by John Boyne
“And what things are those, my friend?” he asked. “I hope you don’t mean to pursue your vengeance?”
“It’s simply that I have my own path to follow and hadn’t thought about looking after a child.”
“He’s more than just a child.”
“Still,” I said.
“Just think about it, my friend,” said Father Fahram, reaching a hand across and placing it on my shoulder. “That’s all I ask. The boy is too young to be cooped up here in the company of old men. You could be helpful to him. He needs guidance. And I believe that you, too, could do with a steadying influence. I see something in your eyes that tells me you do not feel quite the peace that you claim.”
I did not reply, not wishing to deceive him any further.
“Well, if your mind is made up, I will not try to dissuade you,” he said with a sigh. “When will you leave?”
“Later today,” I told him.
“Then you have a few hours yet. I will leave you to consider my question. But think of this: when you first came here, I took you in because I knew that you needed the support of people who could take care of you. And I think the boy still needs that. But only you can offer it to him.”
* * *
• • •
Although I knew that I would be better off leaving her in peace, I went in search of Yayranush soon after leaving the chapel. I wanted to look on her face one last time before she returned with her monster of a husband to the capital. A part of me longed to invite her to accompany me on my journey but I knew better than to give in to an act of such reckless impulsiveness, particularly when my desire for her was built on nothing more than a single conversation. But no matter how hard I looked, I could not find her, and decided that if there was indeed a God looking down upon me, then perhaps He had kept us apart for my own safety. And so I put her from my mind and made my way to Garnik’s room instead.
As Father Fahram had predicted, the boy was deeply unhappy to hear that I was leaving the monastery and immediately asked whether he could join me.
“I don’t know where the road will take me,” I told him. “And, while I’m fond of you, I’m not sure that I can take care of you.”
“I don’t need taking care of!” he cried.
“Nevertheless,” I said, unconvinced, “it feels unfair to involve you in what I have to do.”
“And what is that?”
I hesitated before answering. “If I tell you, do you promise that you won’t betray me to Father Fahram?”
“You have my word.”
“Then I go in search of my cousin. And when I find him, I will put him to death. Not for anger’s sake, but for justice’s.”
He looked down at the ground and frowned, the scars on his face turning the pale shade of pink they always did when he was troubled.
“You don’t have to do it, you know,” he said. “You could forget about him entirely and begin a new life.”
“I could,” I admitted. “But I won’t.”
“He might already be dead, for all you know.”
“He’s not. I’m sure of it.”
“It won’t make you happy,” he continued. “Killing him, I mean. Can you really imagine what it must be like to take a person’s life?”
“Garnik,” I said, ignoring his question as I looked him in the eye. “The truth is, my wife’s ghost will lie uneasy until I have put this man to death. Or until I know that he has found his way to the next world by some other means.”
He nodded. Perhaps it was not as shocking as I thought. After all, we had been surrounded by killing our entire lives. Which of us Armenians had grown up without regularly seeing heads lopped from shoulders and swords plunged through the breastplates of men?
“If you’re sure about leaving, then perhaps it’s time for me to go, too,” he said at last, looking out beyond the walls of the monastery. “I’ve been happy here, it’s true, but I can’t stay forever. I’ll travel on,” he added with a dramatic sigh. “And see what hardship awaits a young boy on his own in the world. I will probably be attacked. Or murdered. Or forced into the marriage act with a fat old man against my will.”
I rolled my eyes and tried not to laugh.
“Fine,” I said, giving in, as he knew I would. “You can come with me. But we follow my plans, understand? And if you’re not happy with them, then you’re free to part ways with me at any time. Is that agreed?”
His face broke into a wide smile, a rare treat, and his eyes shone with happiness.
“Agreed,” he said.
* * *
• • •
We left in the late afternoon, the priests having given us a pair of horses and a buggy for the journey, as well as presenting me with an old cloak to remember them by and to keep me warm on cold nights. When I brought my few belongings from my room, Garnik was already waiting for me and he reached for my bag, throwing it beneath a canvas sheet that was covering the rear of the buggy, an unnecessary addition, as the weather was fine and we had not seen rain in some months. Using a sturdy sisal rope, he secured the canvas at all four corners.
“I don’t think we need that,” I told him, nodding toward the covering.
“The weather might turn,” he said. “We’ll be glad of it then.”
“And there may be bandits along the road who think that we’re in possession of valuable goods that need hiding. Let us not give them cause for suspicion.”
He glanced toward the buggy but turned back with a determined expression on his face.
“Please,” he said. “I won’t ask anything else of you from here on. But let us keep the sheet.”
It seemed a curious thing for him to be so insistent upon, but I gave in, thinking that it couldn’t do any harm, and turned around as the entire monastery came out to bid us farewell. I thanked each man individually for the kindness that had been shown to me since my arrival and promised that in the unlikely event I ever found myself saying prayers, then I would be sure to include their names among them. As I climbed into the buggy, I noticed Boghos Sanasar wandering around the top of the monastery with a furious expression on his face. I did not know why he looked so aggrieved but felt happy that I would not have to encounter that dissolute creature again.
Finally, we were on the road and we made our way in a westward direction for an hour or two without much conversation, my intention being to steer us toward Gaul, a place that my cousin had often spoken of as a sort of dreamland. As I had no other idea where I might find him, it seemed as reasonable a place as any to begin my search.
“At some point, we’ll need to look for a bed for the night,” I said eventually, driving the horses forward. “When the sun sets, we’ll search for an inn.”
“Are they dangerous places?” asked Garnik.
“They can be,” I told him. “My late wife was brought up in just such a place and it was not a happy experience for her. They can corrupt the soul. Although,” I added, turning to him with a smile, “perhaps you’re hoping to be corrupted, Garnik?”
He laughed a little. “I suppose I might be willing,” he said.
I was going to add that I’d noticed the way he’d stared at Yayranush the previous night and, in other circumstances, perhaps I would have said something, simply to amuse myself, but what stopped me was an unwillingness even to acknowledge a potential relationship between the two. She was much closer in age to Garnik than I, so it was natural that she would have been more interested in him. But still, this stung at the vanity in my heart, so I remained silent.
He sneezed suddenly and the sound was so strange, even muffled, that I turned to him in surprise.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, but as he spoke, the sneeze came again, only not from him. I almost jumped out of my skin in fright. We were alone on the road, there was not a so
ul to be seen for miles around and darkness was beginning to fall. Were there ghosts on these roads as well as thieves? Should we be afraid of supernatural beings as well as mortal ones?
“Did you hear that?” I asked him, and he shook his head.
“The sneeze?” he asked. “No.”
“If you didn’t hear it, then how do you know what I’m talking about?”
He opened his mouth to answer but seemed incapable of coming up with a reasonable response.
“Garnik,” I said. “What is going on?”
I looked around and, as I did so, I was astonished to see that something was moving in the back of the buggy, beneath the canvas sheet that Garnik had been so insistent upon bringing. I stared at it in fright, then pulled the horses to a halt, jumping down and running to the back, where I lifted the cover a little. A moment later, to my astonishment, a head shot out from beneath. It was Yayranush!
“Is this your doing?” I shouted at Garnik, and it was obvious from the look on his face that it was. His expression made it clear that he was feeling both guilty and a little pleased with himself.
“Don’t blame him, please,” said the girl, stepping out onto the road and adjusting her dress, her flame-red hair even more striking now than before. “It wasn’t his fault. I asked him to do it. I couldn’t stay with that pig any longer. You have no idea of the indignities he forces upon us all.”
In truth, it excited me that she was there, but I felt a mixture of anger and resentment that she had chosen to confide in my young apprentice rather than me. After all, had she told me that she wanted to hide in the buggy, then I would have planned an escape for her. But no, she had chosen Garnik.
“I have money,” she added, reaching into her pocket now and removing a small cloth bag before shaking it so I could hear the jangle of coins. “I can pay my own way, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just don’t send me back.”
“Three of us, then,” I said with a sigh, nodding my head as I considered how her presence might affect my plans.
“Actually, there’s four,” said another voice, and I turned around to see another person emerging from beneath the sheet. Idara, the boy-dressed-as-a-girl who Boghos Sanasar had brought to dinner and who, if Yayranush was to be believed, was destined for a horrible end upon their return to the capital. I stared at him, my mouth falling open in astonishment.
“Sorry,” said Garnik, Yayranush and Idara in unison and I could do nothing but stare at them, one after the other, wondering where my journey would take me now.
ICELAND
A.D. 999
AS SOON AS MY ANNOYANCE began to dissipate, my three companions and I made our way toward the village of Vík í Mýrdal, on the south coast of the island, where we remained for several days with the intention of procuring a boat that might take us to the great lands across the water. But, somewhat unexpectedly, two separate matters threatened to frustrate my plans.
The first was the insistence of the boy, Ími, that the world was going to end a few days hence, when the millennium drew to a close. Ími, who continued to dress in the skin of a bear despite being told that he could wear human clothes now that he was no longer subject to his master’s bestial fantasies, sat in the corner of the empty igloo we’d rented, weeping uncontrollably and insisting that he would soon be burning in the fires of hell as he had led such a sinful life.
“What sins could you possibly have committed?” I asked, unconvinced that a person as young as him could have much wickedness weighing on his conscience, but when he told me some of the acts that he and Bógi Saranssón had engaged in together, it was difficult not to appreciate his anxiety. “Still,” I told him, hoping to ease his concerns. “You were just a child when he purchased you from your parents. If the gods are going to seek atonement from anyone, it will be from your former master and from them, but not from you.”
This seemed to be of little consolation and, as he continued to howl, I wondered whether there might not be a way for us to leave him behind in Iceland. But, as Yanníka seemed utterly devoted to him, and I was so drawn to her, I did not want to do anything that might upset my hopes for romance.
“Can’t you just ask for forgiveness from the gods if you’re that worried?” asked my young apprentice, Garðr, who had as little patience for the boy’s lamentations as I did. “Not half a mile from here lives a priest, Stefnir Einarsson, who hears confessions. I met him on the day that we arrived. Why not go speak with him rather than sitting here crying all day like a dog that’s lost its master?”
“I’m afraid that Stefnir Einarsson was murdered yesterday,” I whispered quietly to Garðr, who must not have been privy to the latest piece of town gossip. The ongoing war between the pagans and the Christians was tearing the country apart and Einarsson, a devotee of Jesus Christ, had been dragged by some of the villagers to a frozen lake, in the center of which a hole had been drilled, where he’d been ordered to swear fealty to the gods of the Aesir, Odin, Frigg and Balder. Seeking martyrdom, he refused and was plunged head down into the freezing water for half a minute. When he was pulled out again, his beard and eyebrows were white and, although he could barely speak, he was once again instructed to ask for mercy from the eternal gods. Again he declined, so down he went a second time, only now he was held under for much longer and, when he was dragged up again, he had breathed his last and was no longer in a position to ask for mercy from anyone, neither gods nor mortals, at which point his murderers had simply tossed him back down into the hole before returning to the village, certain that they had done the work of Thor.
“Well, I’m sure we can find someone else who will listen to you confess,” insisted Garðr, walking over to Ími and kicking ice at him, which only made the boy weep even louder. “Stop crying!” he roared, but to no avail. “Stop crying, you little shit!”
That was the first problem.
The second was the fact that King Óláfr, who ruled over us from the distant land of Norway, had decreed that no trade would be allowed between our two countries until the contentious matter of the national religion had been determined once and for all and, that being the case, all boats had been docked, with sailors and captains told that the penalty for taking them out would be death.
“I heard a rumor that a holy man is coming here soon,” said Garðr, “sent by the King himself, to lay down a law on how this country is to pray. The old gods are to be forgotten forever, it seems, and the Nazarene is to take their place.”
“He’ll be lucky to get out alive,” I said. “These old men are lost in the old ways. They believe in the gods of Asgard, not in a single God in heaven.”
“And you?” asked Yanníka, stepping so close to me that it took all my self-control not to wrap my arms around her and pull her to me. “What do you believe in?”
“I believe in getting off this stinking island and completing my mission,” I said. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
“There’s no point even trying,” said Ími, drying his tears at last. “The world is going to end anyway. We’ll all be dead in a few days.”
A statement that led Garðr to leap on top of him, Yanníka to jump into the fray to tear them apart, and me to step outside, praying to whoever governed us from whichever heaven to grant me patience with this motley crew that I had somehow inherited. Looking up toward the sky, I thought that if there was no peace to be found on this befouled planet, then maybe there would be some to be discovered up there.
* * *
• • •
The following night, with the cold settling into my bones, I donned an old cloak as I made my way toward the igloo of Líus Líusson, who was known to harbor a violent antagonism toward our Norwegian overlords and therefore was always happy to defy their rules and laws. When I called his name and entered, removing my hood out of respect for his seniority in the community, I discovered him cooking fish on a stick and he wave
d me forward, offering me a seat by the fire.
Líus was an extraordinary-looking man, more animal than human, with skin that appeared so thick that it would have taken the sharpest of knives to penetrate it. He had the darkest eyes I had ever seen on a man and wore a permanent expression of fury, although his countenance belied his personality, for he was surprisingly amiable in conversation. I glanced around at the walls of ice and, to my surprise, saw that they were not pressed flat as most igloo walls were but had become a frozen canvas for carved images of the gods, notably of Tyr, who was depicted carrying a spear and looking outward as if threatening anyone who might challenge his dominion over the hoar frost. Above him, a curious birdlike creature with a sharp beak and eyes that suggested wisdom descended, talons outstretched, poised for attack.
While trying to decide how I could make my exit from the island, I, too, had often found myself using a knife to carve designs into the walls of our frozen hut, images that had appeared in my head unbidden, with depictions that I struggled to make sense of. Monkeys swinging from the branches of a tree. A set of entwined peacocks. A face carved into a stone. My hands seemed to move almost independently of my brain as I chipped away at the ice, and afterward, looking at what I’d created, I experienced a curious stirring across my body, a wave of memory, as if I had woken from a dream but could feel the reverie slipping away from me by the second.
“What brings you here, friend?” asked Líus, tossing the bones of the fish onto the fire, where they sizzled and lent a spicy perfume to the air before charring black and disappearing into the coals.
“I need a boat,” I told him. “Can you help me?”
He shrugged. “You have money?” he asked.
“I do.”
“Then of course I can.”
I smiled and, from the shadows, a small boy appeared. This was Líus’s son, who buried his body into his father’s greatcoat as he looked at me suspiciously through damp eyes.
