‘Horthaland,’ Eskel declared. ‘Know it like my old woman’s tits.’ He must have known them well, for two days after turning south, they were passing the familiar spit they called the Skaw, where the Western Ocean joined the East Sea in a never-ending kiss.
Hakan gazed at the sliver of sand. The water was grey and lifeless now. When he and Inga had ridden there in early summer, it had sparkled. That was another world.
‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she’d said. He remembered her eyes, suddenly serious, mouth half-open with a hunger he’d never seen before.
That night, they had made love for the first time, her skin glowing orange and gold by the fire. She sat astride him, guiding him into her, timid but intent. Her body soon lost its shyness, trembling under his fingers, her voice urgent, her delicious heat engulfing him, her eyelids flickering in ecstasy.
What had become of that little girl? The bothersome heap of curls always getting in his way, irritating as a stone in his shoe. That girl was gone for ever. Instead, a goddess had awoken him with teasing kisses.
‘You have all of me now,’ she’d whispered. ‘You’d better take good care of me.’
‘I will. I promise.’
A promise he meant to keep.
On an evening breeze, the battered ship glided to shore. The headland watchman had spread the word: many women and children were waiting on the sand.
Men jumped into the shallows in search of wives. Children called for their fathers, mothers for warrior sons. Hakan watched Dag wade through the water and gather up his little wife. Her small face beamed, as she pecked kisses over his scarred cheeks.
Would she smile so wide to see him cut pieces off that boy?
Wails of mourning rose as women saw their man wasn’t among the living. Didn’t you know? They’re drinking in the Hall of the Slain. You should be happy. But they didn’t understand. Their youngsters stood clutching their skirts, confused by their tears.
He saw her before she saw him. Her face looked careworn, dread and hope warring in her soft brown eyes.
He called her name.
She started running, as he vaulted the gunwale and splashed his way towards her.
They had said they shouldn’t show too much affection. But who was watching amid all that grief and joy?
He flung his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. It smelled so clean after the stench of the sea and fear and death.
She looked up. ‘You stink like a sow.’ Her eyes were bright and earnest, welling tears. He laughed. And suddenly a dam had broken. Laughter came harder and harder, flooding out of him in mad relief.
‘Now you know,’ said a craggy voice. Releasing each other, they saw his father smiling like a tender-hearted bear. ‘Odin sent this one back.’
‘Uncle!’ Inga threw her arms around his father. He stiffened, looking awkward as she burrowed into the folds of his cloak. Just for a moment, he hugged her back, then pushed her away. She hardly seemed to notice, already scolding them for making her worry, wanting to know everything that happened. When she heard of the fate of the women, she wept.
Of course. There isn’t a creature under the sky that Inga wouldn’t weep for.
‘Will you feast tonight, Uncle?’ she asked, drying her cheeks.
‘No. This voyage was bitter.’ He wanted only meat, fire and mead, and the sleep of the dead.
‘I’ll see it done.’ She stretched up and kissed his cheek. When she tried for another, he pushed her away.
‘That’s enough, child. Run along. These men need feeding. I’m relying on you.’
She gave an earnest nod, looking disappointed, and was about to go. But then, abruptly, she turned to Hakan and hugged him. ‘I’m glad you’re safe, cousin,’ she said, loud enough for his father to hear. Then close to his ear, ‘I must see you later.’
She pulled away, wearing a smile. But behind it, Hakan saw something else – some disquiet. He squeezed her hands, with a nod of assurance.
Satisfied, she left them, hurrying away through the throng.
There was little merriment in Vendlagard that night. The warriors’ faces were lined and weary. Toasts were raised to their dead, but talk was thin and the benches half-empty.
Inga waited on them dutifully, watching them shovel down honeyed duck, black bread and cheese, brooding over their bloodstained memories. The women were subdued, knowing to bridle their chatter on such a night.
‘Let them drink themselves to oblivion and an early bed,’ Tolla told the thrall-girls. ‘In a day or two, they’ll come up smiling.’
Shouldn’t she be smiling? They had come back. Hakan has come back. And she was glad. But somehow it didn’t feel as it should. After relief, the weight lingered. A heaviness that had come upon her since Konur rode away. A heaviness within, that grew like thickening air before the break of a summer storm. A month ago, everything was bright: the world seemed made for those who loved. Now, some nameless dread stalked in her heart.
She looked at Hakan, hunched low over his bowl, tousled hair shading his eyes. Under it, his brow, usually so plain and honest, was furrowed.
Where have his thoughts taken him?
He looked up and saw her, and his face changed into the secret smile kept for her alone. She smiled back and turned away, telling herself someone might see. But in truth, she was shy. What will he think when I tell him? Will he still smile then?
Her gaze moved along the table, settling on her uncle. Would things be different now? She cared for him deeply. Always had. She remembered his strong arms throwing her in the air, his pale eyes watching over her in the dark. But now. . .
What will he do when he finds out?
If only he’d taken another wife. . . A woman might have understood, might have spoken up for her. But folk had stopped wondering when Haldan would remarry long ago.
She watched him push away his platter, his eye wandering to one of the servants: Tandra, a Danish thrall. The girl had fire, for sure, and she moved gracefully enough. Haldan caught her by the elbow to speak a word. Inga watched her listen, nodding obediently, before he released her.
Her uncle would satisfy other appetites tonight. Tandra was pleasing enough, but the girl was dreaming if she thought he’d ever take her to wife. Or any woman. The only woman he’d ever loved lay half a league away, in the belly of a barrow-grave. Dust and bones.
Would Hakan be so faithful. . . if I were to die?
Suddenly the question scared her. She tried to think of something else. They were home now. All would be well.
It was still early when most folk had drifted to bed. Haldan had retired to his chamber, Tandra slipping after him. Hakan had left a while before. She would find him once her work was done. Taking a bucket, she went out for some water.
The path followed the stream down to the washing pool. The night sky sparkled in its surface, wide and wonderful. She stopped, admiring the reflected stars. Then, with a sigh, plunged the bucket, scattering the silver pinpricks. After she’d hefted it out, she stood a while, listening to the night.
‘How long have you been there?’
A chuckle came from the shadows. ‘Not long. How did you know?’
She turned with a wistful shrug. ‘You still need a bath.’
‘That bad?’ Hakan laughed, appearing from behind the old alder tree growing nearby. ‘Come here anyway.’
She could see his shadow, sharp in the moonlight. The outline of his shoulders – so unmistakably his. Dropping the bucket, she ran to him. His lips were dry and warm. She felt him already, hard against her belly. Excited, she tugged free his tunic, running fingers up his back. A groan of desire filled his throat.
‘I’d forgotten how good you taste.’
‘You said you never would.’ She meant to tease, but it sounded like a reproach. She wanted him, but something stronger was coursing through her, something out of control. She began to shiver as he bit at her neck. Suddenly, she was sobbing, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘It’s
all right. I’m here now.’
She wiped her nose. ‘It’s stupid. I haven’t cried once while you were away. I told myself I would be strong. That I would see you again.’
‘So here I am,’ he smiled. ‘I swore I would live. Hel take the choosing of the gods.’
‘You shouldn’t say that.’ She put a finger to his lips. ‘It’s bad luck.’ She dropped her hand, toying with the amulet she’d given him. The engraving in the silver was crusted with blood. Her fingers strayed to his face. ‘You’re wounded.’ She pulled him closer, examining the cut above his eye. The skin was swollen, but already there were signs of healing. She passed her thumb over it, ever so lightly. Still he jerked his head away, catching her wrist.
‘Sorry.’
He lifted her hand, placing a kiss in her palm. ‘Wounded. But alive.’
‘What was it like?’
‘It’s hard to tell. . . Confusing. Terrifying. Bloody.’ He grimaced. ‘I don’t think I want to tell.’ She listened, trying to understand. ‘Leif is dead. And Garik.’
‘I know. And many others.’ She gathered up his hand. The knuckles were bruised. ‘Did you kill?’
He nodded.
‘So you’re a warrior now.’ She let out a long sigh. Just as he was always marked to become. She swallowed hard, staring through his chest. ‘You’re going to be a father, too.’
Even in the gloom, she saw the shock on his face. ‘A father! But how?’
‘How do you think? You lie together as many times as we have—’
‘But didn’t we—?’
‘What?’ She felt herself getting angry.
‘Well. . . we kept the seed from the furrow, as it were.’ He looked confused. ‘Didn’t we?’
‘Clearly not,’ she snapped. ‘Why are you being like this?’
‘Like what?’
‘So. . . difficult.’
‘I’m not. I just. . . How can you be sure?’
‘A woman knows, Hakan.’ Since Konur had left, her suspicions had become a certainty. She’d often dreamed what it would be like to know a child was in her, imagining the joy at the discovery. Instead, all she’d felt was fear.
But even in the dim moonlight, she saw his brow softening, his mouth sloping into a grin. ‘A father, eh? And you, a mother!’ Suddenly he pulled her close, laughing, and gave her a long kiss. She kissed him back. This was better. Her heart felt lighter. At last. It seemed he was taking this news well.
Did she have to tell him what else had happened?
She had turned the question over many times. But whom does it serve to tell anyone what that snake tried to do? Konur had gone by the time she had returned to the hall. Gone even before the others were awake. She had explained away his early departure easily enough. And once he had left, his words seemed empty threats. He’d have to be mad to want her as a wife after that. And she had meant what she said: she would kill before she gave herself to him. But if she told Hakan, there would be a feud, and that meant more killing. Hakan might die. And for what? For revenge? It seemed a stiff price to pay for her naivety, and that worm Konur wasn’t worth the blood that would be spilt. Enough had been spilt already.
All she wanted was Hakan.
She broke the kiss. ‘We must tell your father.’
‘Haldan?’
‘You have another? We have to tell him about us.’ She had to know everything would be all right.
‘We can’t tell him,’ he said, face blanching. ‘Not yet. Hel, finding out his ward had lost her maidenhead would be bad enough. But to discover she is carrying his son’s bastard—’
‘The child will be true-born if we’re married.’
‘It isn’t that simple. He’s more like to hide you away till it’s born, then drown the thing.’
‘That’s horrible!’
‘You know how it goes with the ones that aren’t wanted.’
‘I want it.’ Why was he scaring her like that? ‘If we tell him we love each other, that we want to be married—’
‘Do you know him at all? You know how it works. The old man’s got two marriages to see done. Love doesn’t come into it. For him, it’s about wealth. Or sealing loyalty, or getting an heir.’
‘I’m giving him an heir. It’s already in my belly.’
He laughed, and it sounded cruel. ‘He’ll want to see you married to someone else.’ Her stomach twisted; ‘someone else’ might mean Konur. ‘For me, the same. He’s hardly going to waste two chances to make a good match.’
She knew what he said was true, but hated that he’d said it. ‘Why should it be that way? We make each other happy. Isn’t that enough?’
‘It’s not about us. It’s about this land. It’s about the Vendling blood. My whole life I’ve been raised to succeed him as lord over our folk,’ he said, bitterly. ‘I am who I am because of him.’
‘Sometimes you sound so spoiled, Hakan. Everything is about you and your stupid future.’
‘It’s him that’s obsessed. He’s not going to toss away his expectations of me just because we say this is how it is. He’ll have plans for you too.’
The image of Konur invaded her mind again. She suddenly felt so angry. What if it were Konur? Or someone worse, if that were possible?
‘You should be on my side!’ She shoved him away. ‘You don’t want me, do you? This is your child in my belly. You put it there! It was easy enough to do that, wasn’t it?’ Suddenly she went wild with fury, beating his chest.
He let her hit him till the worst of her anger had passed. ‘Of course I want you. It’s not easy, is all.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘I’m sorry, my love. I’m just . . . at a loss.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s a mess. I nearly told him about us before. But this changes things. Now, I don’t. . .’
‘What?’
‘Look, I’m just trying to figure out what’s best now.’
‘What’s best is just to tell him.’
‘We have to pick the right time.’
‘There’ll never be a right time. I need to know now it’ll be all right.’ She screwed up her eyes against the pressure swelling behind them. Her thoughts were multiplying and multiplying, becoming too many for her head. ‘Something’s changed.’ She tapped her forehead. ‘In here. The summer was full of light. Now, all I see ahead is darkness. I want to run but I don’t know where. I’m afraid, Hakan.’
He took her hand and kissed her forehead. His lips felt calming. ‘Afraid of what?’
She looked into his dark eyes and felt tears well in her own. Did she even know? Fear seemed to have sprung out of nothing. Or maybe it was always there. . . ‘Of losing you.’
‘But I’m here.’
‘. . . and more.’
She saw he didn’t understand.
She’d never told anyone this, not even him, whose face was the first she could remember. She hardly knew how to begin. ‘Lately, my mother keeps coming to my mind.’
‘Your mother? Why?’
‘Once she had to wait, like me. Her man returned. . . but dead. Tolla once told me about it. How her cries tore the sky all through that night. Tolla said it seemed the wind and the rain and the sea mourned with her. The hall-folk got scared, said it was ill-fortune to scream so long, that it served as a summoning for dark spirits from the lands of mist. From the realm of Hel and the black fires burning there.’
‘Folk talk like that. What’s that to you?’
‘I was in her then. I was my father’s seed in her belly. I should have given her hope. But she gave up on life. Gave up on me.’
‘But you can’t know that’s why she died. No one can.’
‘Maybe. I just wish I could’ve put some joy in her. To push out the shadow there. Tolla says it spread like a cancer, smothering her will to live. But I couldn’t do anything.’ She sat down on the bank circling the pool, drawing him down beside her. ‘Sometimes I think that shadow has its mark on my life too.’ She laid a hand on her stomach. ‘On my blood.’
‘Why would you think that?’ he urg
ed. ‘Don’t you know who you are? You’re my Inga.’ His smile tilted to the night. ‘You shine so bright you make the stars look plain.’
She stroked his cheek, grateful for his words, but she couldn’t smile. ‘You know the stories of my mother. Even before Father was killed, some shadow had pursued her down the roads of her life. She outran it a while and found some happiness, only it found her again.’ She grimaced. ‘Her blood is in me. Speaks to me sometimes.’
‘What does it say?’
‘That I don’t belong here.’
‘But this is your home.’
‘I know. But it wasn’t hers, was it? She came from far away. I want the feeling to go. To vanish and never come back. But it persists. Calls me to some other place. A kind of nowhere place. I can’t explain it. It must be her blood. Restless. It makes every drop of beauty in the world bittersweet. I don’t know why. A stab of joy so intense it pricks my heart, only to fade again, leaving a pang of sorrow.’ She saw his eyes intent on her, but doubted he understood. How could he when she hardly understood herself? ‘Maybe it’s only sorrow at the moment’s passing. Or maybe it’s beauty that is the illusion, and sorrow that is real. I can’t tell. But I’m sure my mother felt the same. In those moments, I feel so connected to her, and yet so afraid of her at the same time. Afraid of her despair. Afraid of her pain. Afraid that she gave up on this beautiful, broken world.’
‘But that’s not you.’ His voice was tender. ‘You never give up.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘No. Never.’
She looked away. ‘Then there were the words of the vala.’
His face darkened. ‘You shouldn’t pay heed to the words of some old swindler. That’s what Father says.’
‘I know you don’t think that, my love. You can’t lie to me. I know you too well.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘The vala had the far-sight. We both know it. And there was something else in her words. A kind of beckoning.’ She stared up into the night. ‘Remember last autumn, when we fixed the roof of the hall?’ He nodded. ‘I stood right on the top and looked out to sea. It was beautiful. And that moment, I felt an impulse so strong, just to throw myself out into the air. To become part of the beauty. I didn’t care about the danger or the pain – I just wanted to live that moment.’
A Mighty Dawn Page 10