Beyond

This journey began as most journeys do, with a palpable charge of excitement, infecting myself and my company with a sense of adventure.  I could see it in their eyes mostly, a lust propelled by stories of fortune and glory, no doubt spread like a brush fire through dry grass in a high wind. That fire quenched a bit upon seeing how abruptly the land towered from its shores. Clinging to that meager stretch was a tightly packed cluster of small buildings and two long jetties that reached out into the water like wooden arms ready to catch us. Once unhindered by the confines of the steamship we were no longer idle passengers and remembered again what our legs were supposed to be good for. 

The fresh arctic air cooled our blood and cleansed our senses from the acrid odors of refuse and so many unwashed bodies. And, it just felt good to be on land again.

To say this little seaside town was bustling would be a severe understatement. Every which way I looked there was some kind of frenetic activity, a butcher cleaving a huge chop of something while a hungry dog watched eagerly for any scraps to fly its way.  The soot stained face of a smithy dousing a lump of red hot iron into a bucket with a hiss, obscured momentarily by a cloud of steam.  A pair of staggering men leaving a building with huge drunken smiles, the smell that trailed behind them redolent of whiskey and debauchery.

Barkers trying to outyell each other for the sale of various goods like german knit undergarments, seal skin gloves, and gumboots.

There was a tension amidst all the chaos, wary eyes watching from piles of stacked goods not yet loaded and packed away to their destinations. Men with rifles and grim faces bristled if anyone got too close.  Thievery was met with swift and brutal justice involving either bullets or public displays of punitive flogging. I could see the latter in effect just off the main thruway. Two men stripped naked and striped all over with red from the lashes, their howls of pain a chorus mingled with jeers from the angry crowd around them.  This wild place, made wilder by our incursion.

In the not so far distance through the haze of fire smoke we could see an unbroken line of dark shapes ascending a steep white wall like so many ants climbing towards a cleft between two tall peaks.  Our path lay further South and was thankfully not as precarious, but then it was really just a choice of choosing between a rock or a hard place, now that I think about it.

The steady increase of incline was hardly noticed the first few days and the mood was light.  We could hear songs amongst the line, and around the campfires stories of, what if and when, were told.  Whatever fortunes these men hoped to find have already been spent, that much was obvious by their greedy smiles and raucous laughter. 

Hard going came first in the form of cold muddy bogs hiding slippery wet stones that threatened to twist ankles and break legs.  An injury like that out here, well, one is as good as dead.

A collective exhaustion took hold of and sunk our spirits.  All we seemed to be able to do at this point was watch the immediate step ahead with our heads bowed.  The horizon, our destination, flanked by endless soaring snow capped mountains  never seemed to grow closer. 

Stopped for the night, or what passes for it here, as the days are unnaturally long, the sun barely skims the horizon before deciding to come back up again.  My stomach twisted in empty knots even after having a sparse meal having walked more miles that day than mouthfuls of fuel.   I had never seen snow before, its usual pristine white glows like fire in the dusk. Its beauty is lost on me as I pine for home and all of its comforts, the warm air, the open spaces, the taste of fresh apples.  This place is as indifferent to us as it is vast, it does not seem to notice our passing, or our tendency to break upon its treacherous paths.  The ambivalent cruelty of it is reflected upon us like a fever and in turn making us just as cruel.  Speed compelled by fists and harsh words, a violent coercion.  Yet for some of us, there was nothing left to squeeze out.  They would fall and wouldn’t get up again, their supplies distributed to the rest of us and our task became that much harder.  Our progress had slowed, and ahead of us standing like a threat was yet another climb.  We slipped on loose stones, our knees buckled but we managed to reach its dour height.  Out of breath, out of energy, and out of hope, we took what rest afforded to us and were prodded again too soon after.

Those ahead were not faring much better but they seemed to shrink smaller as each day passed.  We came upon some of their discarded supplies, none of it particularly useful, especially the corpses.  

One such body must have fallen right along the path and was then trod upon so dispassionately that it mixed and muddied the ground with its viscera by thousands of trodding feet.

All that remained was scraps of skin and the head lying alongside, eyes rolled into the sockets writhing with fat white maggots.   

The food supply was becoming scarce, what little was rationed had been cut to less than half of even that, and soon it would be gone entirely.  I was still strong however, and was able to continue forward.  I guess you could say I was born to do this.

No matter how fast we could go it was never fast enough for them, perhaps they realized this and spared us further torment for a time.

A commotion rippled down the line as it wormed to a stop.  Furious screams and the sound of a leather strap hitting flesh over and over again, set my heart racing.  On such a narrow path it was impossible to get a clear scene of what was happening, to one side, a sheer rock face and the other, a steep drop into a ravine.  Several heads before me were shifting to either side to get a better view and through that constant shuffling I caught a glimpse of his face. His eyes were wild, his mouth frothing with madness and gibbering fury.

Instead of following the line of a pointed finger he hurled himself into the air.  For a moment I thought he might make it to the opposing ledge, but he fell without another sound until his body splattered on the jagged stones below.  

The line crept forward.

I considered the sensation of free fall and the fast approaching impact as a welcome end to this experience.  But I did not jump, I chose to suffer a little while longer.

The lost supplies were lamented more so than the recent suicide.

Rounding the ravine we descended down a gentle slope free of loose stones.  In almost every regard this could have been described as easy going if not for the fact that we were beyond exhaustion.  A lazy stream glittered in the midday sunlight, I went to take a drink of it and came face to face with an apparition.  I did not recognize my own features, my skull pressed through tight skin and withered muscle. A jagged line of dried blood streaked across my face from when I had been struck by a cascading stone set loose by a careless foot above. 

The clear water filled my stomach but did little to ease my hunger.

As we turned another bend expecting to see just a valley, or a near impassable climb, we saw the lake.  My heart soared in my chest, feeling delight at finally being so close to the end of our trail. 

Free of my burdens I indulge in a generous meal followed by a long rest. Drifting away to the sounds of wood chopping and the intermittent crack of trees falling.  Perhaps I dreamed, if so it was something I clung to with a desperation that numbed me to the rough boots jabbing at my side to wake me.  Wherever I was I cannot say, the details of it evaporating like mournful ghosts, leaving behind a fleeting sense of being happy and content.

It was time to work again.  

It happened as I was hauling a large log to be sawn into planks for boat making, the smell of pine tar was heavy in the air. I might have been distracted, noting how naked the surrounding hills looked without their coat of trees, then I felt it. A sudden plunge, my weight shifting towards the change in footing, sharp splinters of pain accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a bone snapping. This is it, I thought.

Nearby a tree being hacked at by two men with axes, tottered and swayed a moment, and then we both fell together.

As I lay here, I think about how small those boats look. Even the hastily made barges seem only big enough for just the men and remaining supplies.  Perhaps this was intended to be a one way trip for me from the beginning. Footsteps approach from behind me and I hear the distinct metallic click of a hammer locking back.  All of this effort and sacrifice for those little yellow rocks, but who am I to question such things? I am just a horse.