‘The Ragnarok,’ muttered Gunnrek.
‘Aye – the Ragnarok,’ echoed Dag. ‘That day is coming. Maybe soon. When chaos breaks the chains that hold it back.’ His throat rattled with a hollow laugh. ‘You think the world’s a dark and bloody place now? It’s bright as the sun against what’s to come.’
The fire seemed to flare at his words, and a stillness came over the company as they listened to Dag go on in his halting, jagged way. They had all heard it told before – usually on a dark night such as that one. The Ragnarok – the Final Fires. The unleashing of terror upon the world of men.
The folk of the north had long passed on the ancient foretelling of the destruction to come. When the monstrous wolf Fenrir would slip his chain, and the Great Snake would rise out of the deep, and fire would burst from the earth. They listened as Dag poked at the embers, voice brittle as the cracking wood. He spoke of the sun splintered by spears of darkness, of draug-spirits returning. Of Hel’s children gathering the thralls of the dead and voyaging to the final slaughter on a ship of rotting flesh. Of oceans breaking their bounds, flooding the land, and the fierce frosts of winter upon winter upon winter, withering all life to nothing. When men would tear out the hearts of their kin, and Loki’s lies would fill their minds. He told of brothers and sisters rutting like swine, fathers destroying their heirs, mothers burning their offspring in fire. The justice of men would come to nothing. Laws and customs would crumble. The wisdom of the ages would be swallowed up. Only the Hall of the Fallen Heroes would stand. Valhalla.
Aldi clapped his hands in excitement, earning himself a scowl from Gunnrek.
Dag went on, gazing into the flames. ‘The Father of All will call them out.’ Odin’s host of heroes. Heimdall’s horn would summon them to the field of blood. The dead would swarm under Hel’s banner, and every hero would meet his bane. And then, only then, would the Final Fires burn, consuming all. Darkness, light, the turning of time, the halls of thunder, the vaults of lightning, the roaring oceans. The shining stars would fall, Ymir’s skull would shatter, and then. . . There would be nothing.
‘Just as it was,’ he growled. ‘All will be nothing once more.’
For a long time, no one said a word. There was only the rain, and the fire, and the rasping in Dag’s nostrils.
‘The Ragnarok,’ said one, at last.
They all nodded.
‘It starts in here, boy.’ Dag pointed to his heart. ‘Chaos waits in here, dreaming of the time it’ll break free.’ He nodded. ‘Aye – the spark of those final flames burns in us. It’s been spoken. So it’ll be.’
Silence again, till Dag suddenly cleared his throat and spat into the fire. ‘One thing to say for it on a night like this. At least it’ll be fucking warm.’
‘And dry,’ added Aldi, with a snigger.
Dag gave a languorous yawn. ‘On that cheery thought, my friends, I bid you goodnight.’
The others turned in soon after. Their makeshift canopy kept off the worst of the drizzle, but the ground was wet and the air damp.
Hakan lay nursing dark thoughts. Hate. Chaos. Killing. The Ragnarok. Had Dag meant to goad him on or halt him in his course? Somehow, his words did both. Black deeds danced in his heart.
Perhaps the only way to be rid of them is to see them done. . .
Again and again, he asked himself why Inga hadn’t told him of Konur’s visit. Had she betrayed him? And worse, was his father truly going to give her away? What would happen to the child? His child? These and a thousand other questions whirled through his mind. All the while, in the darkness he saw Konur’s sneering face.
And then, all at once, an answer. The only answer to all these unanswerable questions.
I just. Want him. Dead.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The tips of Inga’s fingers were white and wrinkled.
Like old snowberries. Dry and dead. Perhaps they would look like that when she was old. Withering to dust. . . Is that all life is? A slow and steady rot into death. . . and shadow.
She rubbed together thumb and forefinger to smooth the wrinkles, but the little folds persisted, as in her mind.
‘You’ve been staring at your hands for ages.’ Inga blinked and looked up. Einna’s narrow face stared back. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Nothing,’ she replied hazily. Or was it nothingness?
‘Well, while you’re thinking about nothing, keep washing! Just look at all this.’ Einna threw up her hands in dismay and splashed them in her washtub.
Inga gazed about her as if she’d just awoken, a little frightened that it took some moments to remember where she was. The shingle-wood tiles, the smoky beams, the gnarled pillars, and beside them two huge piles, one of unwashed linen, one of coarse-spun blankets. Some were hanging from the rafters of the washhouse, dripping wet but clean.
They would take for ever to dry in this damp weather. Perhaps they should make a fire. She imagined flames dancing, higher and higher; then the wool catching light, the fire devouring the cloth until it was burned to nothing.
She groaned inwardly. Why did her thoughts spiral so often into nothingness these days? She shifted her weight on her haunches and went back to wringing out the linen. Turning, squeezing.
Inside my head, it’s the same. Turning, squeezing. She felt so far from herself. She was used to her mind galloping free, swift as a stallion, soaring like a swallow. Life was a dance she could do with her eyes shut, a song she knew by heart. Gossip and japes and stories – quick wits and quick words – she was used to weaving them all into a bright and beautiful pattern, not a stitch out of place. But now. . . now, everything in her head was moving too fast. Confusing. A thousand thoughts writhing and twisting together like a nest of serpents.
Hakan had been gone days; probably he’d be away days more. She needed him back. But what would she tell him? She used to know what to say about everything. Now, nothing made sense.
No, that’s not true. Hakan still makes sense.
With him, she could find her way through a forest of fears. And yet, when she tried to lay hands on each fear to face it down, it proved ephemeral as a mist.
She had started to believe that strange powers must be moving against her. How else could all this have arisen? And now her uncle’s will was against her, intent on this horrible arrangement. She remembered how one of the battle-names they called him was Stoneside. Stoneheart is nearer the mark. She had to find the will to fight – now more than ever. For the life inside her.
So why did she feel so weak just when she needed to be strong?
She had prayed to the good gods. The high god of the Vanir, Ingvi-Frey, her namesake. Her life had been bound to his since she’d come into the world. He must protect them, because their love was pure and good. And the high god’s beautiful twin Freya, too. Wasn’t it the goddess of love who gave passions of the heart, and the secret ecstasies between man and woman? Inga had lived to please both these gods. They must defend her.
Yet somehow, the shadow remained. Inescapable.
She felt so tired.
Maybe the shadow knows. My blood is marked. Her father’s death, her mother’s sorrow. The shadow only laughed, knowing her turn would come.
Einna was prattling away about one of the Birlung boys whom she had met over at Hildagard, her shock of hair bobbing back and forth with ever more enthusiasm.
Time wasn’t long past when Inga would have teased Einna without mercy. And together, they would have laughed and laughed. But instead Inga said nothing. Einna’s words confused her. She tried to concentrate, but none of her thoughts held together.
Eventually, Einna trailed into silence, and there was a splash of sodden linen. ‘What’s wrong with you, huh?’
Inga started.
‘Where’s my darling Ingaling?’
‘Hey?’
‘You’re not here!’
Inga shook her head, forcing a smile. ‘I’m sorry. I must have been daydreaming.’
‘Can’t have been
a very nice dream, judging from your face.’ Inga only sighed.
‘You’ve hardly said a word in days. Tell me what’s wrong, little dove?’
‘Just leave it, Einna.’
‘Come, you can tell.’ Inga wished she would just stop. ‘Why are you being so stubborn, silly?’
‘Maybe I’m tired of listening to your endless jabber!’ Inga snapped. ‘Can’t you just. . . just be quiet for a while?’
As soon as she spoke, she regretted it. Poor Einna didn’t know her secrets. She doesn’t even know me. Not any more. Einna gave a tetchy flick of her hair and turned back to her washing.
Inga groaned. ‘I’m sorry, little one.’ But Einna was already lodged in one of her sulks, and there would be no prying her out of it.
Her back ached. It ached a good deal these days. She wondered how big their child was now. Under layers of clothing, the bulge in her belly was growing – unmistakable to the touch, but unseen.
For now.
How could she conceal herself till the spring? It was foolish to hope no one would notice. The only slight reassurance was that winter was coming on and no one would heed a few more layers as the days grew colder.
But truly – our plan is absurd!
She stood up, feeling the blood fizz down her legs. She would leave Einna to her sulking. She needed to breathe.
‘I’m thirsty.’ Einna only scowled in reply, so Inga pulled her cloak tight and stepped out of the washhouse into the yard.
She set off for the water butt, careless of her skirts dragging through the puddles. The mud was thick as pitch. She’d only gone a few steps when she missed her footing and slipped. She lurched, managed to catch herself, but her back jarred, the pain stabbing like a stick in the spine.
She wanted to yell in frustration, but clamped her mouth shut and leaned back, trying to ease the muscles in her back. Her gaze drifted up into the blanket of drab clouds overhead.
So tired.
Tired of chasing answers down the warrens of her mind. Tired of worrying for the little life she felt growing inside her. She closed her eyes and let her mind become blank as the sky, and for one sweet moment, she thought of nothing at all.
The pain leaked away until, at last, it was gone. She opened her eyes.
There was Tolla – standing in the doorway of the hall, bucket in hand, a quizzical look on her face. Inga straightened up and called a greeting.
The nurse tucked away a loose strand of hair and made her way over without a word. Inga watched her. Something was different about her.
‘Come here, Einna,’ called Tolla.
The younger girl looked up from her tub. Tolla held out the bucket of scraps. ‘Be a good girl and take this to the pigs.’
‘It’s always me!’ Einna slapped her apron, exasperated. ‘Why can’t she do it? She’s done nothing all morning.’
‘Just do as you’re told. I need to talk with Inga.’
Hearing this, Einna conceded, with a glimmer of satisfaction.
They both knew Tolla only spoke like that when someone was in trouble. Inga’s neck prickled with foreboding as Einna squelched off with the bucket of scraps. A few other farm-thralls came and went about their work nearby. Tolla beckoned Inga to the back of the washhouse, her face giving nothing away. Inga followed, apprehensive.
‘I’ve been watching you, Inga.’
‘You have?’
‘More than you reckon.’ When Inga didn’t answer, Tolla gave a flick of her head. ‘What’s with your back then? Giving you trouble, is it?’
‘Nothing. Just slept funny, is all.’
‘That a fact?’
‘I guess.’
‘That’s an awful shame.’ But Tolla’s weathered face didn’t look very sympathetic. ‘Only it’s not just your back, is it?’
Inga tried to play baffled. But inwardly, she gathered her wits.
‘Something’s up with you. You’re not yourself.’
Inga shrugged. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Lately, every time I see you you’re moping around.’
‘Maybe it’s the rain,’ murmured Inga. ‘I hate this time of year. Everything is dying.’
‘It’s not the rain. No, I’ve been asking myself why. And the only thing I can think, I don’t like at all.’
‘Well?’
‘You haven’t fallen for that silk-tongued weasel, have you?’
‘Who?’
‘Konur, of course. You’ve not been the same since he came by. And when he left, you wanted to be all secretive.’
‘I told you why.’
‘Part of the reason, maybe. Now tell me the truth.’
‘You’ve got it so wrong, Tolla. I hate Konur.’ Inga took a strange pleasure in saying the words out loud. ‘Really. I hate him.’
Tolla peered closer, exploring her eyes. Inga felt naked as a babe under Tolla’s scrutiny. Always did. At least this time, she was telling the truth. Tolla drew away, apparently satisfied. ‘Well, I’m glad there’s still some sense left in that pretty head of yours. I don’t trust that boy. Haven’t from the start.’
‘He’s a bully,’ blurted Inga. ‘Worse than a bully.’
But Tolla seemed occupied with her own ponderings. ‘So if it’s not him, then what’s the matter with you? You’re awful distracted. And so low. Like the spark’s gone out of you. Are you sick?’ She stepped forward and put the back of her hand to Inga’s brow.
Inga recoiled like a startled deer. ‘No!’
‘No?’
‘I mean there’s nothing wrong with me. Or there is. . . I’m. . .’ She dried up with despair.
‘Just say whatever it is, honey,’ said Tolla, seeing her distress.
Inga considered telling her. Wanted to tell her everything. But could she trust her? Would Tolla help them? Perhaps if she gave her one piece of the truth, it would be enough. ‘It is to do with Konur,’ she admitted, at last.
‘Go on.’
‘My uncle wants me to marry him.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Tolla. ‘Marry him? Since when?’
Inga felt tears sting her eyes. ‘He told me a few days ago. Said it was part of some agreement with Konur’s father.’
‘No, no, no,’ said Tolla, shaking her head. ‘What happened? Tell me quickly.’
So she told her everything that had passed between them, their argument and how they had left it, saying how she detested Konur and how she had railed against Haldan’s plan, but leaving out why.
Even as she was speaking, she didn’t know why she couldn’t tell Tolla what Konur had tried to do. Was she so ashamed? How could there ever be room for shame with Tolla? She had nursed her from her mother’s dead nipple, knew the worst of her, and still loved her. Maybe it would have to come to that.
‘Can you help me?’ she asked. ‘Can’t you talk to him?’
‘I’ll try, sweetling. But I can’t promise anything. You know how stubborn he is.’
‘But you’re stubborn too, aren’t you?’
Tolla smiled. ‘Aye. But once your uncle has an idea in his head, he’s like a dog with a bone. Especially when it comes to land and bloodlines and such.’
The old jealousy surged inside Inga. ‘Our bloodline,’ she said, bitterly. ‘The mean old fool is obsessed. Why does he treat me like dirt, yet Hakan is so precious? His “Chosen Son”. . . Chosen for what! It’s not fair.’
‘He loves Hakan. And you. In his way.’
‘He’s incapable of love! Everything is sacrificed for the good of his land or his people. But you can’t hold land in your arms, can you? You can’t hold a people.’
‘Once he loved very deeply. Too deeply maybe.’
‘I can scarce believe it. Anyway, how can you love too deeply?’ She was weeping openly now, but she was beyond caring.
Tolla’s face mirrored hers, pained by her pain. ‘I’ve never told anyone this,’ she said. ‘Lord Haldan made me promise never to tell what I’d witnessed. But I think somehow you need to know. And one day, long afte
r he and I are gone, you must tell Hakan as well.’
‘Hakan? Why?’
‘You never wondered why he was called the “Chosen Son”?’
‘I thought it was just a stupid name to show he was special.’
‘He is special. But he was also chosen.’ The nurse sighed. ‘You were only little when his mother died so you won’t remember her well. But Lord Haldan loved Guthrun deeply. You never saw a man prouder of his wife when she fell pregnant. Nor more protective. She was huge! The womenfolk round here agreed they never saw a woman so big. One of the older women said it was twins, and sure enough, she gave birth to a pair of boys, as alike as two grains of barley. But it was a hard, hard birth, and left her weak as a lamb.’ Tolla went on, telling how Guthrun came to the threshold of death, and there she stayed a long while.
Haldan couldn’t bear to lose her. She caught a chill that burrowed deep into her lungs, and every day they thought it would be her last. While his wife languished, Haldan charged Tolla, a girl of twenty summers back then, to watch over the two boys. And all the while, Haldan grew mad with the thought of losing his wife, until one day, a seidman came peddling his black craft. Tolla figured he had heard of Guthrun’s sickness and the Vendling lord’s distress, because he came with a promise. He could cure his wife, he said, but it would come at a cost that was perhaps more than Haldan was willing to pay. He had pointed at the boys in their twin cradle. A life for a life. One of them for his wife to live. When Tolla heard it, the horror of it was almost too much to bear.
Inga listened as Tolla told how she pleaded with Haldan to run the seidman off the land, but the shaman was nimble with his words. And the idea he’d planted gnawed at Haldan’s mind. He believed Guthrun would live, and he would be spared losing the thing most precious to him in all the world.
Guthrun heard of the seidman’s offer, but wanted nothing of it. In the moments when her sickness abated, she begged Haldan not to do it; tried to persuade him to accept her time had come. But he would not. And one night, he came to Tolla and told her he had decided.
Inga watched a shadow settle on Tolla’s face as she described how Haldan had stood over their cradle a long while. The boys lay side by side, arms wrapped around one another, as was their habit. Guthrun lay weeping nearby, pleading with him, but his ears were stone. Finally, he just picked up one of them, prising off the other’s little fingers, took the baby outside and gave him to the seidman.
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