Akiniwazisaga: For the Greatest Good, They Leave Home
Chapter 4 from A Light Rises in a Dark World by MD Boncher
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Whitecaps chased the gray clouds above the endless expanse of Lake Neezhoday. The roar of the breakers and hissing grass dominated all other sounds save for the seagulls wheeling overhead. As he sat on top of a dune, Reimar huddled against the stinging blasts of wind-driven sand, alternating between watching the waves and sobbing in fear.
Yesterday, Brother Finn had returned from Tryggahveneyrr. At first the children were happy to see him for his visit meant a return of Bergamot whom the children loved. It also seemed to signal a change in their parents’ behavior which had been odd since the monk last departed. It was the subtle way mothers and fathers had been treating them. Words became more tender and shows of affection more common. Even Bjorn had been strangely kinder to Reimar, he noted. Not only that, four girls were quickly betrothed and would be leaving before the end of October. The newlyweds needed a chance to settle in before winter arrived.
Shortly after dawn, Aattaettirstrond held a somber mass. Once the service was over, Herr Henrik came before the farmhold and announced that Brother Finn had returned to take the children. Disbelief overwhelmed Reimar as Herr Henrik repeated the names of all who would be departing. Parents gathered their chosen child close.
Anja, Oili and Mats wept and begged.
Talo and Stephon froze.
Liesl raged at her parents.
Reimar ran.
His father's voice bellowed after him, but he did not heed. He ran out the south field gate toward the lake, tripping through the empty fields and through the thin screen of pinery between the plowed strips and the shore. Scratchy brambles and woody grass whipped by him as he rushed up the sandy loam and dunes that rose before the beach. Exhausted from his pell-mell sprint, Reimar flopped down onto the soft dry sand and wept.
"What will become of me?" Reimar asked himself. If he stayed it was certain death for someone, perhaps even himself. That was plain as his big hawkish nose. His heart wanted what it wanted and refused to take no for an answer.
"Reimar?" his father's voice was soft as he climbed the dune. The boy didn’t respond. He stared straight ahead at the lake’s empty horizon.
"You know the truth of it,” his father said standing behind him. “This cannot be changed."
Reimar tried with all his will to shut out his father’s words. Anton stepped closer and continued his entreaty.
"Do not defy me now, son. You must trust me more than anything in your life. I do not wish to beat you. Please,” Anton squatted down in the sand and whispered, “I do not want that to be our last memories together."
Reimar could hardly believe that his father was pleading with him.
For a long while, both waited for the other in silence.
Reimar spun around on his hands and knees to face his father. "Papa! Please do not make me! I am old enough to work and you know how little I eat!"
"Jah, I know that, my Little Spruce," anger and sadness tainting his voice. Then Reimar witnessed the unexpected. His father’s eyes grew moist and his lips trembled.
"I want you to stay," his father’s words came out thick, "but whose life would you trade for your own?"
Reimar had not considered that. The choice put faces to the consequence of staying. Who might starve instead? Now they were no longer abstract people, but friends and family. Who would die so he could live? A twinge of shame came over Reimar.
“If you stay, we do not get to choose who will die in your place. God does that, and we may not like who He takes so we can live on."
Reimar could feel anger rising against God as the desire to stay grew. Selfishness mustered one last counterattack against the inevitable conclusion. His father countered the bitter words before they were uttered.
"Blaming God for the harshness of the world will not work. Being angry about the Skaerslinger's attack or not getting our way will not make things better. Saying as much might cause some sort of rebuke from Him instead."
"But-" Reimar started to protest.
"What happens if you say mean things for not getting your way with Katrin? It gets you a swatting and no supper. Jah?"
"Jah, Papa," he answered.
His father was right and he hated to admit it. Shame burned on Reimar's cheeks.
Reimar surged up clumsily and clutched his father’s big neck, burying his face in that familiar brown beard. Anton's powerful arms enveloped his son, embracing him for a long time.
The first shafts of sunlight came through the thick clouds that had smothered the morning, and the two started back to the farmhold.
The smell of roasting potatoes and corn with wild boar bacon beckoned all to the empty quarter where tables and a smorgasbord were set up. It was the last meal at home for the children. Brother Finn was surprised at the feast the farmhold put out. Because of the tragedy Aattaettirstrond suffered, he was sure that they could have done more to save food, though it took little to remind him how painful the children's departure was going to be for the small community. Sentiment overwhelmed practicality, and why should it not?
During the meal, the families toasted those who had been lost in years past. Three winters ago, the Olessons lost their two eldest boys in a logging accident. They were felling a tree for the stockade and it had become snagged in its sister's branches. One of the boys climbed up into the tangle to cut it free and chose the wrong limb to stand on. When it fell, his brother was crushed instantly, he dropped to the ground and was pinned, eventually, dying of exposure. They were found three days later. The families were thankful that neither corpse became draugr and were cremated in the proper fashion.
One of Wilem's boys was ambushed by something on a summer's day while hunting. A draugr bear was the presumed villain. He was only fourteen.
Anton's oldest son, Bjorn, was made a widower at age fifteen when his new wife was dragged into the deep by a giant pike. She had been fishing with a throw net on a shallow sand bar when the creature came upon her.
Death always lingers close in the pinery, Brother Finn reminded himself.
A menagerie pranced through his head. Each creature more disturbing than the next. Agropeltiers, Hoop Snakes, Hodags… The rest of the world did not have such demonic animals or spirits who walked among the living.
In the Gamleverden, beyond the Kisiina Sea and past the endless waters of the Vesterhavet, lay the Forsamling's ancestral Viking home. There, these creatures were things of myth, not fact. At least that is what the scholars claimed about Norge and Sverige in their legendary homelands of Evropa.
These farmholders were right to be terrified. The memory of the Wendigo’s giant skeletal footprints caused Brother Finn to shudder. Living close to the frontier for most of his life, he had never seen or heard one personally but had witnessed signs of their passing. Wendigo were hellish screaming things unique to this land. God help any soul who heard them call their name from the forest in the black of night.
Without a member of the Kyrkja in Aattaettirstrond in residence, the only defense these families had against the evils of their world were daylight and a passing friar's blessing on their doors and walls.
As a boy, Brother Finn had asked his father why such horrible demons and creatures stalked the land? His father said the veil between Heaven, Earth and Hell was very thin, and Satan had strongholds in this land which allowed him to do as he pleased. That is why the Skaerslinger's shaman could make the dead walk, and nature fought to destroy the Forsamling.
Centuries ago at the battle Hvalrauga, an angelic herald confirmed the Forsamling had been sent by God for His purpose, not by accident. The Forsamling called this “Den Heilage Avtale”, their holy commision. So the people went forth in order to tear down Satan’s strongholds and establish God's kingdom on Earth.
Someone mumbled a question.
"Hmm?" Brother Finn asked and looked down the table to see who had spoken to him.
"I said," Henrik repeated, "when will you be ready to go?"
"I must anoint your farmhold again and walk your stockade to rededicate it to God. After which, we will be ready."
"Thank you for that, Brother. Every blessing and prayer is welcome." Brother Finn smiled with him at the sentiment and went back to another cob of sweet corn. There was much work to be done before the long trip began.
"Where did you say you were taking them again?"
"Tungloddr in Ogimaqueland. To the new school there, Saint Martin's."
"New school?"
"Not completely new. It has been around in some form or another for a century, but it is the newest of them all. The school has expanded greatly in the last thirty years or so, thanks to the Herse of Tungloddr and her patronage.
"I thought the children would go to the Kyrkja school in Ulfshaugrstrond?" Jette inquired, Oviously bothered by the thought of her Anja going so far west to the more unsettled lakes. They had all heard stories.
"No, no. The schools on the five lower lakes have all the students they can handle this year. Saint Martin's still has openings," Brother Finn soothed with half truths.
He dared not express the real reason why the children were being sent west across the largest lake in the Union.
Curate Nataneal certainly covered himself. Killing two birds with one stone, Finn thought bitterly. Not even the Bishop of Neezhodayland would be able to blame him for using the resources at hand. It was not as if he was going to disobey and vanish into the pinery. No. One last service would be given before succumbing to his destiny. He prayed that nothing of his fate rubbed off on these innocents, then let God do as He desired.
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Next week: “The Long Ride Through the Night”!