning to a long lost
nest, his thoughts flew to a safe time just three days ago. On the canvass of
his memory a picture appeared, that of their ship sailing bravely along an uncharted
coast. How long ago that all seemed now.
* * *
“The gods are dead. Long live God!” Leif proclaimed happily
to his first mate Thorfinn. Despite his
gleeful exterior, he felt some nagging memory gnawing at him. He tried to
summon it forth so that he might deal with it and put it aside but everytime it twisted out of his grasp. Their ship, the Surfrider, was making good
progress. It was a large merchant ship, or knorr. Their voyage was only
the latest in his family’s history of exploration. These had begun some twenty
years ago after the rulers of Iceland decided to banish his father, Eric the
Red, as punishment for an outrageous act of homicide. Sailing out into the
Western Ocean, Eric discovered a large island to the north-west and called it
Greenland. After returning to Iceland for colonists, Eric and his followers
settled in Greenland at a place they called Brattahild. There, Leif had grown
up amongst the pagan farmer folk of that land, learning the tales about the
gods such as Thor and Odin. He also talked with many of the traders and
merchantmen who, though it was quite rarely, sailed to their far shores.
Only one year ago, Leif decided to journey back to Norway,
their ancestral home. His family had become as prosperous as a family could
hope to be living in such a harsh land and he used two ship, one for him and
one for trading cargo, on the journey. Once there, he had been taught about the
ways of the Krist by the priests. He had been told that the old gods had been
thrown down and now the Lord was the ruler of men’s hearts. So joyous was the
teaching the priests gave him, how he could hope to live on eternally after his
body had died and how God’s love could give him a shield far stronger than any
made from wood or metal, that he eagerly took on this new spiritual raiment. He
was a special guest of King Olaf’s clergy, coming as he did from a far-off
outpost, and they kindly requested that he share his freshly minted coins of
truth with the Greenlanders when he returned. This request Leif had eagerly
accepted.
On the journey back though Leif’s imagination had become
enflamed by a hitherto unsuspected spark of ambition. Just as his father had discovered and then settled a new land, so
Leif now wished to sight domains previously unseen. These new regions he would claim for Krist, whose banner Leif now
fervently carried in his heart. A
sailor by the name of Bjarne Herjultsson had once told Leif how some fifteen
years ago he had sailed far to the west and had glimpsed a green arc of land on
the horizon that suggested a lush and it was to this place Leif had turned his
ships, in this, the one thousandth year since the birth of Krist.
Indeed they had spotted land to the west and had beached
their ships three times already. The first place they called Helluland, the
next Markland and the last (where they had made their settlement) was called
Vinland, named after the plentiful vines they imagined such a sweet place
should grow. At no time had they seen
any native peoples. This was unexpected as a strange race of men had been found
on Greenland and it seemed only natural more would be found in these warmer
climes.
But Leif had wanted to press on even then and see more of
this new country. After the rough houses were constructed, Leif took one of the
ships and crewed it with his most skilled sailors. He told those that were to
remain that they were off to seek even more pleasant surroundings in which to
live but he knew secretly that this was not the real reason for the
continuation of their journey. Something small, vague yet persistent, folded
deep down in his soul was unravelling and it was this that made him push on,
made him unable to rest just yet. Perhaps this was his destiny then, to never
find a harbour in which to put in for good and to always have to go on. But
these doctrines, of destiny, of fate or (as it was called by his kinsmen) of
the wyrd, were a relic of his people’s pagan past that should have been
thrown out like yesterday’s night-soil. He quickly dismissed such thoughts.
They had followed the coast, putting in to shore every
night. What improvements the new faith had brought them, Leif thought on one of
these evenings round the fire. No longer were they tied to the gods or their
bizarre rituals, no more did they fear for the end of the world at the great
battle of Ragnarok but instead knew that there would be a resurrection of the
dead. Where once his countrymen were feared as killers and slayers, now they
traded and farmed. The Krist had indeed
soothed even the Viking soul.
These musings came back to Leif has he trod the deck of the Surfrider. He remembered that shortly afterwards their
supplies had begun to run low and crewmen mumbled about starving. Hunting in the areas just off shore was not
yielding enough game to keep them happy and Leif had just decided that they
ought to turn back for Vinland when a curious wind filled their sail. It blew
from the north-east, in direct contrast to the normal winds of the region which
originated from the south-west. Intrigued, Leif had to use all his bellowing
rage to keep his men from sailing back to the settlement as they wished. Instead he now ordered them to go in the
direction that this unnatural wind wanted to take them. With this weird breeze on his back, Leif
found it difficult not to turn over the old heathen tales of his ancestors in
his mind again despite the teachings of the priests.
To starboard, where the coast lay, the shore came to an end.
The ship was blown on and they looked to see a huge bay. A hard day’s sailing
took them to the other side of the opening of the bay and there they had landed
for the night. Here the terrain and
weather were both the mildest yet and they found enough food, both plant and
animal, to keep them somewhat satiated.
As they set sail the next morning, Leif had wondered to himself whether
the wind could guide men’s destinies.
Yet, he reasoned, all things serve the will of God and that included the
wind. This conclusion was enough to
save him from further worry.
That had been this morning and it now some hours later. The
look out declared, “land ahoy!” and they were soon sailing for a green line on
the horizon, obviously earth abundant with leaf and bush. As he stared out
beyond the Surfrider’s prow, a dark gloom settled on Leif’s heart. Though the clear sky was ruled by a dazzling
sun, a rumbling thundercloud blackened his mood but he could not understand
why. Around him, his crew seemed
untroubled and were eagerly going about their business. An oarsman, Finn, caught him by the arm
saying, “maybe this place will be good enough for you then, Captain?”. His
friends chuckled at this playful mocking of their leader. Leif snatched his arm back.
“We’ll see”, he muttered. The
others were started at this switch to a surly demeanour. “Get back to your duties. Attend me not, it is just some useless worry
that has taken hold of me for the moment”, he told them. “I wish to land on
that shore before noon”. The odd wind had now become less than a playful
breeze.
The ship drew closer, cutting through the gentle swells. It
seemed to the Surfrider’s crew
that the land they neared was either and island or a large peninsula as it
jutted out into the sea. Only a short
distance had they traversed when the look out in the prow gave another shout.
“Yon land
greets us with a bright rainbow, Captain!”
Leif merely grunted sullenly at this news. It appeared that the area of the island (as they presumed it to
be) to which they were no sailing was not fit for the purposes of landing the
ship and he barked the necessary orders to change their vessel’s heading. He
paid the subject of his look out’s call no attention as inside a whirling
sensation had taken hold of him, as if the fabric of his mind was unravelling.
So afflicted by this was he that he took hold of the gunwhale in order to
steady himself, lest he fall to the deck as if drunk.
As the ship came about gently and slid off westerly of their
previous direction, the look out cried out again. A touch of incredulity now coloured his speech. “Captain, in the name of Heaven, look sir!
That rainbow’s not like any I’ve seen before. Look!”
“What boy?
Have these days at sea addled your wits?” Leif snapped. He turned to where the dark-haired lad
jabbed at with his index finger and gasped. The Surfrider had now drawn
up to within two hundred yards of the island.
They could see a narrow, rocky shore that was quickly overtaken by a
dense wall of trees behind it. But
towering over these like a shimmering arc of silver was a rainbow, or at least
a rainbow of sorts. For though one end of it must have had its origins within
the forest in a region not far from shore, the other end could not be
determined. Instead the rainbow curved
straight up into the sky and disappeared beyond the clouds, which it illumined
with a soft, colourful glow. In shape,
it looked like the bottom half of the back of a bow, instead of the full
semi-circle as was expected of rainbows.
As he studied it, his fingers rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully, Leif noted that from their
vantage point the rainbow arced away from them to starboard. Thorfinn and the
others gazed up in awe and puzzlement too.
The Surfrider glided over the waves. As the crew worked to alter its direction so
that its could run parallel with the coast of the island, they conferred about
what exactly it was they were seeing.
“It is
written in the Book, that God’s covenant with Man was made after the Flood and
that the sign of His covenant is the rainbows”, Kalf explained, his hands
resting on the black belt that looked like the only thing that restrained his
enormous girth. Like many of Leif’s
crew, he too had been converted to the new way. “We should look upon this rainbow as a sign that we are favoured
by the All-Father in his journey.” They now sought to bring the sail in and put
the oars out to bring the ship in as near as possible to the shore. The All-Father was a title that had been
used to honour Odin, the heathen chief of the gods, but was now used in a
similar fashion to venerate the Lord.
“See how a
glittering rain falls from the bow like a gentle waterfall in summer?” Ivar
said, the oldest of them and also a Kristian.
He was tall and gaunt and moved in an animated fashion. Having sailed
nearer the apparent source of the weird curve of colour, all could now see that
indeed a thin veil of droplets fell from along its length like a curtain of
jewels. “This must surely be God’s
sign, which He made after He rid the world of the evil ones that lived before
his righteous Flood.” Leif had taken no
part in this discourse and had instead stared out at the strange
phenomenon. Though he stood as if he
had been carved in wood, all could feel something inside him churning or
winding, as if some demon thrashed at his soul. A number of his crew now gazed at him, pondering why their
Captain was standing so still and uttering all the words of a statue. Finally he spoke.
“Bifrost”,
he stated defiantly, a brush of his arm indicating he meant the rainbow. Those listening took a step back. Leif himself was as surprised as his shipmates
at his announcement.
“No,
Captain. It cannot be, those are the old legends taught in pagan days when our
lands had not heard the good teachings of the Krist. Surely you must see?” Ivar
pleaded.
“Bifrost”,
again Leif proclaimed, turning to his men at last. “It is the Rainbow Bridge,
that connection between the world of men and the world of the gods.” Some
shuddered at this blasphemy, others muttered their agreement. “I mean to cross that archway to Asgard.”
Leif’s thoughts had grown focussed again, his inner turmoil resolved with a
startling, cold clarity.
“Aye, it
would seem to be the image of that span which bridges Midgard to the home of
the immortals, my brother”, Bragi Ericsson agreed. Leif knew he could always
expect his closest kinsman’s allegiance. The majority of the crew, Kristians by
inclination, were not so quick to reach this conclusion. Ivar muttered
contemptuously under his breath but was heard by his Captain. Leif grabbed his
shoulder and shook him.
“Do none of
you see?” he asked them all, turning to address them. “We must sail this rocky
shore to a safer spot and look for a beach to land the ship upon. Then we must
make for this rainbow, this Bifrost, and then we shall to which god it
belongs.”
The others were not overly convinced. But eventually Leif persuaded them,
promising them gifts of honour, beer and a little (in some cases very little)
gold upon their return to Greenland if they would do this for him. The Surfrider’s
crew brought her round the rocky outcrop of the island and luckily a short
distance up the coast was a fine beach. Whilst Leif and the others were busily
engaged in this work, whether it be at the rudder or at the oar, the look out
gazed fixedly at the apparition. As they
approached the beach, he gave another excited cry.
“Look now
Captain! That rainbow has grown sir!” Like all the crew, the youthful look out
had seen plenty of them before, but this one was unique. They all looked up
once more and indeed, the rainbow had grown. Or rather, it was as if they had
drawn closer to it. This was again very different from all the rainbows they
had seen before: none could remember having actually ever gotten close to a
rainbow. Instead, as Ivar explained, they always seemed to keep the same
distance between themselves and the observer.
“Perhaps if
you should find the pot at the end there Captain, we may be getting our gold a
little earlier than you thought!” Finn mused, his long blonde hair shaking
softly as he chuckled. As the ship had
turned round the headland, they had watched the view of the rainbow change.
Whereas before they had been looking at it from an angle and saw the great
curve sweeping upward, they now saw it almost directly head on. From this new
direction the rainbow seemed to go straight up, a bright spear of green, blue
and all the other hues, piercing the clouds. This too, in even the most salty
seamen’s knowledge, was unprecedented.
Now they headed for the shore. The Surfrider, some two dozen yards long, was rowed in
close to the shore and the anchor dropped just short of the point where it
would been in danger of running aground.
Some of the crew, Gunnar, Svein and Bjorn, leaped over the gunwhale to
land chest deep in the tide. They helped as a long ramp was latched onto the
ship’s side and then lowered down. This
provided access to the beach and meant (as long as the wind did not blow too
strongly) none had to get too wet going ashore.
From the beach, the thick trees that dominated the landscape
beyond the beach meant they could no longer see the lowest portion of the
rainbow where it climbed up from the forest.
But they had reckoned before that if the rainbow met the ground, that
spot must lie some half a dozen miles inland of where they had weighed anchor. After only the shortest pauses for food and
the setting up of a rudimentary camp on the beach, Leif led sixteen of his
score of men into the woods. They
hacked and slashed their way through the dense foliage, sometimes stopping as
the roar or grunt of some unknown beast surprised them. But they were unmolested bar the usual
swarms of gnats and flies they had come to expect in these warm lands.
Many hours passed in this fashion. Some began to ask if they ought to turn back to the ship lest
they have to spend a fitful night sleeping on the forest floor, waking at every
cough from whatever monsters lived thereabouts. Leif pressed on at the party’s front, his axe head greatly dulled
from the labour it had been put too.
“We must be
near Bifrost, my brave lads. See, the trees have more reach for their branches
here?” The others grunted their acquiescence. The thinning of the forest made
their passage easier and this was coupled in all of them with a curiosity to
see the rainbow’s source. It occurred to Leif that perhaps this episode was awakening
the Viking lust for exploration in all of them. At his side strode Bragi.
Shortly it grew quite dark and the hoots and cries from the
forest’s animal denizens grew bolder. Across the forest floor, at the furthest
point that could be seen between the trees, a diffuse light glowed. Cringing, Svein recounted a family tale
concerning malignant elves inhabiting such woods as these, pointing to this
latest strange sight. Leif silenced him
with a glare. He stepped boldly towards
it and Bragi and he soon discerned the lower reaches of a hillock from whose
height the gentle illumination shone. The trees stopped an unnatural distance
away from the base of this singular ascension from the ground as if a barrier
prevented them from growing nearer to it.
The Surfrider’s
crew paid no attention to this,
transfixed as they were by the luminescence from above.
Leif and Bragi
jogged to the bottom of the hillock, holding the hilts of their scabbarded
swords. The others followed less
impatiently, full of trepidation.
No comments:
Post a Comment