The Snow on the Cross (11 page)

“Look, Bishop,” said Bjarni, who had
come over to stand beside me.  “We will have meat tonight.  What do you think?”

I saw the glistening on the ice where
the animal was sprawled out.  Suddenly, my hunger vanished.  “Meat’s fine,” I
said finally, choking a little.

Bjarni smiled, clapped me on the
shoulder.  “You are doing well, Bishop,” he said in a very low voice.  “Eirik
is watching you.  Make him proud.”

I frowned.  “I am not here to make
Eirik proud,” I told Bjarni.  “I am not his son, and he is not my father.  I do
not care if Eirik is proud of me.”

Bjarni seemed satisfied for whatever
reason, I do not know, and he left me there to inch closer to the fire.  I sat
down and stuck my hands out, almost burning them in the process with my
eagerness.  I had no interest in the deer the men were busily hacking apart a
few feet to my left, and I tried not to hear the wet sounds as they ripped and
tore the creature apart.  Eirik stepped over to the fire and gazed at me
through the flames that made his face ripple.  He was challenging me, but in
his silent way.  He spoke sharply to the men dressing the reindeer, and there
was a moist splitting sound.  I looked over to see the dripping heart yanked
out of the chest of the animal.  Steam rose off it in tiny puffs as one of the
men held it up.  Eirik looked satisfied.

Before I knew it the heart was
brought over to me.  Blood ran off it in great streams that pooled around my
feet.  I noticed Bjarni smirking a bit as I was handed the heart.  I would not
touch it.  I could smell the rich, coppery scent of it, and my stomach closed
up.  Not ten minutes ago, this heart was pumping lifeblood through the beast
that lay spread across the ice fifteen feet away.  It had not even cooled off,
and the steam continued to rise from it. 

“Bishop Arnald, it is a great honor
among our people to be the first to taste the animal that will provide
nourishment for us,” Bjarni’s voice, drifting over the crackle of the fire.

So, they wanted me to eat this
reindeer’s heart.  I would not do it.  I didn’t care if it was a great honor or
not.  These men had done nothing for me, and I decided I would not give them
the satisfaction of being their entertainment.   I shook my head and pushed the
arm away that held the heart out to me without actually touching the dribbling
mass it held. 

The man holding the heart looked over
at Eirik, whose face had turned from slight interest to dark anger.  Eirik said
something to Bjarni, and the tone in his voice was abrupt.  Bjarni looked back
at me, and the look on his face told me that I was being difficult.  So be it. 
If they didn’t want me here, they should have left me at Brattahild.  Eirik
spat into the fire and looked as if I had insulted him greatly.  I met his gaze
and tried not to look away, even though the strain of staring at those stormy
eyes buried deep within that ragged face made me begin to tremble.

Eirik spat away and uttered something
that may have been a curse in my direction.  He grabbed the heart from the man
who held it.  Streaks of blood ran down Eirik’s arm leaving red rivers that
snaked a path over his skin.  I decided one of two things would happen.  Either
Eirik would keep the heart and eat it himself, or he would ram it into my mouth
and force me to swallow.  The look on his face told me he was leaning toward
the latter option.

Eirik took a step around the fire,
and the others backed away suddenly leaving me isolated.  They knew whatever he
was about to do was not going to be pleasant.

He said Bjarni’s name, and it came
out as a bark.  Bjarni, face turning pale, stepped forward, and Eirik began
growling at him and then pointing at me.  Bjarni looked afraid of Eirik, and
with good reason.  Eirik was yelling now, his face turning bright red and
flushed.  Bjarni replied in a much lower, softer voice.  I do not know what
exactly Bjarni said to Eirik, but it did not make Eirik happy.

With a quick lash, Eirik’s fist
lashed out.  Bjarni fell backwards on the ice, barely missing landing in the
fire.  He rolled over and I saw the welt rising on Bjarni’s face that would
later turn into an ugly purple and green bruise that would eventually cover
half his face.  That would come later.  For now, Bjarni was dazed, trying to
gather himself as Eirik stepped over him.  The blood from the heart rained down
upon the poor man, and suddenly the blood from his smashed face became mingled
with the blood that dripped over him.  Eirik glared at me, and I realized he
had caught me watching the entire incident like a small child marveling at some
magical wonder.  Eirik’s gaze was smoking, and he practically dared me with his
eyes to stand up and come to the fallen Viking’s aid.  I didn’t move.  I sat
calmly by the fire, trying not to shake too violently.

The others avoided Eirik’s smoldering
look as they immediately found something else to look at, either at the slain
deer or the twirling flakes of snow, anything but the simmering rage that had
settled over Eirik the Red.  As Eirik left Bjarni moaning on the ice, he took a
giant step in my direction, and suddenly he was on top of me, standing over and
looking down as Goliath must have looked at David right before the stone hit. 
His impossibly large hand, the one without the heart, was reaching down for me,
and before I could move, had hooked onto my sleeve.

I felt myself hoisted up, yanked
effortlessly in the air.  My feet kicked, and it took me a moment to realize
that I had no footing.  The ground was somewhere below me, forever out of reach
of my helpless feet that dangled.  I found myself staring deeply into the eyes
of the dragon himself as he shook me, his voice booming.  I had never been this
close to Eirik before, and his face so close to mind was truly humbling.  The
heat from him was a furnace, and the sound he made as he spoke made my ears ring. 
Did he not realize I had no idea what he was saying to me?  He was squeezing
the heart, and it squished into a pulpy mess, spraying me with blood.  Perhaps
he was giving me a demonstration of how my heart would look after he cut it out
of me.  I felt very ill, and my head was spinning as he shook me.

With a grunt, he unceremoniously
threw me to the ground.  I hit hard and I felt my shoulder crack.  Through
watery eyes, I raised my head and saw Eirik as he walked away, obviously
disgusted with both me and Bjarni, for he aimed a kick at the poor man as he
passed by.  I heard the crunch of something and Bjarni’s cry, but by then the
pain in my shoulder was taking over my body.  I saw Eirik fling the heart into
the fire, where it began to sizzle loudly, and then he was gone.  He vanished
somewhere out on the ice field away from the fire and into the darkness,
leaving Bjarni and myself lying on the ice like discarded toys.

When the night came and the darkness
was finally complete, I felt myself falling into a hazy slumber.  The pain from
my shoulder had let up somewhat, and I was conscious of the Vikings as they
gathered around the fire and cooked their meat.  It smoked and fizzed and the
smells came to me, not altogether unpleasant.  I refused to eat any of it, even
though it was offered to me.    I believed the meat was tainted, and God only
allowed meat to be eaten on certain days.  Even though I wasn’t sure which day
it was now, I was sure I could pass on the meat and not offend anyone.

The Vikings didn’t seem to care
whether or not I ate.  They simply began roasting their own meat, squatting
down by the fire, not talking to one another.  They avoided looking at Bjarni,
who sat off by himself, a dark look on his face.  I felt pity for the man, and
I wondered what it was he had said to Eirik to make him so angry.

When the moon rose, its glow skipped
across the fields of ice and practically made them glow.  With such a light, it
would have been just as simple to travel in darkness as daylight.  I wanted to
ask what difference it made whether or not we walked during the day or the
night, but in the end I kept silent.  I merely sat and watched the moon shadows
play across the ice.  I thought I saw Eirik far away in the distance: a black
speck against the white, but I was never sure if it was him, and I didn’t
bother to ask.

I slept as close to the fire as I
could, wrapped in a fur that was almost useless against the ice.  I felt the
heat seeping into my skin, and as I drifted off to sleep, I do not think I even
cared if I burned to death while I slept.  At least it would have been a warm
death.  The others had moved a bit further back from the fire.  I assumed it
was either to stay away from me or to protect themselves from the flames. 
These men were more accustomed to the cold nights here, so I didn’t worry about
their health as I slept.

A piercingly loud howl awoke me
sometime during the night.  I cracked my eyes opened to see the fire had died
down to smoking ashes, and I was just wishing that someone would come and stoke
it back up again, when I noticed the others were gone.  The sky was turning
light, so I knew the dawn was not far away.  The sleds were gone, and the
tattered remains of the deer were the only sign that anyone had been here
except me.

I hastily crawled to my feet, wincing
as the stiffness in my shoulder flared up sharply.  I worked my arm carefully,
tears welling up with each rotation.  When I could move my arm again, I looked
around, trying not to feel the anxiety that was spreading over me.  The howl
came again, echoing across the plain, and I thought I heard faint shouting
accompanying it:  human voices that complemented the howls.  I wrapped my fur
tightly around me as the cold morning air began to gust.  I would find the
others.  They would not have just abandoned me here. 

My anxiety had bled over into panic
as I began walking in the direction I thought the sounds were coming from. 
Across the ice fields there was no one to be seen, so whatever was making the
noise must have been coming from further than I could have imagined.  I had to
walk slowly, careful not to lose my footing.  The field was slippery, and with
each step I imagined myself sprawling over, breaking a leg in the process and
becoming food for the reindeer to graze upon.

When I looked back at the remains of
our camp, I was surprised to see how far I had walked in a seemingly short
time.  The small black circle where the fire had been was a mere dot, and even
that was hard to see.  Forward, there was only nothing but the hills in the
distance that enclosed the plain.  Snow was spitting fitfully from the sky,
which was strange to me because I knew it was approaching the late spring. 
Soon, what little snow that fell would cover us all and conceal the fact we
were ever here at all.  So nature has its way of wiping its slate clean.   It
would take a lot more snow to cover up the bloody tracks I began to spot in
front of me as I walked.  The red smudges stretched ahead of me in crooked
lines, as if something had been dragged across the ice.  It couldn’t have been
the remains of the reindeer, I assumed.  Most of the carcass had been left
behind us near the fire.  It could have been human, but I tried not to think of
that too much.  It could have been me.

The sound had faded, and although I
strained for it, it did not come again.  Now, the panic settled over me, and I
began to run, unmindful of the ice and unconcerned that I might have fallen.  I
was truly alone, and I knew I would never be able to find my way back to
Brattahild by myself.  I kept following the blood trail, hoping it would lead
me to Eirik and the others, but, in the back of my mind, I kept thinking I
would come across the true slaughter on the ice.  The Vikings and whatever it
was that had dragged them there would come after me next.  My running slowed,
not out of fear, but because I was fast becoming winded.  I finally stopped
altogether, bending over and breathing rapidly, the cold air searing my lungs.

I felt like lying there on the ice
and letting nature have its way with me, but I restrained myself.  Instead, I
looked up and noticed how far I had come in my panic.  I could no longer see
the dead deer or the fire sight behind me, and there seemed to be a natural
opening through the rocks on the far end of the field.  I began walking, my
hope growing with each step.  What would I find on the other side there?  Would
it be Eirik?  Or something else?

When I rounded the rocks and began
the climb up the icy hillside, I almost thought I could hear voices. 
Anticipating the Vikings, I hurried my pace, but now being careful not to slip
and fall.  There was more blood on the rocks, easy to see since it was a harsh
red against the dull gray, and I crested the hill and looked at the land
beyond.

There were men there, but I did not
recognize them.  They were not the ones who had come on the hunt with us.  Were
they enemies?  I strained for a better look.  Splotches of red dotted the
ground before me in the distance and beyond that, another herd of reindeer was
moving over the plains.  But these men . . .

They looked like Vikings, as much as
one can assume based on first appearances.  Certainly they dressed like Eirik
and the others, with their thick furs and heavy beards.  Some of them carried
long spears, and others simply stood, talking.  Some were pointing north in the
direction of the herd, and others were motioning to the south, facing my
direction.   I was beginning to wonder whether or not I should approach them
when an arrow clinked off the rocks near my left foot.  I actually felt the
chipped stone hit my leg, and as I was trying to figure out why an arrow was
suddenly there near my foot, another arrow hit near my other foot.