by M J Porter
Trapped
He woke to a strange diffused light that he could not reconcile with anything he knew. He was lying on his back in an uncomfortable position. For some reason he could not fathom he had left his back-pack on when he lay down to sleep. It was too bright and he closed his eyes against the glare. He was unable to move his legs and he wondered at that. The only thing he was sure of was that he felt warm.
He was panting with the after effects of an exertion that he could no longer remember and wondered what had happened to him. He felt weak and with relief felt sleep claim him. He drifted in an oblivion of memories.
* * *
Erann was bored. He couldn’t help it. He knew he shouldn’t be, but reading musty scripts was dull. It was still deep in the Long Night and there was very little that anyone could do, except keep warm and stay indoors. Before him was a pile of curled scripts he was supposed to be laying flat using a few handy pieces of wood and a heavy wooden bowl. His mother was sitting by the huge hearth nursing his new baby brother, born only a few hours earlier, and his sister was happily playing mother to her little doll that she had been given in anticipation of the arrival of the new baby. He sat at the large wooden family table, perched precariously on his father’s high stool, and tried to look like he was doing what he was supposed to be doing. At the other end of the table, Anya was chopping meat to be added to the cauldron hung over the blazing fire. She was at the end closest to the warmth, and sweat beaded on her brow as she worked.
Behind her his mother sat with the baby. Even to him, his mother was beautiful. She had luxurious auburn hair which now lay unbound over the back of their one high backed wooden chair. Her eyes flashed a brown smile at him. His sister was small and petite, a perfect miniature of his mother, apart from her eyes that were a stormy blue. She played quietly at her mother’s feet, whispering to her doll. He was a little jealous that his sister could play dollies whilst he had to read the scripts in front of him. The entries were so monotonous that he couldn’t imagine there was anything contained within them that needed to be known.
A gust of wind rushed through the room and Erann jumped up to hold all the scripts down. It would not be in his best interests if they were damaged in anyway. The gust of wind meant that his father had returned and that he had bought fresh bags of peat to be lain to dry inside the many compartments on the hearth. As he hastily re- stacked all the scripts on the table in front of him he was aware that here was an opportunity to get away from the boring reading. He could offer to fill the hearth with the peat and in that way be helpful to his father whilst lessening his own boredom.
He rushed up to help his father as he finished dragging the bags in through the outer door at the end of the tunnel that led to the inner door. Erann glanced outside as he did so, and was met with the same impenetrable dark that had been their constant companion for more days than he cared to remember. He could see a few feet in front of him, thanks to the light spilling from the inner room but that was all. Everywhere was covered in snow and he shivered as the deep cold of outside wrapped itself around him.
Then his attention was snagged as his father pushed the outer door shut against the force of the wind that was still whirling into the room, bringing with it a swirl of fresh snow. His father wedged the large bolt of wood into place to keep the outer door shut against the onslaught of the wind. Erann then began to hand him the rags that were wedged all around the doorframe to ensure that no stray gusts of wind were allowed to penetrate the steading. Only when all this was done did his father turn to him with a smile,
“Thanks for your help there, Erann. That wind is surely much stronger than it was yesterday, a sign that we are still a long way a way from the Long Day. More’s the pity. Here you go; you can go and sort that bag of peat for me whilst I check on your mother.”
Erann was handed one of the heavy bags containing the wrapped peat and began to drag it towards the hearth. His father dumped the other two sacks inside the inner door, and likewise turned to bar it against the wind, snow and cold. It was not as firmly closed as the outer door, for the latrines were in the small side tunnel but it was worth the effort of baring the door closed until such time as they were needed. His father removed the layers of wolf and hare fur that wrapped him so tightly and hung them near to the hearth to warm and dry.
Erann was determined to be helpful although the sack was heavy and cumbersome. Anything to get away from the reading. He struggled to pull the sack across the wooden floor and as he did so he could feel the temperature rise significantly. The hearth was one of the largest he had ever seen and even then when it was piled as high as possible with peat, the heat did not seem to reach all the corners of their home. The area by the door was decidedly cold and so were the sleeping quarters in the loft. Although his father assured him that the heat from the hearth would rise to warm the sleeping loft, Erann was not at all convinced, especially when it came time to change his underclothes during the coldest days of the Long Night.
The heat was welcome because it had been cold sat at the table reading the scripts, and even colder at the door when he greeted his father. He was wearing his warmest fur clothing but sitting away from the hearth allowed the chill air to cool his body. The hearth was an enormous contraption that filled the entire wall along the middle of the steading. It was built there so that the animals in the other half of the steading, who were cut off from them thanks to a thick turf and wooden wall, would also benefit somewhat from the heat. The animals were lucky because they had thick, heavy cloaks that grew in for each Long Night and so did not need the heat as much as Erann’s people did. Erann was just glad that his family did not have to live with the stink of the animals like some people did because their steading was not divided like his own. He imagined that the stink must be unbearable, especially deep in the Long Night.
There were many drawers and cupboards in the hearth for drying the peat because the area where they were kept in storage was always a little damp, and there was nothing worse than smoke filling the steading when it was not dry. Erann bent down and opened the bottom drawer. This was the warmest drawer in the hearth and the place where all new peat just in from storage was placed. He began to pull out the peat that had been put there previously. He then replaced it with the new peat. By the time he had finished he was really warm and could feel sweat trickling down his back. He opened one of the cupboards by the side of the roaring fire and began putting the now dry peat in there. That way it would be easy to reach when it was time to stock up the fire.
As he finished his job he turned to look at his father, who devoid of his fur cloaks and wrappings, were gazing fondly at the small bundle in his mother’s arms. His father was a huge man, with mighty, musculature arms and a stomach that was hard from all the heavy labouring he did. He had deep brown hair that reached his shoulders and hazel eyes to match. His face was covered by a large auburn beard and moustache. His voice and laughter were normally deep and booming and Erann knew he was doing his best to be quiet and gentle around his new brother, Hakon. Erann adored his father. He was everything that Erann felt a father should be. He was fun, he was stern, he was approachable and above all, he was dependable. He always had an answer to any question Erann had, and he had so many that he often tired his mother and Anya out with his constant questions.
Not wishing to disturb his father, Erann decided to fetch one of the other bags and again put its contents to dry. He walked back near to the entrance tunnel, and felt the air cool around his sweaty face. He bent to pick up the bag but it proved to be too heavy. Although Erann strained to drag it he was unable to. He turned to see his father stood behind him, smiling at him,
“I think that one will be a bit heavy for you. Even I struggled to bring it in just now. Come on, I’m neglecting my chores and so are you. I shall take over and you can get on with your reading.”
Erann tried to stifle a groan but completely failed.
“I know it’s boring. Believe me, I remember bein
g your age and thinking that this was the worst punishment imaginable. I’ll tell you what, you sit down and I’ll put this peat away and then try and find something more exciting.”
With that his father picked up the bag of peat effortlessly, his muscles tensing in his forearms before he slung it over his back. Erann went back to the table and again sorted through the stack of scripts in order to find the one he had just been reading. He had not done a good job of keeping them flat when the door opened. He knew his father would berate him for the mess. The scripts were meant to be in order but he knew his father would have to spend time restoring the mess he had made of them. Oh well, it would give him something to do. Erann was sure that his father must get just as bored as he did. There was nothing worse than being confined to the steading for almost a half of each rotation.
Erann’s father flopped heavily onto the low stool next to him, startling him from his thoughts. His head was now of a height with Erann’s own, and Erann found himself examining him in more detail. The cold of outside had reddened his cheeks, so that every available surface was either covered in red, or the auburn of his beard and moustache. Erann suppressed a grin. He looked remarkably animal like.
“Oh Erann, how many times do I have to tell you to keep these in the correct order?” his father said to him although there was a smile playing on his face as he said it.
“Sorry, but they got a bit disturbed when you opened the door”, Erann answered with a rueful grin, pleased to be able to let his smile now show on his face.
“Never mind son, I can sort them out soon enough, although it would be nice if I didn’t have to sort them out every time you read them. I’m just glad that you only have one pile of them out; otherwise it would take half a day. You look very bored. All that son of son stuff can be a bit much at your age.”
Every manuscript that Erann had read so far started with a big long list of people who had told the scribe the information that they contained, and an even bigger list of all the predecessors who had passed on the information. Erann did try to skim read the list, but sometimes when he did so he missed the most important part of the script, which normally detailed one of his ancient relatives. His father seemed to know all of the scripts almost by heart and would often quiz him after he had read them to ensure that he had understood what he had read. More often than not he did not, and his father wondered how he could find everything else so interesting and bedevil him all day with questions, but have no interest what so ever in the past.
“Here you go, this one is quite interesting”, his father said to him handing him a smallish piece of script. The scripts were all an assortment of shapes and sizes, some tied together with strips of hide whilst others were simply one piece carefully rolled to preserve the contents. This was one of those scripts, and it was so small that it was almost impossible to flatten.
“If you can read that one before supper, then you can stop until tomorrow. Okay?”
Erann gladly took the script from his father. It was probably the smallest script he had seen so far so hopefully it would not contain much writing. His father had already dismissed him to get on with the task and was flicking through his own small personal journal. Erann did not know what the small brown journal contained but knew that it rarely left his father’s side. He had asked him before what it contained. His father had answered in the annoyingly adult way that, “He would tell him when he was older” and that he must never touch it.
He read the script,
“This was told to me by Swein son of Olaf who witnessed this event for himself. When it was discovered that the rumours were correct it was decided that we would all leave. As such plans were made. We then left our homeland in the early days of spring, and after many days at sea during which we experienced storms and lost many of our ships, we came ashore here. The land was fertile and uninhabited and life was very good for many rotations until the Reckoning. It was decided that we would stay. They were not happy at our decision and left us to our fate. This was written in the twenty fifth Rotation after our coming here.”
Erann was bewildered by what he had just read and for once was just about to ask his father about it when he realised he had disappeared into the loft. He could hear his creaking footsteps above in the small loft area that served as their sleeping quarters. This was again a commodity denied many others.
Then there was a loud knocking on the door, so loud it was clearly audible over the crackling of the fire, and the chopping of Anya’s knife. His father rushed down the ladder towards the door with concern registered on his face. It was absolutely unheard of for anyone to be out at this time of the Long Night, but there was someone there because they could just about hear them shouting above the screeching of the wind and they could definitely hear them banging on the door. For that much noise, there must surely be more than one person outside. It sounded like they were using a stone to hammer on the door. His mother jostled awake and the baby at her breast, disturbed, began to cry. His sister, Aras, rushed to her mother’s side. As his father fumbled with the wooden bolt, Erann ran to remove the wads of rags from around the outer door frame. The door abruptly came loose and caught the fierce wind flying into Erann’s face and knocking him to the floor, unconscious.
* * *
When he next woke he thought it was to the sound of a voice calling his name. He turned his head, which hurt, but could see nothing and hear nothing. With crushing speed he remembered what had happened and by a process of elimination where he was. The terror was overwhelming. He tried to move his legs and failed. He tried to move his arms to batter at the layers of snow, ice and rock above his head. He accomplished nothing except to dislodge a chunk of ice that landed hard, on his right eye. The world went black.
* * *
As Erann stumbled his way to bed he couldn’t help berating himself for the risks he had taken earlier that day. He could admit to himself that he had found this Long Night particularly trying. His mother’s’ health had steadily deteriorated and he knew so little about herb law that he did not know what to do for the best. In his youth, when his father had been there and he had been Jarl of the Eastern Quarter there had been many more people in the steading than just his immediate family. There had been their trusted servants who had been paid in kind from the profits from gift giving and from the extra they were able to produce from their farm. With his father’s exile they had all left. The family could no longer keep them as they had lost their place as Jarls in all but name. Rankil had taken it from them, and with it he had taken many of their servants and made them into virtual slaves who worked only for their bed and board. Anya had wanted to stay but she had been unable. They simply couldn’t have kept her any longer. They were struggling to feed just the four of them as it was. Anya had phenomenal knowledge of herbs and matters relating to health and well-being. Even at only ten rotations old, Erann had been aware of her special gift. How he wished she was still here now. She would know what to do for his mother.
Ever since his father had failed to return from his exile she had lost the ability to live her life and this illness was only the most obvious example. As the days of the previous Long Day had started to shorten at both ends, he had noticed a certain lethargy about her. He had known that she had hoped his father would return. He had himself. Last Long Night there had been a keen anticipation from all of them and his mother had been thinking of how things would change when his father had returned and cleared his name. She had often spoken of them resuming their position as Jarls of the Eastern Quarter. There had been a definite lightness to their steps when the Long Day had finally arrived, a suppressed excitement.
As the days had reached their zenith he had often caught his mother gazing into the distance seemingly seeing nothing. All the time she had been looking for her husband and his father. They had purposely not gone to the Council last Long Day because they had not wanted to miss his return. That was why they were now struggling to make some of their supplies last. Whilst the Co
uncil was primarily intended to be a meeting of all the people to discuss news and action justice for those who had been wronged, it was also inevitably an excuse for people to trade their excess goods for those that they did not have in such abundance. Normally they traded some of their animals for valuable supplies of wood and peat.
He realised his father would not have been immediately able to restore his status and position. Somehow he and his mother had forgotten that because they were so wrapped up in the expectation of his return. This rotation they would have to journey to the Council and they would have to stand and listen to the damning indictments being passed into law against his father. He had failed to return after his seven rotations in exile, and that meant that he had been judged to be guilty of the crimes that he had been accused of. Rankil would now become Jarl of the Eastern Quarter for his entire lifetime and they had no hopes of returning to their privileged position.
Maybe that was why his sister had been so happy to go off and be married to Jarl Rankil, as he supposed he should get used to calling him now. She had taken it very badly when his father had left and over time Erann was sure her sorrow and distress had turned into resentment for all the things she had lost. Marrying Rankil was a way of getting back all those things. She’d been only five rotations old when their father had been forced into exile and whilst Erann and his mother had tried to keep the memories of him alive with their constant talking about him; maybe it just hadn’t been enough?
At the beginning, when Rankil had first come, Erann had been so angry with his sister for her betrayal of his family. Over the Long Night he had come to realise that she was simply trying to make the best of a bad situation. Perhaps she hoped to help her family in their straightened conditions? He would need to seek her out and apologise for their last argument. It had been more his fault than hers. He saw that clearly now. His anger was gone, replaced by a numbing sense of shame and futility. He had lost all of his boyhood and young manhood waiting for something to happen that was now not going to happen. His father was not going to return, and that was why his mother was now so ill.