Copyright Oggbashan September 2018/September 2020
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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Despite my extreme temperature sleeping bag I was cold. I was aware of three female bodies, each in similar sleeping bags, huddled around me. We were all cold. Soon we would have to leave as the ice returned.
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It started with the discovery of an obscure saga in a library's archives. It was only a short extract of a long saga that was well known but it had incidents that hadn't appeared in any other version of that saga.
On a remote island to the north of Norway there had been a Viking village occupied by seal hunters only in the summer months. One year, and the saga is unclear about the exact year, the Arctic ice sheet moved South much earlier than normal. The village and the sheltered harbour were threatened by spreading sea ice and a growing glacier.
The inhabitants had a real problem. They had to leave now or the harbour would be closed. They didn't have enough sea-going ships. Even loading the ships beyond their safe capacity four people would have to stay in the village until a ship could return.
The decision to leave Eric was obvious. He had two broken legs, the result of a fight with a polar bear. Although his legs were splinted he would need to lie down on the ship. There just wasn't enough room for anyone to lie down. Maybe by the time a ship returned he might be able to move with crutches.
Choosing the others was harder. The ships needed everyone who could row -- the men. They needed women who had children. That left three women who were childless and widowed. They weren't essential to the community's survival and would be left to look after Eric until the ship came back. The four were left with food. Although the village might be overwhelmed by the advancing glacier, it should last long enough for a ship to return. Even if the harbour had been closed by ice, the four could walk to the edge of the ice to be rescued.
Eric and the women watched the ships and their friends sail away. Hanne, one of the women, could write. She kept a record of the events, including after the ships had left after the ships had left, scratched onto sheets of slate. Her account was included in the saga.
The ships that left ran into a storm while close to their destination. They survived after sustaining severe damage that needed extensive repairs. It was more than a month before a ship was seaworthy enough to return to rescue the stranded Eric and the three women. They found them dead, covered in transparent ice, on a small boat close to the outer edge of the harbour. Hanne's slates were in the bow of the boat which was just protruding from the ice. The rescuers took them but couldn't retrieve the bodies because another storm was imminent.
What struck the rescuers was not that the four were dead, but that they were in an unusual position, a human pyramid. Why? And how?
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The Norwegian government had wanted an exploratory archaeological visit to the island to find out how much of the saga was based on fact. This summer the Arctic ice sheet had retreated further than normal and the harbour on the island was ice-free for the first time for nearly a hundred years. There was an opportunity now to see whether there were any remains of the village. If not this year, there might not be another chance for decades.
The three women were the archaeologists. I was the Arctic expert, the one carrying the gun in case of polar bears, the jack of all trades, and the representative of the commercial sponsors. I might not know as much as the others about archaeology. I did know about ice, ice-sheets, glaciers and survival. I was responsible for the women's safety.
We had been delivered by a large fishing boat equipped for high latitudes. They had unloaded the prefabricated hut and the crew had helped to assemble it. It was insulated and weatherproof but not meant for an Arctic winter. Its small size had decided how many would be left on the island. The multi-fuel heater was in a lean-to attached to the hut so we wouldn't have carbon monoxide poisoning. A larger hut would have been difficult to transport and erect. We didn't intend to be there once the weather turned colder and the nights would be almost endless. But...
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The women had found the village. They were excited because the village had been abandoned hurriedly on a specific date, even if they didn't yet know the exact date. It had never been reoccupied, and many items had been left in situ. The coverings of the buildings had been crushed by ice, sealing artefacts in place. The cold had preserved not just tools but organic materials too. They had work for years. The weather and advancing ice meant they had only weeks.
We had launched an underwater ROV shortly after we had arrived and had found the boat that Eric and the three women had been on. The cold water had preserved it fairly well although it had been crushed by the ice before it sank. The bodies were still well-preserved including their clothing but we could not raise them. They were too deep. But we had found out why they had been in a human pyramid. The mast, now lying across the wreck, had a rope jammed in the upper sheave making it impossible to raise a sail. Eric, propped up by the women because of his broken legs, had been probably trying to clear the blockage when they might have been overwhelmed by an ice storm.
The possibility of an ice storm frightened me. We could clear snow drifts but an ice storm might cover our hut and make it impossible to get out.
I was getting more worried. We had already stayed a week more than we had planned. The women wanted to stay longer and longer, as long as possible. I could see the ice beginning to form in the sheltered parts of the harbour. We would have to leave within days. The more the women found, the more cluttered the hut became. It would take hours to load their finds. Would we have hours? Loading could only happen if it was calm in the harbour and the harbour was navigable.
Would we have fuel? Food? Our fuel supplies were running low. We would have food but a very restricted diet. Despite protests I had contacted the mainland via our satellite dish and asked for us to be taken off the island in three days time. The response had worried me.
"We'll try," they had said, "but there's a storm brewing to the West. The trawler might have to stand off or run for shelter if the storm is early."
The satellite dish was heavily used. Several times a day the women were uploading photographs and data about their work. Daylight hours were shortening but they worked in the hut cataloguing and packing the finds. The increasing pile of boxes worried me.