Jorvik

Jorvik (Vocal Contest)

Gunnar thought he had seen enough barren wasteland, much like the villages surrounding his village. Grey and desolate places where Hel, the goddess of the underworld reigned. He was charged with anticipation as his ship sliced through the cold seas to reveal the land of the Celts. Formidable and bleak, there were spots of umber and green pockmarking the surface barely visible on the distant horizon. His men had been grumbling for weeks on this vessel and now he praised Thor for delivering them into nirvana. Rumors abounded throughout the land that gold and jewels were in plentiful supply once you left the shores of Scandinavia. Shining goblets, ruby rings, and so much coin that you needed twelve wooden trunks to carry it. 

Standing at the prow of the ship as it sliced through the green sea, Gunnar was transported back to his life in Denmark. The salty sea spray smell brought him to his village and back to his wife Greta and their three children: Aksel, Tangela, and Maarika. All three have the spirit of Thor within them. Aksel is growing into a fine warrior. Tall and muscular from pulling on fishing nets and building boats. At fifteen he will soon be starting his own family.Tangela is learning how to be a shieldmaiden. Jet black hair and striking green eyes, she has to beat the young village boys off with a stick, and Maarika, sweet sweet Maarika with the shiny blonde locks is gentle and calm within the chaos of the village. When Greta said farewell at the dock, she had taken his hand to her belly and smiled. News of a new life sustained him on this long voyage. 

"Gunnar. Land ahead." Shouted out his right-hand man, Jaako. Looking out into the horizon at dusk, they were barely able to make out the coast of England. They were headed for Jorvik and the crew steered the boat toward the spec of land on the horizon. They had come with more settlers for Jorvik. Mostly male warriors ready to take a Briton for a bride and raise a litter of children. 

The ocean breezes blew through their plaited blonde hair as both men steadied themselves against the rocking waves. 

" You may find yourself a bride here, Jaako." Gunnar was tall and full of sinewy muscles from shipbuilding and farming and turned the heads of many maidens back home. Jaako was a bulk of a man that was often called svinemand, smelly, squatty, and not the most attractive man on the boat. What he lacked in looks, he made up for in loyalty and had already proved he could keep a secret for decades. A secret that would have dire consequences for all. 

"I hear the English women are hard to train, but once you teach them they love a warrior Viking." Jaako laughed, showing his nearly toothless grin.

"They're not dogs you stupid pig." Gunnar reminded him with a thwack that nearly broke his neck. "Behave and maybe you'll find someone willing to put up with your stink." 

The end of the earth. At least that's what it feels like to Anslem. Stuck in this monastery on a hardscrabble island that God forgot. No chance of breaking vows of chastity here as the only females are the sheep and goats that the friars keep for milk and wool, and he was not about to commit sinful acts like some of the other brothers did when they thought others were not looking. Stroking his crucifix necklace he realized this was the only life for him. One of the youngest novices, he gave his life to Christ at fifteen and for three years he spent hours learning scripture with the other brothers and two other novices.

His father died when he was only four and his mother did her best to raise him and his three sisters by marrying a local widower that could take care of all of them. He brutalized the entire family with any creative method he could conjure: burning them with pokers, forcing them to wash clothes naked in the icy river in winter, just so he could watch their young bodies. All those memories came flooding back every time he went down to the river to gather water so lost in the trauma, and hatred, and pain that he almost didn't hear the bell for mass and ran to the chapel just in time. 

Michael, one of the other novices grabbed him on the way in. "Anslem, Brother Patrick wants to see you after mass." 

Sighing deeply, he centered himself with a prayer before entering. To the outsider, it appeared the same as any of the other outbuildings on the monastery property. Worn and beaten by the weather, the wooden timbers were covered with a mixture of mud and peat, and the only symbol: a small wooden cross above the door. All done by design to prevent thieves and marauders from desecrating what lay within. Anselm pushed the heavy oak door to reveal a shimmering spectacle. Golden plates on the walls depicting the last days of the Lord were etched in exquisite detail. Goblets crafted by the finest artisans covered in rubies and emeralds and one of twelve alter clothes sewn by hand in Rome. This one was the fall of Adam and Eve from Eden, the forbidden fruit and the devil in the brightest red he had ever seen. 

Anslem was never contemplative when it was time for prayer and as the service droned on, he became more anxious and bored. He longed for adventure and travel to new places away from this stifling abbey and the endless rules the monks required. Hypocrites. Lecturing the novices on self-control and lust while doing unspeakable things to themselves and each other. He believed in God and believed there was something much bigger out there for him. 

Courtesy of Emmanuel Donato JrBy the time the service ended it was black as ink outside, but he loved the dark cold evenings. Solitude was his savior and he had a secret place in the woods where he could view the night sky and scheme of ways to leave this life. He heard some of the other novices talking about the settlement at York. A place of wonders and fishing and shipbuilding. Looking up into the heavens that evening he saw a sign from God. Two bodies shimmering bodies beckoning him forward toward his destiny. 

"Anselm, I've been looking for you." Brother Patrick stepped out of the shadows like a sneaky cat. "You were not at morning prayer and your bed was not slept in." Edging closer to Anselm, he continued. "You seem, distant and distracted." Placing a bony hand on his shoulder, " perhaps I can help." 

Anselm slowly moved his body so he was out of reach of Brother Patrick. "I am just a bit melancholy that is all." Sidling up against him again, Brother Patrick whispered in his ear, "if you ever want to confess and pray, my son, I will guide you."

''Christ is my guide." Anselm closed his eyes and made the sign of the cross. "You would be wise to remember that as well Brother Patrick. It's late, we have an early prayer. I bid you good night now brother. I will be asking for God's forgiveness for my sins. Perhaps you should do the same." Anselm left Brother Patrick standing alone in the cold, watching him like an eagle ready to pounce on its prey.

Gunnar's ship would still take several days to reach Jorvik and the Viking blood still raged for some fighting and looting. The crew spotted a few small islands dotting the horizon and convinced him that there must be Christian relics ripe for pickings and monks to throw take captive as slaves. 

Anselm lay in his spartan cell, his mind racing. Prayer never helped him calm his mind and body, only nature did that. Fishing, hunting, and running made him feel human, alive, physical, and manly. He needed a change. He needed to escape, to get away from this hypocritical place of maddening boredom. He knew what he had to do and as he concocted a plan, he fell asleep peacefully for the first time in years. 

It was twilight when Gunnar and his crew slipped into the small rocky island on the way to Jorvik. Flocks of sheep bleating and the sound of insects were the only noises the Viking marauders heard as they gathered their shields, longswords, and axes. Gunnar and Jaacko led the raiding party of twenty men into the shallows, treading quietly to avoid splashing and awakening any inhabitants. Making their way toward the shore, trodding through the wet sand as they approached a monastery bathed in moonlight casting the shadows of two men leaving. 

The slow creak of the wooden cell door woke Anselm. He remained very still as he listened intently to the unknown intruder's ragged breathing. Anselm reached under his scratchy blanket for his hunting knife, gripping it firmly in his hand. As the stranger crept further into the room and passed close to the window, he could see Brother Patrick, his face lit briefly by the moonlight. Anselm's gripped the dagger harder as Brother Patrick made his way around the side of the wooden cot and reached out with his gnarled hand to touch Anselm's leg. The reaction from him was swift as he ripped the blanket off and plunged the knife into Patrick's groin. A fountain of blood gushed out of the wound, turning the brown coverlet crimson. Anselm stared at Patrick's shocked face as he turned white and crumpled to the floor in a red heap. Dead. 

Wiping the blade on the blanket and pulling his hood over his head, he bolted out of his cell and quietly navigated the long hallway to the door of the dormitory. Creeping along the wall, he did not expect to see Brother Edward, one of the other novices leaving his cell with a small cloth satchel slung over his shoulder. Hiding in the shadows, Anselm slowed his pace to watch Edward as he made his way through the corridor. Creeping closer to Edward, he pulled his knife out, ready to plunge it into his neck as Edward turned and motioned for him to be quiet. Anslem put the knife in his belt and followed Edward to the door. Finding it bolted, they pushed the timber beam to the right and sprinted away into the woods. 

Edward stopped to catch his breath and Anselm grabbed his hood.

"Why?" 

Sucking air into his searing lungs, Edward breathed out. " Brother Patrick the sodomizer. The stalking and the touching and other sinful acts, I had to leave"

""He won't be sinning anymore." Anselm smiled. Patting his belt. "I've made sure of it. Bled like a stuck pig."

Edward made the sign of the cross. "May God have mercy on your soul, brother. You committed a mortal sin."

"I did what ever other brother wanted to do, and put an end to the touching and raping. Hypocrits, pigs. I'm done with it all. I want a new path, a new journey, one far away from this pit, this is hell and I will no longer have any part of it. Removing his cross necklace, he tossed it into the woods. 

"I'm heading to Jorvik. You're welcome to come along, or stay here. It makes no difference to me but I'm leaving this life behind. Forever."

"Shut it." Edward pointed toward the chapel. "Who is that?" Anselm was gone, sprinting back toward the home he was desperate to escape from.

The Viking maruders crept quietly through the woods, eyes on the prize that lay ahead of them. Visions of gold, jewels and other precious items danced in their heads. There was now relative peace between the island inhabitants and the Norsemen, remote raids were still commomplace and accepted.

The attack was over in moments, but not before rivers of blood were spilled. The Vikings flowed into the dormitory as quiet as church mice, but their vengeance was swift and chaotic as they gutted or slit the throats of all the priests, enjoying the shocked looks and the agony of death. Most of the clergy lay dead or dying, their robes sticky with blood and entrails. 

The mob of Norsemen were loading up all of the altarpieces and fine cloth, when a brother ran at Gunnar with a broadsword he had picked up, shrieking "Pagan pig, burn in hell," burying it in his side, as Anselm kicked his legs out and stabbed him between the ribs. Death ebbed out of him slowly as he gasped his last breath, clutching the crucifix around his neck. 

Gunnar grabbed Anselm by the throat and threw him like a tiny twig, landing at Jaakos feet. 

"Put a collar on this one. He's got the fire of Thor in him. He'll make a fine servant for my wife."