•ᛉ• 4. "Kingdom of Norway" •ᛉ•

    

From hall to hearth, the Gospel spread,

By saintly hands, the old gods fled;

Cross and crown on northern shore,

Faith took root forevermore.

    Toward the close of 1349, Audloed set out across the harsh northern seas, bound for the Kingdom of Norway. He boarded the lone trade ship named The Selkie’s Solace, making for Oslo, aware that options were scarce: no union yet linked Denmark and Norway, and most ships were rerouted unless captains were bribed. Scandinavia was a new world in a sense, apart from the ancient, fearful stories of pagan “northmen” raiding the coasts long before his youth. A world outside of Christianity was foreign, savage, and forever misunderstood.
    
    Weary from travel, haunted by the absence of Fiadh in his dreams, and increasingly detached from humankind, he resolved to spend a year in Norway before considering a return to Ireland—and to Father Byrne, if the old priest still lived.

    Oslo was bustling, crowned by St. Hallvard’s Cathedral and St. Olav’s Monastery, alongside convents dotting the city and nearby Hovedøya. Audloed sought sanctuary within the cathedral, assuming he might be the first plague doctor ever to set foot on Scandinavian shores. There he met the clergy, who directed him to Hallvard—though not the saint, but a learned man who preferred to answer to Peter in Latin, distancing himself from Norse roots. Winter arrived swiftly, driving Audloed to remain within the cathedral walls until the thaw allowed him to serve those beyond Oslo. Language barriers aside, tending to the sick stirred echoes of Baird, reminders of himself and Fiadh. Yet the gray winter, the fjords, and the strange, towering landscape lent him a peculiar solace: the world was unfamiliar, but at least it was distant from the plague’s rot.

    With the spring thaw, Audloed was assigned a modest contract: only five families. Normally, he might have balked, yet the greening of the valleys and birdsong lured him into the mountains. On the road to Elverum, he was constantly delayed, captivated by the strange northern flora. Mushrooms, herbs, and wild plants called to him, each a study in their own right. For weeks, he lingered, making camp to test their properties, and for the first time in many seasons, he felt something like happiness.

    Near Elverum, he met Eilif, a man dispossessed of his farm in Kongsvinger and excommunicated for lack of civic standing. Audloed tended Eilif, teaching him about plants and their uses, even sharing remnants of ancient Gaelic pagan knowledge passed down through generations. In return, Eilif offered shelter, and Audloed remained far longer than necessary, steeped in the culture, landscape, and stories of Norway.

    After tending his contracted families, Audloed visited Kongsvinger, reflecting on the gifts and tokens of gratitude he had received. One—a large black feather strung with metal beads—captured his attention unlike any other. Eilif explained the raven’s significance: Hugin and Munin, Odin’s messengers, who roamed the world and returned with knowledge. Audloed’s mind drifted to memories of Fiadh, to the stories they had shared under Connacht’s green grasses.

    Though Hallvard reminded him that life and death waited for the plague’s next victims, Audloed lingered with Eilif, learning, observing, and listening. Eventually, he returned to Oslo, confronted by a reminder that medicine here was subordinate to missionary duty. Yet Audloed’s purpose was healing, not proselytizing. He requested another contract in Elverum but was told none remained, and that surveyors would report any lingering plague beyond Oslo.

    That night, Audloed lay in the cathedral, unsettled. He considered boarding the next trade ship south, but such voyages were rare. Pulling the raven feather from his satchel, he traced its curve, thinking of Eilif’s stories and of Fiadh. Sleep came, and with it, a dream more vivid than any in years: Fiadh atop a low branch, laughing, shaking Scots pine cones onto him, her voice booming like distant thunder. From above, he saw the cones form a symbol unknown to him, shared through the eyes of a raven. He asked her when they would meet again. Her reply, simple and certain, carried him into the dawn:

"When you see the deer. When you see the elk. I will be there. I will be one."