Chapter One: Icefjord Outbreak 1348

The angel opened the Seventh Vial, unleashing a Great Pestilence upon the face of the earth, and the people were much afflicted. ~ John the Divine

Those were days of woe.

The sky darkened to a foreboding gray sheet of low cloud which would give neither rain nor snow.

There was no sun for months, and the townsfolk grew weary and despondent.

After many years of prosperity, a harsh austerity came upon the land. The crop failed, and meager stores of grain dwindled. The fish disappeared and even the whales did not come. There was hunger everywhere, and fervent prayer yielded only more suffering.

By night, red Mars chided from beside Orion and the soothsayers wore faces drawn long with foreboding. Winds that chilled to the bone came up hard, sending tumbleweed that stung the eyes, and gravel that ripped the flesh.

The dogs couldn’t be quieted, and their howling set a distant pack of wolves to commotion; children cried and would not be comforted.

Scholars of the Copernican science had predicted an eclipse, and some feared that the unusual alignment of the heavens would signal yet more hardship. Others counseled expectation of renewed prosperity, and the town divided into two camps: the camp of hope, and the camp of fear.

When the appointed day came, the sun fell under moon shadow and was soon entirely blotted out. Crowds lined the street, watching the heavens. A gasp went up as a child spotted the silhouette of a hooded horseman riding up onto the icy gray ledges which overlooked the village.

The rider wore heavy gauntlets, filthy boots, and a black helmet which obscured his face. A cloud of brown dust surrounded him as he rode up the steep.

The sight of this strange intruder sent a wave of fear into every villager, even those who had hoped that the celestial alignment would offer reprieve from all the troubles. He moved swiftly in the darkness. Reaching the highest point on the ridge, the rider stopped and pulled a glass vial from his saddle bag.

Accounts vary as to what happened next.

All are in agreement that the rider was careful to hold the bottle at arms length and downwind. Some contend that he opened it carefully and ejected its contents into the wind. Others say that he simply smashed it down upon on the rocks. All agree that the rider took pains to avoid any contact with the mysterious powder as the wind scattered it to the four points.

No one doubts that contained within the vial was the odious potion which unleashed tribulation upon the village of Icefjord — and soon, all of the north lands.

© 2022–2023 All Rights Reserved — Geof Bard

Author’s note: I started this novel ten years ago, as a pandemic thriller. Finally published the first two chapters in December 2022 as the The Anthropocene Chronicle: Icefjord 1348.