Akiniwazisaga: The Long Ride Through the Night
Chapter 5 from A Light Rises in a Dark World by MD Boncher
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The llamas bleated and groaned as two carts clattered down the narrow road to the Chuffing Pony. Through the bare branches of overhanging trees the brilliant sun scattered the last of the lingering clouds from the autumnal sky. As they bounced along the rutted muddy road to the station, an earthy scent of warm wood and drying leaves filled the air.
The bumps and lurches on the boring ride had made the children just as whiny as their llamas. Then a pair of bright shining ribbons sparkled through the rustling leaves, exciting everyone. The road turned sharply to follow alongside worn iron strips toward the station. Everyone could hear the bustle of people and smell burning peat and wood from the Chuffing Pony even before it came into view.
Sun-dappled walls of stone and logs around the station protected the ribbonroad siding, warehouse, water-tower and inn. Two large gates blocked the ribbons, with men standing at the ready to open them for trains as they arrived at the station. Guards walked atop the station’s wall armed with either a bardiche or bow in hand. They were bolstered by a troop of Herse Halgarsson's warriors, their crests worn proudly on scarlet and yellow tabards as signs of their allegiance to Jarl Asbjornaettir, ruler of Neezhodayland.
“So the Herse does have men to spare, just none for us,” Henrik said, echoing his wife’s bitter sentiments.
Once through the station's gates, the carts of goggle-eyed children were greeted by a great iron beast. It crouched low on eight wheels, looking all at once like a lion, a cricket and a dragon. Steam hissed and valves popped and clinked on the locomotive squatting next to the passenger platform. Its body a huge cylindrical boiler with a tall, narrow funnel that spewed smoke and sparks into the sky. Beneath the large headlamp eyes, the sloped grate seemed to smile at them. Its slats like long thin fangs. Angled pistons looked like paws set rampant to claw anything that dared step before it. A tail made up of ten short double-decker carriages trailed behind this monstrous machine. Each twenty foot long carriage rested on a pair of four-wheeled trucks.
The tender sat behind the engine, housing a tank of water and piles of peat slabs. Then came the barrier car which was loaded with canvas-wrapped bales of alpaca fleece that protected the rest of the train and kept passengers away from the noisy, dirty engine. The top deck of each carriage sported a pair of wooden bench seats facing the center. Lower interiors were cramped affairs with plush seats. Button-down leather flaps designed to keep the rain or snow out were rolled and tied at the top of each window, but those who rode up top had to contend with the elements.
The station was busy. A boilerman threw a hearty slab of peat into the large open maw of the beast's boiler, and the pilot surveyed the locomotive’s wheels and valves, oiling them as he walked around the engine. Passengers grumbled about their delay, thanks to the late eastbound train, while the kaptein helped the ladies up into the carriages. The train’s guard stood post atop the first and last carriages manning large mounted springbows, axes holstered on their backs, tabards emblazoned with the crest of the ribbonroad company.
"Wait on the platform for me. I will settle our passage," Brother Finn ordered. The plan was for him and the children to sleep on the train. Their fathers would stay at the inn and return the next morning instead of risking being caught out at night.
With fluid grace, Finn hopped off the cart. Bergamot followed in a sloppy jump and obeyed her master’s hand signal to stay.
Once the carts were emptied, the children huddled together on the platform and like ducklings stayed close to Bergamot. For now, she seemed content to sit lopsided on the platform panting in the warm day. Occasionally, she looked expectantly to the station door where Brother Finn had gone, at peace but alert. Her shifting ears and droopy eyes the only indicator of her focus.
Many people were waiting for the train. They had come from other farmholds and nearby Thiggardborg which was on the nearby river and had an actual sawmill. Some talked about a spur being driven toward Thiggardborg in the coming year to help pull out fresh lumber and shingles. Women in fancy dresses complained. The ash and smoke from the engine's crown-like stack burned small holes in their parasols and the mud caked their slippers.
"Third Nonae! Damer and Herrar, please board the train! Third Nonae! The eastbound is due! Finish your arrangements now!" a station clark called out the time loudly while ringing his bell. Another railman climbed onto the front of the lion-like face of the engine. He began changing the banners from green to red and lighting a bright trio of lanterns.
Brother Finn came out, passages secured, and walked over to the fathers. He spoke to them in a quiet voice and shook their hands. Reimar watched the exchange, looking closely at the monk for the first time. He had been so focused on his own misery that he never really noticed the man’s appearance beyond his haunted eyes.
Brother Finn's face reminded Reimar of driftwood. The neatly trimmed beard was without mustache, and threads of gray mixed with his brown hair. Sun glinted off the monk’s sweating bald pate, and his large scarred hands grasped his harpoon tightly as it towered a quarter more than his height. He was slim and moved like a whip swirling among dandelions. His knuckles were what fascinated Reimar the most. They were large and scarred, but not like his father’s. He had never seen hands like this before.
They were calloused, but unlike a farmer's or a fisherman's. The wear and toughness on them were in all the wrong places. Was that how a warrior’s knuckles looked, Reimar wondered to himself?
Brother Finn's intense brown eyes caught Reimar staring. He brought his hands up and showed the palms.
"I have broken them many times," Finn confirmed as he turned over his hand and made a fist. "If you become one of my brothers, you, too, will see your own hands become like this in time." His voice was soft and kind but had an iron intensity behind it.
Without the children realizing, Bergamot had herded all seven of them and the two fathers together near one of the coaches. A bell rang in the tower of the Chuffing Pony alerting all nearby that it was time to depart. In the distance, they could hear the staccato exhausts of another train approaching. Herr Wilem gave his son Mats a hearty handshake while Herr Henrik hugged Anja tightly. Anja began to cry and started pleading again. Reimar's stomach was in a roil. The two fathers encouraged their children to make them proud assuring them of the day when they would meet again in Paradise and talk about their lives in God's service.
The black wrought iron of the railing was warm in Reimar's hand as he climbed up to the top of the carriage. Next to him, the noisey eastbound train coasted into the station with a few shrill blasts from its whistle, and rang its warning bell. Reimar looked down on all the scurrying people and felt a thrill of excitement. He would forever be in a new life, new land and new service with no idea what was to happen next. For the first time this trip, he looked forward to seeing what was to come.
The other train came to a stop next to them, and people stepped off onto the opposite platform. With two quick blasts and a long howl, the whistle of their westbound engine resounded off the station stockade. A snappy jolt went through the carriages jerking its passengers backward, and they began their journey. As the train picked up speed, Anja and Mats waved to their fathers. Brother Finn stayed close to Anja who seemed likely to bolt.
Reimar became aware of a big musky- smelling dog's head next to his shoulder as the exhausts of the locomotive and the clattering of the carriages began to lull him with their rhythm. The dog’s breath was heavy and hot in his face as she peered over the rail in imitation. Behind him, Brother Finn chuckled at the sight.
"It seems Bergamot has taken a liking to you, young Herr Reimar."
"Why do you say that, Brother Finn?"
"Bergie has been sniffing you for the last few minutes. Had you not noticed?" His cheeks dimpled in mirth.
"No, Brother Finn. What does that mean?"
"Nothing really, other than she thinks you have a treat for her."
Reimar looked at her heavy head, floppy jowls and sad eyes. Her expression seemed to agree with Brother Finn.
"I have nothing to give you,” Reimar apologized to Bergamot.
Again Finn chuckled.
"Must be the bacon from lunch. You likely wiped your hands on your trousers then."
Reimar smiled and watched Bergamot as her attention changed to the scenery streaming by, again resting her chin on the black iron rail. The train was moving faster than the children had ever experienced. The wind was exhilarating. Talo surfed his hands up and down on the rushing air. Mats leaned too far over the edge and had to be pulled back just before a tree branch struck him.
Ahead, a large beaver chewed on a ribbon tie. It ran for cover as a blast of the whistle startled it. The critter never looked back, heaving its fat body into the nearby brush and the train rushed by.
"Why do you have such a large dog," Reimar asked. Brother Finn shifted on his bench and reclined a little.
"It is a tradition of my sect. We use a very special breed of dog to help us in our work. Bergamot is a Havarian mastiff. She is bred for strength, endurance, temperament and fighting power. Few natural predators are her match in Akiniwazi. Her webbed paws make her an excellent swimmer, and she has enough fat to help her drag a man to shore in heavy seas. Bergie can even pull a small wagon or carry a goat pack. Of course, that means she loves her treats and needs a lot of looking after. Right, Bergie?" The last he said with a loving tone reserved for infants.
Bergie gave a "whof-whof" of agreement in a deep timber befitting her size. It was the first sound she had made, and she held her head high as they discussed her.
"What Order are you with?" Talo asked as other children came to listen to the conversation.
"I am a member of the Havarian Order. Our duty to the Lord is to preserve life, knowledge and protect that which is valuable and good. We run most of the libraries, museums, and places of knowledge in the land. Our Order also includes lightkeepers, bodyguards and lookouts. We watch over the waters in tall lighthouses and estates where there is danger of shipwreck. If a ship does wreck, we take to the boats with our dogs and go out out into tempests to bring those in peril to safety, trusting in God Almighty to help us in our tasks.
"But, preserving lives often requires us to protect them as well. This is why we carry a harpoon. For it is a weapon not only for the sea, but can be used on land." Reimar admired the foot-long, single-tang barb on its end. It was lashed to the shaft by way of an eye and a thin rope, implying that if thrown, the line could be used to hold the target fast, or be drawn back if it missed.
"I must admit, mine has become an excellent walking staff over the years."
The children laughed.
"The harpoon is not always the right tool for the job,” Brother Finn explained, “and so we also train to fight with our bare hands. Long ago, we learned to be ready at all times to stand between the helpless and danger. That is why we study Manu Dei Duiciter, which is Latin for 'God's Manipulating Hand'."
"Is that not the job of the Ragnarites?" Stephon asked with keen interest.
"Is 'what' their job?" Brother Finn asked back.
"To fight! Do they not defend all the Forsamling lands and Hird?"
"Ah! That is a different kind of fighting, my child! They are the holy warriors of God! It is their job to go out into the wilderness and fight the devils, destroying the manitou strongholds and high places. Their symbol is the Sword, is it not?" The children all nodded.
"Even the huskarls rarely possess a sword. Why is that, do you know?" Brother Finn asked and they all shook their heads.
"Swords are a luxury and have limited use. Most of them you see are generations old, owned by jarls or an aettir as heirlooms. Saxes are more common," he explained, referring to the long single-edged knives typically used to chop brush. "An axe is also a tool, while the sword is not. Can you reap grain with a sword?" The children shook their heads and smiled.
"Can you chop wood with it?" Again, they agreed you should not.
"Can you fish?" They all laughed at the silliness of fishing with a sword.
"Can you hunt?" Brother Finn smiled at their understanding.
"That is right. The sword is a tool for only one thing: War. You use it to go forth and kill your enemy. This does not make a sword evil, of course. Do you not agree?" This confused them. The Ten Commandments were familiar. Every child at the farmhold knew them.
"What about ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ Brother Finn?" little Oili asked, concerned.
"Good question! Let me ask this of you: Is not the Visekonge appointed by God to rule?" Heads nodded slowly as if not completely sure. They knew that the Visekonge had been appointed hundreds of years before by kings of the Gamleverden who lived across the Vesterhavet. The Visekonge was to represent their interests over the Akiniwazi Union.
"And therefore the Visekonge is appointed by God,” Brother Finn said. “If he told you to kill the enemies of the Forsamling, would you not?"
"Jah!" they all answered quickly.
"What about God? Did not God command the Israelites to kill the Philistines and so many others when they came to the Promised Land, finding it inhabited by evil nations?"
They had never read the Bible and did not know. This was not the sort of teaching a friar would have given. Brother Finn grimaced and ground a fist into his thigh, thought for a moment, then continued.
"Well, He did. More than once. Not only that, He told them to kill every last one of the evil nations. Including their women, children and animals and to take no spoils from them. Does this surprise you?" By now the children were all thoroughly amazed and a little afraid.
"Sometimes an enemy cannot be reasoned with,” Brother Finn explained. “Sometimes there are those overwhelmed by hate and ruled by the Devil. All they wish to do is destroy everything there is about God and those who follow Him. Satan led a rebellion against God in Heaven and turned a third of the angels against Him."
The children sat in stunned silence.
"Jah. Even Lucifer… the Devil himself… is an angel. A created being like you and me. He was the most beautiful, powerful and incredible creature God ever made. He was so great that he forgot God created him and tried to usurp Heaven. Lucifer turned his back on the Creator and waged war against Him and all His faithful angels. But those rebel angels lost and were cast out of Heaven to become devils and demons. Now they are the same spirits that torment us on Earth. This is why the Ragnarites are appointed to wage war against the enemies of God in the spirit and the flesh."
Brother Finn paused, unsure of what to say next. He closed his eyes and muttered a little prayer to himself, took a deep breath and soldiered on with his accidental lesson.
"To kill in war, in obedience to God or those He appoints to rule, is still obedience - not sin - despite what it may seem to our eyes," he explained. A pair of brakemen listened to the lesson. Finn could see they had never heard these teachings either, and were disturbed by them.
"Do not think that the physical sword is the only tool against Satan. It is a symbol as well. Have you ever heard of The Sword of the Word?"
Brother Finn’s audience remained enthralled.
"In the book of Ephesians, Scripture talks about the Armor of God. We are to don this spiritual armor every day so it may protect us from evil as we fight for Him. The Ragnarites take these passages very seriously, and it is why they are deliverers as well, drawing the forces of Satan out of people and places that they inhabit. They preach the Word to those who have never heard, driving out the spirits just like Jesus and the apostles did! Is that not amazing?"
Suddenly the train burst out of the thick trees and passed over a deep ravine. Oili screamed in shock as the sensation of flight overwhelmed them all. The trestle towered over the panorama of lush pinery in a dazzling display of brilliant greens, golds and reds that glowed in the setting sun. Far below, a thin raging river frothed white and purple in the deep shadows of the growing evening. The height of the trestle made the puffy clouds seem closer to them than the ground. Then the vision vanished behind the dense walls of the pinery as quickly as it had appeared.
"That probably is enough for now, my children. Enjoy the ride for it will be morning before we reach the port." They all had much to think about and silence settled in. The sun dipped low and trees slowly turned to black as the sky darkened above them. A brakeman came across along the carriages, lighting lamps in the corners as he went about his duties. One by one, the children drifted off to sleep while the dark shadows of trees whisked by.
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Next week: “The Long Ride Through the Night”!