Bastions
Chapter Forty Four: War and Peace
Part 1
Prelude:
Christianity turned its attention away from the West for a while as wars sparked in the East. In the south the Romans continued their fight against Armenia, losing ground steadily to the continuing pressure from the Muslims. Famine hit the Empire hard, with all the men at the front lines; farming almost completely stopped forcing Rome to look to its few remaining allies for imports. When the Romans arrived in Prussia, King Doyvát had trouble justifying helping the Romans not only to the court but to himself. Years of animosity were not soon forgiven and more was always lurking around the corner. Farther north, the Mordvin Duchy of Narva launched an all-out campaign against the Turks to the south. Astrakhan was one of the most important territories to the Cumani Turks; it was definitely the wealthiest. Its loss would forever cripple the Turkish tribes to the east. It also introduced a large population of native Jews to the Christian world, fresh for persecution. However, the Mordvins saw use for the Khazars, using them as a front-line defense against the Turks. All the while, though, in Arabia; the Qurati continued their retreat. The long stretches of coast once controlled from New Edessa were just a handful of castles that controlled only their direct environs. The dream of an East under the rule of Christianity seemed to be slipping away. Cities once famed for their cathedrals where now decorated in minarets and mosques. It was still a Dark Age for Christianity, but the Golden Age of Islam continued.
May 8th, 1370
Lúðvik held Joná close, as he often had to since Lilja froze like many in the old settlement. He and Eirik took what few people they could find away from that frozen land and had begun heading south. This was during the winter of 1369, a year later they hadn't gotten very far but they had made friends. Now they lived amongst the natives who referred to themselves as the Innu, and lived at the base of a large gulf. Eirik had wanted to meet up with some of the other Norse colonists, but they could not find any of the others. The hope of a bountiful and endless Vinland seemed to dissolve all around them. Forsaken had become Eirik's new favorite word. They had been forsaken by everyone and everything, including God. And Lúðvik could not help but agree. But Eirik's morale was slowly improving as Lúðvik's had. At some point you just forget what you had and begin living once again in the present.
The journey of the Lúðvik, Eirik and their host of women and children.
When Joná had finally fallen asleep, Lúðvik left her alone. He exited the small wooden building and saw people hurriedly moving food supplies around. It was spring so stability was on the horizon. Soon the crops would grow and everyone would have food to eat. He once thought that the Norse could survive winter alone, now he knew how little understanding they had. These people were a heaven-sent gift, not a group of satanic barbarians. The only thing that worried him was how long it took them to realize that. What about the other colonies? Had they figured it out yet? Or had they left? Is that why they could not be found? A hand ran across his back, causing him to turn suddenly, but the body moved to the other side and a pair of lips grabbed his ear.
"You are worrying again." It was Hanna, the only thing that was keeping him sane at times. He turned to his love, a tall and thin Skræling woman. Her dark hair and olive skin were still exotic to him, even after many nights of passion. She had told him her native name, and he tried to use it when he could. But his tongue was not that of a poet, it fumbled around with the Skræling languages. Norse was a language of warriors, it sounded tough to him.
"I am not worrying," Lúðvik protested, "I am trying to enjoy the spring air. You think everything I do looks like worrying."
"It is the beard, it hides your face. You should cut it off like the men of the tribe." This time the drooping of his face was clearly evident. She frowned; Lúðvik was very hesitant to link himself with the tribe. He harbored hopes of being saved, and that is what offended her. Saved from what?
"I am sorry; I am not a member of this tribe. I..."
"You what? Must find those who abandoned you?"
"No, that is not how it works... I chose to come to Vinland. My tribe's men owe me no saving for my own choices."
"But we saved you," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. "We saved you; we took you and your kin in. I... I let myself be taken in by you... but am I nothing as well?" She turned and began walking away. Thinking quickly Lúðvik grabbed his knife and sheared off one of the braids in his beard. With a delicate toss, he threw it at her and kept cutting. She felt a light bounce off her back and turned to see the reddish braid on the ground. She ran over to Lúðvik and pried the knife from his hands before he cut his own nose off.
"Can I finish?" Lúðvik asked.
"Are you going to end up killing yourself?"
Lúðvik straightened himself and began carefully cutting off the long strands of hair and eventually began scrapping off the short stubble that was left. A dull pain began to settle in; his face felt strange... the cool spring breeze tickled him, the salty air stung at his face. He was a young lad the last time he didn't carry a beard around. "What?" The Norse man asked Hanna, who was trying to keep from laughing.
"The top half of your face is red, but the part under your beard is pale. You look like a partially ripe berry."
Lúðvik smiled, he should have guessed that he had been getting more sun then usual working amongst the crops and in the fishing boats. "I never wanted to return to the other Norsemen, but I don't feel I can ever be a true Innu. I will always be caught somewhere in the middle."
"Then let us all be caught in the middle."
Eirik watched as Lúðvik walked off, smooth-faced, with his Innu friend. Eirik was too stubborn, too eager to push his face between two pale bosoms to fall for the tricks of an olive-skinned woman so quickly. Though, his age did come with other urges. He wouldn't admit it, but Lúðvik was his hero. He had bravely led them to safety when Eirik was too afraid to leave his hut. He was smart enough to trust the natives with their safety when Eirik would have starved alone. So, the blond-haired man sat there, a partially gutted fish still in his hand. A quick glance, and he saw that the men were all smooth faced, including the elderly.
"Where is Eirik's damsel?" he muttered under his breath in Norse. "Where is Eirik's fuck?" With a pause and a warrior's scream he hacked the head off a fish with a single swing, causing the others to look at him worriedly. After a few seconds of huffing and puffing, Eirik watched as two boys ran up and took the beheaded fish away and then replaced it with a new fish; eagerly waiting for Eirik to repeat the feat. With a smile and another yell, Eirik dropped his sword and beheaded the fish, this time receiving a small round of applause. This continued over and over until finally Eirik shouted out "I am Eirik, Fish Killer!"
The Innu chanted with him, mimicking his Norse words: "Fish Killer! Fish Killer!" He smiled and stood triumphantly; both arms stretched into the air, his blood-soaked sword dripping over his hair.
And so, on that spring evening, legends of a fearsome, pale Innu who could cleave through entire whales was born: Eirik Fish Killer.