11.The Crossfield

The Crossfield stood in the west of Iceland. Many of the first settlers were Christian, especially those from Ireland and Britain, and they raised crosses on a flat meadow near Thordarholt above the seacliffs. Some of the crosses were large and meant as monuments to the faith, others were small, placed there by supplicants who prayed for abundant harvests or good health or another child. But there were no priests in Iceland then, and no church organization. The next generation fell away from their parents’ faith into paganism. The Crossfield was abandoned. People said it was an unlucky place and avoided it now, even if that meant walking through the marshy lowland rather than the grassy meadow.

The body of An Twist-Limb lay in the Crossfield for a long time before it was discovered. People counted back and no one could remember seeing An more recently than the Winter Sacrifice and now it was spring. The body was identified by some of the remnants of clothing that clung to it, and by a belt buckle in the shape of a dragon’s head that An always wore, and by its bent limbs. An had become more and more crippled over time. His arms had drawn in against his chest and his hands bent inward so that his fingers almost touched his wrists. An’s legs were affected, too, and he walked with a strange waddle, his knees almost touching and his legs bent.

Geirrid, Colm’s son, discovered the body. He had been out with his friends, Orm, Ketil-Treefoot’s son, and Frosti Bragason. The boys had dared one another to walk through the Crossfield. Geirrid was half expecting to run into a ghost when he stumbled across An’s corpse. The gaping jaw and empty eye-sockets shocked Geirrid and he gave an involuntary shout. The other boys shouted back, ready to run. Geirrid took hold of himself; he had seen a dead body before. “Come see what I have found!”

Orm and Frosti ran up and Geirrid grinned to see them recoil at the sight. “It’s only a dead man,” he said, acting cool and calm. “You needn’t act so frightened.”

“I’ve seen dead men before,” snapped Frosti, “As has anyone who’s attended a funeral. But this one is quite a sight!”

Orm said, “We should go tell someone so that the man may be properly buried and not walk around and hurt us.” The boys did not run away from the Crossfield but they did not tarry, either.

Colm and some others examined the body. There were no signs of violence and most thought that An had gotten lost one night and died of exposure. Since few people ever went through the Crossfield, his body had escaped detection until now. But some others believed that An had been struck down by elves because he trespassed on forbidden land.

They buried An’s body near Ketil-Treefoot’s farm. Right away the hauntings started. A slave reported seeing An walking about in the fields. He went closer and An sank into the earth. Then others claimed to have seen An walking about as well. Soon slaves and farmhands refused to work in certain places on Ketil’s farm.

Ketil decided that he could not put up with this and dug up An’s body. Then he and some other men pitched the corpse into the sea.

Not long after, some men who were out fishing reported that they had seen a strange seal, one with eyes like a human, that had followed their boat and watched them all the time they were on the water. A great storm blew in that night. The next day, Ketil-Treefoot and Orm Ketilsson were walking the shoreline, looking for driftwood, when they found An’s body that had washed up on the beach.

“He is following me!” said Orm. His father turned very pale but said nothing.

Men decided that this was a serious matter. They sewed up An’s corpse in a sealskin shroud and buried it in an out of the way place. Then they rolled a huge boulder on top so that he could not walk.

A few days after An was re-buried, Geirrid came to his father. “I fear the walking dead.” He hung his head, ashamed to admit his fear, but he was shaking, so afraid of haunts that he abandoned dignity.

Colm took his son by the shoulders and told him, “There will be no more walking dead. They are sealed in their graves.”

Geirrid looked him directly in the eye. “Do you swear it?”

“I swear it.”

“Swear by your charm, the one you wear about your neck.”

Colm was puzzled. “You mean this?” He pulled the counterfeit silver penny from his shirt. He had punched a hole in it and hung it around his neck after he got back from raiding. “This is no sacred charm. It is a reminder that there are untrue things in this world.” He let Geirrid hold the coin as he explained false metal. He brought a real penny from his hoard and showed the boy how much thinner it was than the counterfeit, which was a lesser metal silvered with mercury. He showed Geirrid how to bend a coin between his fingers so that a crease formed that allowed examination of the metal inside. He brought out a set of scales and demonstrated how to weigh one coin against another.

Geirrid took a great interest in everything Colm told him. He calmed down and asked intelligent questions. Colm was pleased to see this, for he was concerned about Geirrid – the boy often seemed uninterested or distracted and Colm was afraid that he had no grip. So father and son parted, both feeling better about the world than when they began talking. This lasted several days.

Geirrid came to Colm again, eyes wide with fear. “He is walking! I have seen him!”

Colm tried to quiet his son. “No, no! He is locked in his grave and can’t get out.”

“No! Not An!”

Then Colm thought he understood. He searched for words to comfort Geirrid about Gudbrand and his death. The boy had been a bully and unmannerly but Colm had to phrase that in a way that would not make Geirrid think that he could kill anyone he wished.

“It was Edgar! I saw him walk before me along the pathway!”

Colm’s words choked in his throat and he gulped at them. The blood drained from his face. Geirrid saw his father’s reaction and there was no way now to lessen his fear. Any words Colm could manage were overpowered by his expression.

Colm gathered himself. “Edgar has been dead for more than three years, yet only now is he seen walking?” Colm shook his head. “This is An, somehow. All of this began with him and the mistreatment of his corpse. We must find a way to quiet his spirit.”

Geirrid was not satisfied but he left without saying anything more. Colm dropped his face into his hands and recalled Edgar’s resignation, his composed appearance, as Bjorn heaved him over the cliff. Then he thought of Grim clutching his guts and waving his stump as he dropped to his knees, and the old Frisian with the look of sorrow on his face as he realized he was about to die, and Gunnlaug’s body sliding from the knife that had touched his heart – if An had started a series of hauntings, then there were many more to come. Colm knew he had to do something.

The next day, Colm rode over to Thorolf’s farm and told him that dead men were walking. Thorolf sat quietly, one eyebrow cocked, and heard Colm out. Then he said, “I had not thought you would be the one to tell me ghost stories! Bjorn has been off-balance ever since Aud died, but you are a level-headed man.”

Colm picked his words carefully. “I have seen nothing myself, but talk is everywhere and I think it would be a good thing if it could be silenced.”

“All right,” said Thorolf, “Do you have a plan?”

“An died in the Crossfield. I think we should ask the advice of a Christian,” said Colm. “Thorkel Teitsson is said to be Christian and it is said that he sometimes has Christian visitors from abroad.”

“All right,” said Thorolf, “We will visit Thorkell and see if he knows how to banish spooks.”

Thorkel Teitsson admitted to being a Christian and to knowing something about that faith. He asked to see the place where An’s body was found. So they travelled to the Crossfield, Thorolf, Colm, Ketil, and some others. The three boys that had discovered the corpse came with them and Geirrid pointed out the exact spot where An had lain.

Thorkel examined the ground closely. He crouched suddenly and picked up a small cross that lay on the earth. The cross was made of two pieces of bone lashed together with a strip of hide. “Was this beside the body?”

Men said it might be so. They hadn’t noticed one cross among many and, anyway, their attention was focused on An’s corpse.

“So, was An a Christian?” asked Thorkel.

No one knew for certain but several said that he might have been.

“Then perhaps this was his cross,” said Thorkel. “Perhaps he came here to pray for his crippled body to be straight and his pain to be relieved.” Thorkell looked around him. “And if he did so, his prayers are answered and he lives now, straight and whole in Paradise.”

“Then how is it his ghost walks?” asked Thorolf.

“Perhaps there is something he left here and he has returned for it.” Thorkel held the bone cross aloft.

They all went then to An’s gravesite. They rolled the boulder away – it took several strong men – and opened the grave. Thorkel cut open the sealskin shroud. They all saw the skeleton inside. Thorkel placed the bone cross in An’s bony hands. Then he showed everyone a small vial. “This is holy water, blessed by a priest.” Thorkel sprinkled a few drops of the precious fluid on An’s body while he recited a prayer in Latin that he had memorized. “Now,” he said, “The dead will walk no more.”

And so it was. There were no more hauntings in the district, not for a long time. Geirrid slowly returned to normal and Colm was relieved. Still, at night, he lay on his bench and felt the false penny weighing on his chest. He thought of exchanging it for another token, a cross of Christ or a hammer of Thor, but he had no faith in any of the gods anymore. There were men and deeds, Colm thought. Fate might lock all in its plan, but men must act regardless. Then they carried the weight of their deeds for the rest of their lives like the thief in the moon who would bend under his load of stolen wood forever. As they aged and performed more actions, so men became more burdened. Colm felt now the load he had made for himself pressing down on his breast like the coin of lies, resting on his heart like a stone.