The Blue Flower [68]
eyes like ashes quenching
flame. Then he lifted his face and spoke.
"None of these things will please the god. More costly is
the offering that shall cleanse your sin, more precious the
crimson dew that shall send new life into this holy tree of
blood. Thor claims your dearest and your noblest gift."
Hunrad moved nearer to the group of children who stood
watching the fire and the swarms of spark-serpents darting
upward. They had heeded none of the priest's words, and did
not notice now that he approached them, so eager were they to
see which fiery snake would go highest among the oak branches.
Foremost among them, and most intent on the pretty game, was
a boy like a sunbeam, slender and quick, with blithe brown
eyes and laughing lips. The priest's hand was laid upon his
shoulder. The boy turned and looked up in his face.
"Here," said the old man, with his voice vibrating as when
a thick rope is strained by a ship swinging from her moorings,
"here is the chosen one, the eldest son of the Chief, the
darling of the people. Hearken, Bernhard, wilt thou go to
Valhalla, where the heroes dwell with the gods, to bear a
message to Thor?"
The boy answered, swift and clear:
"Yes, priest, I will go if my father bids me. Is
it far away? Shall I run quickly? Must I take my bow and
arrows for the wolves?"
The boy's father, the Chieftain Gundhar, standing among
his bearded warriors, drew his breath deep, and leaned so
heavily on the handle of his spear that the wood cracked. And
his wife, Irma, bending forward from the ranks of women,
pushed the golden hair from her forehead with one hand. The
other dragged at the silver chain about her neck until the
rough links pierced her flesh, and the red drops fell unheeded
on her breast.
A sigh passed through the crowd, like the murmur of the
forest before the storm breaks. Yet no one spoke save Hunrad:
"Yes, my Prince, both bow and spear shalt thou have, for
the way is long, and thou art a brave huntsman. But in
darkness thou must journey for a little space, and with eyes
blindfolded. Fearest thou?"
"Naught fear I," said the boy, "neither darkness, nor the
great bear, nor the were-wolf. For I am Gundhar's son, and the
defender of my folk."
Then the priest led the child in his raiment of
lamb's-wool to a broad stone in front of the fire. He gave
him his little bow tipped with silver, and his spear with
shining head of steel. He bound the child's eyes with a white
cloth, and bade him kneel beside the stone with his face to
the cast. Unconsciously the wide arc of spectators drew
inward toward the centre, as the ends of the bow draw together
when the cord is stretched. Winfried moved noiselessly until
he stood close behind the priest.
The old man stooped to lift a black hammer of stone from
the ground,--the sacred hammer of the god Thor. Summoning all
the strength of his withered arms, he swung it high in the
air. It poised for an instant above the child's fair
head--then turned to fall.
One keen cry shrilled out from where the women stood:
"Me! take me! not Bernhard!"
The flight of the mother toward her child was swift as the
falcon's swoop. But swifter still was the hand of the
deliverer.
Winfried's heavy staff thrust mightily against the hammer's
handle as it fell. Sideways it glanced from the old man's grasp,
and the black stone, striking on the altar's edge, split in
twain. A shout of awe and joy rolled along the living circle.
The branches of the oak shivered. The flames leaped higher. As
the shout died away the people saw the lady Irma, with her arms
clasped round her child, and above them, on the altar-stone,
Winfried, his face shining like the face of an angel.
IV
A swift mountain-flood rolling down its channel; a huge rock
tumbling from the hill-side and falling in mid-stream: the
baffled waters broken and confused, pausing in their flow,
dash high against the rock, foaming and murmuring, with
divided impulse, uncertain whether to turn to the right or the
flame. Then he lifted his face and spoke.
"None of these things will please the god. More costly is
the offering that shall cleanse your sin, more precious the
crimson dew that shall send new life into this holy tree of
blood. Thor claims your dearest and your noblest gift."
Hunrad moved nearer to the group of children who stood
watching the fire and the swarms of spark-serpents darting
upward. They had heeded none of the priest's words, and did
not notice now that he approached them, so eager were they to
see which fiery snake would go highest among the oak branches.
Foremost among them, and most intent on the pretty game, was
a boy like a sunbeam, slender and quick, with blithe brown
eyes and laughing lips. The priest's hand was laid upon his
shoulder. The boy turned and looked up in his face.
"Here," said the old man, with his voice vibrating as when
a thick rope is strained by a ship swinging from her moorings,
"here is the chosen one, the eldest son of the Chief, the
darling of the people. Hearken, Bernhard, wilt thou go to
Valhalla, where the heroes dwell with the gods, to bear a
message to Thor?"
The boy answered, swift and clear:
"Yes, priest, I will go if my father bids me. Is
it far away? Shall I run quickly? Must I take my bow and
arrows for the wolves?"
The boy's father, the Chieftain Gundhar, standing among
his bearded warriors, drew his breath deep, and leaned so
heavily on the handle of his spear that the wood cracked. And
his wife, Irma, bending forward from the ranks of women,
pushed the golden hair from her forehead with one hand. The
other dragged at the silver chain about her neck until the
rough links pierced her flesh, and the red drops fell unheeded
on her breast.
A sigh passed through the crowd, like the murmur of the
forest before the storm breaks. Yet no one spoke save Hunrad:
"Yes, my Prince, both bow and spear shalt thou have, for
the way is long, and thou art a brave huntsman. But in
darkness thou must journey for a little space, and with eyes
blindfolded. Fearest thou?"
"Naught fear I," said the boy, "neither darkness, nor the
great bear, nor the were-wolf. For I am Gundhar's son, and the
defender of my folk."
Then the priest led the child in his raiment of
lamb's-wool to a broad stone in front of the fire. He gave
him his little bow tipped with silver, and his spear with
shining head of steel. He bound the child's eyes with a white
cloth, and bade him kneel beside the stone with his face to
the cast. Unconsciously the wide arc of spectators drew
inward toward the centre, as the ends of the bow draw together
when the cord is stretched. Winfried moved noiselessly until
he stood close behind the priest.
The old man stooped to lift a black hammer of stone from
the ground,--the sacred hammer of the god Thor. Summoning all
the strength of his withered arms, he swung it high in the
air. It poised for an instant above the child's fair
head--then turned to fall.
One keen cry shrilled out from where the women stood:
"Me! take me! not Bernhard!"
The flight of the mother toward her child was swift as the
falcon's swoop. But swifter still was the hand of the
deliverer.
Winfried's heavy staff thrust mightily against the hammer's
handle as it fell. Sideways it glanced from the old man's grasp,
and the black stone, striking on the altar's edge, split in
twain. A shout of awe and joy rolled along the living circle.
The branches of the oak shivered. The flames leaped higher. As
the shout died away the people saw the lady Irma, with her arms
clasped round her child, and above them, on the altar-stone,
Winfried, his face shining like the face of an angel.
IV
A swift mountain-flood rolling down its channel; a huge rock
tumbling from the hill-side and falling in mid-stream: the
baffled waters broken and confused, pausing in their flow,
dash high against the rock, foaming and murmuring, with
divided impulse, uncertain whether to turn to the right or the