The Snow on the Cross by Brian Fitts Page A

answered.  “Eirik
will kill me.”
    “He won’t,” Malyn seemed eager to
reply.  “He told me he admires you.”
    I refused to discuss the matter with
the girl, and I sent her back to Eirik’s house.  She left, somewhat dejected,
and I stood at my door and watched her leave.   I returned to my writing,
shutting the door against the cold air wafting in.  I still had a hard time
believing it was springtime here.  My soul ached with cold at the mere thought
of winter. 
    I wrote for the remainder of the day,
but I found that I was running out of ink.  There was only enough perhaps for
two more pages and then there would be nothing.  I sat and wondered how I could
possibly get more ink in this wasted land.  Perhaps I could meet with the
traders at their next arrival.  Perhaps Eirik would purchase some on my behalf.
    As it would turn out, Eirik did not
buy any ink, and my recordings stopped suddenly as the rest of my ink ran
dry.   As God has seen, in His wisdom, to allow me to write this now, I will
confess the truth to you who reads this.   For two years I lived in Eirik’s
stone church, and I only wrote about ten pages of records.  The rest is based
on my good memory of events, for I am still sharp of mind, even locked away as
I am now.  What follows may not be entirely accurate, but I trust God to guide
my hand and refresh my mind.
    Now, listen well.  The hunt Eirik had
proposed involved two weeks out in the bitter night air away from shelter.  The
days would be filled with blinding white flashes of snow and ice and the thud
of hoofs against the frozen ground.  The excited shouts of the men as they
hauled down yet another kill would mingle with the battered whine of that beast
as the men hacked away at it on the ice, slicing off bits they didn’t need and
stacking the slabs they decided to take.  Red and white.  The color of red
never really meant much to me until I saw bright streams of it splattered
against the pure white silver-colored ice.  After that, I just felt queasy at
the thought.
    Eirik came to collect me before
sunrise two days after Malyn told me of the hunt.  I was startled to see
fifteen men standing lined up at my door so early in the morning because I was
certain I made my intentions clear to Malyn.  Obviously, something was
misinterpreted in the translation, for here stood Eirik in person, waiting to
carry me away.  I stood a bit numb as the large man stared at me.  I felt like
the deer just before the arrow strikes.
    He said something to me, of course I
didn’t understand him, but I assumed he was there to take me with him.  I heard
a familiar voice, but for a moment I could not process it.  Then I understood
it was my language I was hearing.  Bjarni was standing there behind Eirik, but
I didn’t notice him until he spoke up.
    “Are you ready, Bishop?” Bjarni
asked.  “It is time.”
    “Bjarni,” I said his name to get used
to the sound.  For a month I had only spoken to Malyn, so Bjarni’s voice was
quite a change.  “It’s good to see you again.”
    Bjarni stepped up, shaking his
head.   “Are you ready?”
    Bjarni did not want idle
conversation, but he had been at sea for the past month fishing.  Now he was
here, and he was growing impatient.  He sounded if he were speaking to a small
child.
    “Are you ready?” he asked again.
    “Ready for what?” I asked, knowing
what the answer would be.  I felt very angry with Malyn, but I discovered later
she had nothing to do with the decision.  Eirik was going to take me whether I
wanted to go or not.  Malyn had told Eirik I didn’t want to go, but it meant
nothing.
    I looked at the spear Eirik was
holding.  It was as tall as he was, and a bright metal point glittered at the
top.  Eirik was meticulous about his weapons.  After each kill he carefully
removed every drop of blood, whether animal or human.  Now his spear looked
ready to pierce directly through me, and I felt a little weak.  The wood