Chapter 9
Another ghastly morning, something completely alien to me.
It was as if everything in the world had changed I was now living as
another person. I remembered what Mosako had told us about how other
peoples had beliefs that when they die, their spirit is taken up into a
different life, even a different animal. To them we never die, but eternally
circulate around the world. A few righteous people get taken up into
heaven as their spiral ascends. A thought crossed my mind that perhaps
some wickedness had propelled me into this punished new life. I checked
myself- Tilda had said remember we have done nothing wrong. This was an
injustice brought against our people, an easy going harmless tribe, quite the
simplest to bully. And yet we weren't a complete push over. I
recalled Tilda spitting even when a heavy jacket boot sat across her face.
It was as if she had freed her spirit from her body, leaving it trapped
under the jack boot, as she stood tall. Her mind and spirit were free,
even as her body was subject to cruelty.
The guards were up and about. One guard, a chatter box, who
could not help himself but tell us what our fate was likely to be. Half of us
had been sold to row the long boats on long journeys south. These were
the ones with impressive muscles. Weeds like me were to be sold as
domestic slaves, to a merchant heading around the coast to the fiords, and
further, to the far islands of volcanos and ice. For a moment I felt some
pleasure. I had always wanted to travel, and perhaps my new owner might
be a good type. It is wonderful to be young and innocent. The pain
is easier to bare, and I regret to say, I even forgot the fate of our
community, with its fragile existence under the escarpment. Later that
evening I did think of them, and was more sober. I wondered if other
young people had taken my place. Also whether Mosako was continuing with
the great sagas we loved to hear. I imagined a new toupee of 'gathers',
now learning their gathering skills, and how the idea of going on expedition
might now be viewed.
Being somewhat light in weight, I found myself pushed into the bow
of a long wooden ship, with one tall rectangular sail. I had seen ships
passing by the cliffs, but now to be inside one was an incredible feeling.
The boat rocked, inducing a strange internal sensation. I could
taste some sick in my mouth. We had been given a handful of cold porridge
to eat that morning, sticky oats, like tree resin, one hand as a platter.
This was not bad food, but now I could taste how little progress it had
made into my system, and even now was considering giving up. The boat was
pushed off by some of the strongest men I have ever seen. These must be
the fabled Rus. Long before these marauders reach new lands, the
inhabitants know all about them. They arrive in new lands, surprised to
discover that their new subjects can already speak their language and greet
them with a bowl of hot soup. It is useful to have completed your studies
in living under the oppressor well in advance of the invasion. it calms
the nerves.
The rising waves and shrill whistle of the wind were invigorating.
I felt really alive, even with the clawing reminder of my fate pulling at
my wrists. I wondered if I too might be able to become a galley slave
someday. The sight of the whip stinging through the air brought me up
short. This was no life to aspire to. I wondered what was actually
in store for me. I quietened myself down, and closed my eyes, allowing
the chill, the motion, and the groans of men, flapping of the sail and crashing
waves to all be together, in harmony. I concentrated on thinking in my
mind upwards, and outwards. Feeling a connection with the one who holds
all things together. What was the purpose of this journey? I recalled
Mosako's message. "Everything we do that it done with honourable desire
will be used in creation. It's power is that of the creative force, and
the creative force will conquer destruction." I recalled how just two days
ago, our dance in the market square had transfixed a people. We had seen
such a glow in their faces, such as sense of hope and wellbeing. I
wondered whether this would conquer the destructive force we later encountered.
It felt to me that destruction had won. Mosako described the destructive
force like an underground river. You could sense the noise of destruction from
time to time, just under the surface. Then it might break out on the surface.
You could truly see it, in all its sticking horror. I felt we had fallen into
that river. My sister would be suffering the most, my community would be
grieving our loss. I was grieving, and the pain of my situation returned.
Sleep now took me and sped me on to our destination. We
arrived in a grand port, surrounded by mountains at the head of a long fiord.
So this was the land of the fiords. I thought our escapement was a
fine place to live, but I could see here a land with might higher horizons.
Endless coast, tall trees, and a massive confident people. So to my
first night in Oshlo, a town that made Jokou look like a half-hearted. I
was impressed, and marvelled at the intricately carved wooden buildings, each
one far greater that the headman's barn.
My new life was to be a young waiter, working in a bar with
sailors departing or returning from far off places, a lodestone, full of stories,
and terrible feats of male bravado. My first night was spent sleeping high in
the eves of the roof, with three other young slave. We shared not a single word
in common, but being now in the same bed, were immediately, 'family'.
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