Akiniwazisaga: The Inheritance Thieves

by M. D. Boncher

  "Do you believe that there may have been the use of witchcraft to escape?" There was a curious twitch to the domari’s eyebrow at the choice of words.

  "No, domari. I do not believe it. Brother Trygve was a faithful man. True to God the Father, Jesus our Lord, the Holy Spirit, the Virgin Mary and all the saints. According to the Monsignor Frothi, he was an excellent man of God and, for this reason, was given the privilege of walking the shore," Bishop Aarlig testified. Finn bit his cheek at the generous description.

  The domari nodded.

  "It is more likely someone has borne false witness to the investigation, or that Brother Trygve obtained a hidden method of leaving the city undetected,” the bishop added.

  "You have searched the city and the surrounding lands?"

  "Jah, domari," the bishop answered. "For one week, as the law declares, we searched for Brother Trygve, Hawthorn and any evidence of his passing. The only unusual thing found was an abandoned farm to the northeast of Fjellporten. The pigs were well fed, but the sheep were starving. We suspect something happened to the farmer for he would not have left his livestock in such a state."

  "Could there have been any connection to Brother Trygve's disappearance?" the domari asked.

  "None that we could find," Bishop Aarlig admitted.

  "What were the conditions of his skoggang?"

  "That he must remain in sight of the shores of Lake Wanashiabinoogi for the rest of his born days, to not venture into the surrounding countryside on pain of death."

  "Do you have his certificate of skoggang?"

  "Jah, domari," the bishop said, stepping forward to hand it over for examination.

  "This was sent from the monsignor?" the domari asked after reading the document.

  "Jah, domari."

  Finn's whole body began to tremble, and he broke into a cold sweat at seeing the document. He remembered how it felt to be forced to carry his own sentence for over two months only to have it destroyed by the vengeful Abbot Kennetsson. The domari looked at Finn again, eyes piercing him for the truth.

  "Do you have anything more to add in aid of the Thing, Brother Finn?" He almost could not hear the question over the sound of his own pulse. Sweat ran down his temples. The hall was beastly hot with a few hundred souls packed inside its walls.

  "No, domari. I do not," his voice cracked as he struggled to answer. He felt faint, his breath so shallow it could not disturb a candle flame.

  "Then be seated," the domari commanded.

  Though ready to vomit, Brother Finn did as told focusing all his effort to move his jelly-like legs.

  "Bishop Kraiksson, do you have another witness?"

  "No, domari," the bishop said with a slight bow.

  “Can you vouchsafe for Brother Finn’s testimony?”

  “I can, as well as Monsignor Frothi Malaksson,” the bishop said.

  “I accept these testimonies into evidence,” the domari declared.

  Three knocks from the domari’s staff marked the end of accusations.

  "I call forth any man able to speak for the accused. Who is willing to speak on Brother Trygve Snurrsson’s behalf?" the domari demanded of the Thing. "If there is such a person, come forward now."

  The hall remained silent.

  "Without another to speak on behalf of the accused, I have no choice but to render judgment," the domari boomed. Again there was a rustle and murmur among the Thing.

  The pounding of the staff silenced the hall.

  "It is my judgment that Brother Trygve Snurrsson has violated skoggang and is therefore declared a fredlause. He is declared outside the protection of the law of God and man. It is permissible for him to be killed on sight by anyone who so chooses. Those who are found aiding Brother Trygve will be considered traitors and therefore share in his fate. So is my judgment, so it shall be."

  His staff stamped the floor one final time sealing the proclamation.

  "Is there any other business to be conducted before the Thing?"

  No one rose to bring another suit. This had been a Thing brought for a single purpose, and everyone knew that this question was only a formality.

  "Go in peace.”

  With three sets of three knocks by the domari’s staff, the Thing concluded. Brother Finn prayed to never hear those sounds again. Weak and sallow he rose out of instinct to the choristers’ chant and followed the Kyrkja’s procession out into the rain.

  12. Friar Inge Arrives

  Brother Finn was astonished to have arrived at the door of the Itinerant House with no memory of walking there. He numbly clomped up the stairs to the small garret that had been his home for the past week and a half. Bergamot danced at his return like only a happy dog could. Finn went to his straw pallet, sat down and hugged his beautiful mastiff. After a few minutes she began to squirm. With a sigh, Finn gave in.

  "Griethr, Bergie. Let us go see if there is anything interesting for you outside."

  The huge dog snorted in happiness with the word “outside” and bounced back to the door where she danced till he opened it, nearly knocking him down as she barreled past. Brother Finn was still in a daze as he walked down the hall. Bergie trotted forward, iron gray tail whipping hard, then waited for him to catch up.

  On the street, he watched her rushing here and there in the drizzle. The day remained as dreary as the domari’s verdict. Posters were already going up on some of the buildings, and every tongue wagged with the gossip as people walked by.

  Suddenly, thick arms wrapped themselves around Finn’s waist from behind and their owner lifted him off the ground with a joyous shout.

  "Finn! God's glistening toenails! It is so good to see you! Jah, thu vethur!" shouted a high tenor voice with a hint of a slur.

  The shock of the bear hug caused Finn to cry out. Bergamot hearing her master's cry turned and rushed at the assailant. The man saw the huge dog charging him, dropped Brother Finn and turned to face the animal with arms open wide.

  "Bergie! How are you, you beautiful blue monster?" he shouted. Bergamot plowed into the man and drove him onto his back in the damp, but neither cared. Finn’s attacker looked like a gray potato with whiskers and legs, his clothes rumpled. The dog’s tail spun in circles it wagged so hard.

  "Who is the best doggy in the whole world? That is right! You are, Bergie! Oh, jah! You are!" the man said as he wrestled playfully with the excited dog.

  Brother Finn, hunched over from having the breath squeezed out of him, turned and faced the now prone man trying to fight off Bergamot's tongue.

  "Inge?" he wheezed.

  "Hello there, Finn!" Inge laughed as he attempted to get back up against the excitement of Bergamot.

  "Jah. Jah. No. No! Now Berg- Bergamot! Stop! Enough! I am happy- oof, happy to see you, too, but let me up! God's fragrant backside, dog! How do you still remember me?" Inge thundered against the canine.

  For the first time in a week, Brother Finn laughed. "You still have a mouth on you, Inge."

  "It is my cross to bear," said the wet lumpy man who was finally able to stand as Bergamot went to take care of the business she had temporarily forgotten.

  "How long has it been?"

  "Bergamot was a pup just out of training. I would say about six years? Give or take a few months, and then maybe thirty years before that?"

  "How did we get this old?" Brother Finn wondered aloud. "What happened to the years of working on the Amossonkanal as young men?"

  Inge sighed at the memories of youthful summers and hard work made lighter with good camaraderie.

  "Fresh out of the Quadrivium and knowing everything," Inge agreed. “I wish I was still that smart.”

  Both brothers laughed.

  "I seem to have forgotten those lessons as well. Education is truly astounding. How you can learn everything and in the end discover you know nothing?"

  “If only wisdom could be taught. Then we wouldn’t have had to spend the rest of our lives looking for it instead of learning the way all wisdom must come,”
Inge said shaking his wild dirty blond locks.

  “If only...” Finn mused. “I would have avoided so many troubles.” He looked at his impossible friend and gave a bleak smile.

  “Both of us would have.” Inge finished brushing himself off, held out his arms and beckoned his friend. Finn came forward and gave him a hug of similar enthusiasm.

  "God's frisky little whiskers!” Inge gasped as Finn returned the bear hug with usurious interest. “You still have the strength to lift me off the ground?" Inge had always been of portly girth, but spry for his shape.

  "It seems so, but I might have strained my back this time," Brother Finn joked. "Why are you here?"

  "I was curious why they let two novices fumble around in the pinery unsupervised. With Brother Trygve's disappearance, you needed a partner to walk the shore with you. Since I walked this shore a few times years back, it felt right to volunteer. This way, I can keep you out of any more trouble," Inge said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Finn gave Inge a friendly chuck on the shoulder, but somewhere in the back of his head, he wondered if perhaps there might be a more sinister truth to that idle observation.

  "Besides,” Inge said, his soft voice revealing his concern, “after watching you in the Thing, I knew you needed a friend to come along. You were as wobbly as a newborn calf walking out of the sentencing."

  "That was not an experience I ever want to repeat. I am so sick of Things," Finn groused.

  "Amen to that, so here I am to help bear your burden," Friar Inge proposed.

  "Or keep me from going astray. Speaking of which, where is Speedwell?"

  "Gone. A year back," Inge said sadly. “Passed away in his sleep. He was eight years old after all.”

  "A good life for him," Brother Finn agreed. He looked at Bergamot who had returned to his side and sat at heel waiting patiently. How many years remained before she, too, would pass on? His mouth soured at the thought.

  "So, no new companion yet?" Finn asked.

  "Not yet. I need more time, and since I am thinking of settling down somewhere for the remainder of my service, I figured there was no rush," Inge's voice was soft with nostalgia for his companion.

  "Come, I am sick of the damp, and Bergie seems to be done with her business. If you are coming with me, we have much to prepare before taking up our offices, for tomorrow we leave."

  13. A Voice From Stone

  Nature thwarted Amr’s plan before it even began. When he tried to hire a boat at Fjellporten to go down river to Tordenviki, the kapteins refused his money. High water caused an ice jam and blocked all shipping at the Barskaborg Bridge. With no other choice, he rented a caribou and braved the crowded cart roads that followed the river. Several times his way was blocked by stuck oxen teams, and he was forced to take risky detours.

  Providence smiled on his daring ride, for days later, hungry and tired, Amr arrived at his destination. There, he found the port was still frozen over. The warm April sun had melted the snow and softened the land but was not yet strong enough to break winter’s grip on the sheltered harbor. The priest soon learned that ships were using an impromptu landing on an isolated peninsula. This landing was at least an entire day away by another congested oxen path. Heavy use during the thaw had turned it into a near impassable quagmire. At considerable expense, Amr hired a dogsled team crazy enough to attempt a run across the slushy bay to ice shove littered beaches and the landing beyond.

  There, Amr bought passage on the first steamknarr heading east. The ship had a scheduled stop to make at his final destination, and he gave praise to his Lord for that spot of good fortune. The ship made good time through Lake Ogimaque, skillfully avoiding the sharp-edged ice floes that could easily slice her hull open. Yet when they reached the tight channels of the Brestoyane, a maze of islands full of hazards greeted them. The ice seemed to possess a singular desire to block the ship’s passage. On several occasions large bergs damaged the paddlewheels further slowing their progress.

  When the ship sailed into the waters of Lake Neezhoday, a blizzard forced them to take shelter on an uninhabited island till the lake calmed.. Once the skies cleared and repairs were completed, warm sun made for a safe passage as the ice diminished. The twin harbor lights at Ulfhaugrstrond signaled the end of Amr’s long journey.

  With the ship tied up at the pier, Amr stayed in his cabin as passengers left and the freight was offloaded. The priest listened to the familiar sounds of the port and waited. When the carillon on the Raudpalasset sounded First Compline, he began the last leg of his trip.

  The final chime faded into the night, and Amr put on his Havarian robes, commanded his new companion to guard his cabin and, with a prayer for secrecy, left to complete his mission. Everything was quiet on deck as he slipped ashore like a plague rat and vanished into the darkness of the Holy City. Shadows twisted and warped around him providing all the concealment he desired.

  The streets of Ulfhaugrstrond were silent at this dark hour as compline mass occupied the city’s attention. The clergy worshiped while the laity worked behind the scenes. A symbolic recreation of Mary and Martha serving the Lord. One by devotion and the other by labor. The prayers and thanksgiving wafted through the air like incense. Amr could hear ethereal snippets of the mass representing all seven sects drift from dozens of chapels and shrines about the city as he slipped by. Each one with its own focus on scripture creating a disjointed patchwork of Kyrkja doctrine as he hurried on.

  The cobbled streets had nary a watchman on them as Amr passed the majesty of the empty Keldathingplassen. The giant carved colonnade created an imposing forest of stone. The Raudpalasset loomed above it in the dark night, light showing through stained glass windows at the top of its dome. They glowed from the eternal flame that followed the office of the Cardinal of Akiniwazi wherever he went.

  Amr’s goal was past all the grand official buildings, labyrinths and prayer gardens. The priest was bound to a shrine tucked away in the middle of a titanic cemetery. It was named the Sjuheilagdomen. A shrine to the founders of the seven sects of the Kyrkja who were buried there. Great men of the Hird and the Kyrkja filled the surrounding cemetery. These men desired to be buried next to the saints in hope of receiving even greater blessings from God.

  Seven Saint Shrine was the most holy place in Akiniwazi, and the Kyrkja encouraged pilgrims to visit. From Klarrvatn in May to Allhelgensdag in November, the shrine was packed with a stream of devotees. But for the rest of the year, the grotto was a place of quiet contemplation used only by the Kyrkja clergy.

  Amr’s route was dizzying with double backs and thin alleys that not even a cat would dare walk in the dark. Whispering prayers for protection and stealth as he went, Amr arrived at the cemetery certain no one followed him. Between the rows of graves, priests kept watch with lamps and swinging braziers. They prayed for the souls of those interred there as they walked up and down the rows of mausoleums. The twisting shadows continued to hide Amr from their eyes and ears as he zig-zagged between the tombs and finally reached the broad stone stairs leading down to the shrine. He descended the small bluff which overlooked the long white beach of the lake.

  The Sjuheilagdomen was recessed away from the dunes into a steep ravine that sheltered the shrine from three sides. It was forever lit with torches and lamps in honor of the Kyrkja’s sainted founders. The steep bluff encompassed the shrine with dense pines granting even more privacy.

  Inside, the grotto was decorated with carved limestone and glazed tile mosaics. Water flowed from under a central circle upon which sat a statue of Saint Ulf, the man who brought balance to the Kyrkja’s sects. The raised marble statue was of the saint on his knees in prayer, head looking heavenward in expectation, arms outstretched and palms upraised as if receiving wisdom from God. From under the statue’s knees, water ran in curtain like sheets into a small raised reservoir and cascaded into a large reflecting pond filled with fish. During the pilgrimage season, offerings of flowers floated on its surface. From this pool, seven ch
annels radiated out to smaller stone sepulchers and drained into prayer wheel inspired patterns and small pools that surrounded each individual saint’s statue, echoing that of Saint Ulf.

  Amr stepped over the foot wide channels and made his way to the shrine for Saint Sanaa.

  The memorial to the prophetess was filled with mosaics of bright white stone and mosaics of blue glazed tile. The monument was of her standing, leaning forward, eyes closed, hands reaching for a beautiful horizon that only God could reveal. A reassuring but faint smile was fixed on the statue’s lips. An eternal flame flickered between the statue’s outstretched fingers representing the Holy Spirit.

  He sniffed an ironic chuckle at the melodramatic monument which did not match his understanding of the prophetess. From biographies about her, Amr knew she was more infamous for giving excoriating prophecies to a people who did not want to heed God. Few sculptors enjoyed showing the saint in her true nature, which would have been a scolding mouth set in a hard angry face and an accusatory finger stabbing forth. If Sanaa had been alive to see her monument, she would have smashed it barehanded.

  Walls reflected the delicate sound of wind chimes and trickling water. Torches snapped and crackled in the cold dry air of early spring. Amr removed his shoes, knelt before the statue and prostrated himself in the middle of the sepulcher.

  “My Lord, I have come as you have commanded. Tell your servant your will,” Amr whispered.

  He waited.

  Time lost its meaning as he remained in submission.

  Chimes continued their soft ringing in the breeze.

  Wind whistled in the tips of the pines.

  The eternal flame of prophecy flickered in the breeze.

  Still, Amr remained as he had been commanded when given this task many months ago. God had other things to do at the moment it seemed, but Amr did not falter.

  His knees and back began to ache.

  But then the wind stopped and all became still.