Betsy Tobin

by Ice Land (v5)

  She looks at him, horrified. “But I do not want to go,” she says.

  Vili frowns. “He told me that you had consented.”

  Fulla looks down at the grassy slope beneath them. “He did not give me a choice.”

  Vili sighs. “Hogni showed me a great deal of kindness before he died. More kindness than my own people.” He looks at her pleadingly. “I gave my word to a dying man on his deathbed. If I break my oath, then I forsake all my honour with it.”

  She gapes at him in disbelief, her throat tightening. Vili’s eyes drift down to the grass, refusing to meet hers. After a moment, he rises to his feet. “I must go,” he says hoarsely, turning away. She watches him recede from her, his lean form distorted by her tears.

  She remains atop the hillside for another hour, and only descends when Helga comes into the yard calling her name. She walks slowly down the hill, and as she reaches the house, she hears the explosion. This time, she knows it is not lightning. Helga stands in front of her, her eyes wide with alarm. Both turn to study the horizon. Far off in the distance, they see a vast funnel of dark ash reaching high into the sky. At the same time, they feel the first shock waves, and the earth beneath their feet begins to shake. Instinctively, Helga reaches for her arm, just as Vili emerges from the stables, and Dvalin from the house. Within moments, the entire household is gathered in the yard, listening to the far-off sound of Hekla. The noise dies slightly after a minute, and the earth beneath them ceases to move. Fulla can hear the frightened baying of the horses and the incessant mooing of the cows. They stand and watch as an enormous black cloud slowly sweeps across the sky, obliterating the sun. Soon the first bits of ash begin to rain around them, followed by small pieces of pumice, some of them still warm. “Get inside,” says Dvalin tensely. After a moment’s hesitation, they all crowd into Hogni’s hall. The sky outside is nearly black with ash. A young serving woman begins to wail, until Helga pushes her into a chair and forces a cup of mead into her hands.

  Fulla crosses over to where Dvalin stands by the door. “Is it Hekla?” she asks tentatively. He nods, his face stricken with fear. They are both thinking of the same thing: the fate of Asgard and Freya.

  Berling suddenly appears beside them. “Dvalin,” he asks anxiously. “What of Nidavellir?” Dvalin shakes his head wordlessly and places a hand upon the boy’s shoulder.

  They spend the next few hours inside, waiting for the ash fall to subside.Towards late afternoon, they finally emerge into the yard. Everywhere around them, the ground has been coated with a thick layer of ash. Even the sheep and cows on the hillside are black with soot. Dvalin stares out at the horizon, his face set in a frown. After a moment, he motions to Vili, laying a hand upon his shoulder. “What should we do?” asks Vili.

  “Stay here,” says Dvalin. “Clear the ash from the yard and the garden as best you can. Give the livestock some hay, as the grass will not be fit for grazing. And make sure the water supplies are clear.”

  Vili nods. “What of you?”

  “I will ride to Nidavellir.”

  “Is it safe?”

  Dvalin hesitates. “I won’t know until I get there,” he says. “But I have to go.”

  Suddenly, Berling appears. “I’ll come with you,” he says fiercely.

  Dvalin turns to him. “No, Berling. Your mother would never forgive me. I’ll go alone and return with her as fast as I am able. Vili will look after you, and Fulla too. You must help them, as best you can.” Berling swallows, then nods.

  Together they watch as Dvalin gathers a few supplies and saddles his horse. He climbs upon his mount and waves to them, urging it quickly into a canter. The ash flies up around the horse’s hooves, leaving a cloud of black dust behind them. On the horizon, the late afternoon sun struggles through the haze of darkness.

  Late that night, Vili is woken out of a deep slumber. Fulla crouches beside him, dressed only in a pale chemise. Her long golden hair hangs freely down her back. He sits up quickly, alarmed. “What is it?” he asks.

  “Come,” she says urgently. She takes his hand and pulls him to his feet, then turns and crosses to her bedchamber, glancing back to make sure he is behind her. After a split second’s hesitation, he follows. Once inside the room, she closes the door and leans against it.

  “What is it?” he asks. “Is something wrong?”

  She shakes her head and takes a few steps towards him, until her face is only a breath apart from his. “I’ll not be someone else’s bride,” she says intently. “If there is to be a first time, then let it be with you.” She leans forward and kisses him fully on the mouth, her tongue searching for his own. Vili moans, his oath momentarily forgotten, and takes her in his arms.

  DVALIN

  Though he rides south to Nidavellir, his mind runs to Asgard. One thought persists: there is no way she could have survived the force of such an eruption. Not even the Aesir could withstand the might of Hekla. His own people, too, are at risk. Though Nidavellir lies some distance to the west, the force of the blast and the tremors that ensued could easily have destroyed the caves and everyone inside them. He could not have let Berling ride with him, for he does not know what he will find.

  And Hekla’s tantrum has not finished. Every few minutes, she rumbles into action, shooting more clouds of yellow dust and gas into the air. Once again, the ash begins to fall in earnest. It stings his eyes and clogs his nostrils, even finding its way into the back of his throat. His horse, too, is suffering, and he is forced to slow their pace. After one particularly large explosion, tiny bits of hot pumice begin to rain out of the sky. The horse is struck by burning pumice on its flank. The terrified animal screams and rears up. Dvalin clings hard to its mane. He himself is hit more than once on his face and arms.The burning embers leave red welts on his skin, like the angry bites of an insect.

  All around him, the landscape has been altered.Though he knows the route well, he is forced to stop and check his bearings more than once. Familiar landmarks lie covered in ash everywhere he looks. As he draws closer to Nidavellir and Hekla, conditions worsen. He rides past huge lumps of smouldering molten rock, thrown vast distances by the first eruption. More and more, he worries about the fate of Nidavellir and his people, and counts his blessings that Berling was with him at Laxardal when Hekla blew.

  But what of the others? And what of Freya? Again and again, his thoughts return to her. He does not know why. If he harboured feelings for her, he was not aware of it. Now he cannot banish her from his mind. The thought that she may have perished in the eruption sickens him.

  As night draws near, he reaches the final plateau before Nidavellir. Exhausted by the worsening conditions, he and the horse slow to a walk. They are still an hour’s ride from the caves, though he has begun to wonder if they will make it before nightfall. He does not know whether he can carry on in darkness. The smell of sulphur in the air is overwhelming and burns his lungs each time he draws a breath. A feeling of guilt washes over him. All his life he has fled the confines of the caves, and felt nothing but ambivalence towards his kin. If his people have been lost in the eruption, then he should have died with them.

  Suddenly, another huge explosion tears the sky over Hekla. His horse rears up, and Dvalin flies backwards, nearly losing his seat.The horse breaks into a gallop, its nostrils flaring, and Dvalin struggles to bring the animal under control. A shower of hot pumice begins to fall, and the horse begins to leap frantically, its eyes white with fear. Dvalin is struck on the head by a rock the size of a fist, and in the next moment, he is weightless, the earth rushing up to meet him.

  FREYA

  It is some time before I can bring myself to leave the cave at Singastein. When I finally do, Hekla has grown quieter, and the earth no longer moves beneath my feet. But the sea is even worse than before. It churns like a cauldron, with waves running in all directions. As I circle the island from the air, I see an enormous wall of water gathering out at sea, rushing with great speed towards the shore. When it finally hits the coa
st, the water spills across the land as if hurled by a giant, destroying everything in its path.

  I leave the sea behind me and fly towards Hekla, the air around me hazy with ash. It clings to my face and feathers, stinging my eyes and burning my throat. Far off in the distance, I can see a dark mass of cloud over her summit. More than once, I hear a faint subterranean groan, as if a demon has been trapped inside the earth. All the while Hekla beckons to me: I fly towards her, knowing that my life is at risk.

  The air worsens as I draw near, and flight becomes almost impossible. I climb higher, until the atmosphere is so thin I can scarcely breathe. The ash is not as heavy up high, though beneath me is a dirty sea of haze. As I reach the valley to the south of Hekla, I struggle to catch a glimpse of the ground far below. With mounting shock, I see that the eruption has altered the face of Asgard completely. Nothing remains of Odin’s homestead, nor my own. The River Thjorsa rages across the valley, swollen beyond recognition, boulders the size of cattle tumbling furiously in the frothing waters. What ground has not been devoured by lava is already buried under several feet of dark grey ash.

  And then a deafening explosion occurs: the sound swallows me, so immense I cannot discern its source, and I am billowed upwards by a tremendous surge of heat and wind. A huge white cloud shoots straight up from Hekla in front of me, soaring right above me. I watch as it climbs higher, then gradually halts, fanning out at the top in a feather of pale light. It hovers for an instant, then bends and falls, drifting down towards the earth with terrible beauty. As it does, a pall of black smoke billows outwards from the base, amid great tongues of fire. It spreads like spilled ink across the land, until a gust of wind scatters it away, and I catch a glimpse of the ground beneath. Hekla’s spine has been torn open by the blast: a long jagged curtain of bright red lava shoots up along the ridge, where the earth has cleaved in two. The lava overflows in a myriad of hot red fingers down the sides of Hekla’s flank, forming a web of bloody rivers against the blackened rock. The sight is both beautiful and terrifying, and for a moment I forget that all of Asgard has been decimated by her fury.

  And then I realise that I am falling, as the earth rushes towards me. The ash is everywhere, clogging my eyes and nose and throat, and I am struggling to breathe. I try in vain to remain aloft, and feel my arms weaken as I drift downwards. I land hard upon Hekla’s lower slopes in a bed of hot ash. Unable to move, I lie back, exhausted. The ground beneath me gives a sudden jerk, as another huge explosion rolls out of Hekla. Instinctively, I raise my arms to my face, as a wave of fire engulfs me. The earth and sky vanish. I find myself inside a sphere of heat and light and noise. In the next moment, a veil of red sweeps across the slope where I am lying, and a shower of debris hits me. I curl into a ball as the fiery torrent passes over me. It spills across the valley, devouring everything in its path. Behind me, a huge chunk of Hekla’s side has been blown away. Nothing around me is recognisable. I close my eyes to the devastation. My home is gone, as are my people. Why have I survived?

  Some time later, I wake. I do not know how long I’ve been unconscious. My lungs burn as if they are alight, and my arms feel as if they have been pulled from their sockets. I sit up and survey the landscape. Behind me, Hekla continues to pop and hiss, but her violence has abated. With trembling fingers, I reach for the necklace at my throat. I owe my life to the Brisingamen: that is why Skuld sent me to find it. But I do not know why fate has chosen me to remain behind, or whether I wish it to be so.

  Slowly, I stand and shake the ash from my feather form. There is a deep cut on my shoulder, but otherwise I am unhurt. I rise again into the sky and fly west towards Nidavellir, hoping that Fulla and Dvalin had moved beyond the caves by the time Hekla blew.There is little doubt in my mind that Nidavellir will have been destroyed along with Asgard. Even before I reach the vast plains that contain the caves, I see from a distance that the entire surface of the earth has collapsed inwards for many miles. Giant shards of rock jut out at every angle. Indeed, the entire plateau looks as though it has been dropped from a great height and trampled into pieces. Everywhere there is blackened ash, sometimes lying in drifts higher than a man’s head. I circle twice around Nidavellir, but see no sign of life. I think of Berling and his mother, and the girl with straw-coloured plaits who boldly greeted me that first day. I see the tunnels with their faint shafts of light, the rusted anvils, the bed strewn with shaggy skins, and the bowl of coloured beads. I realise that I am crying: my face runs with blackened tears. For my own people, for Dvalin’s, and for all those who have survived.

  As night approaches, I turn north and head towards Laxardal. I do not know where else to go and am so tired that my limbs are racked with pain. My entire body is caked with soot, and the intense smell of sulphur grips my lungs like a fist. I fly as long as I am able, until I spy a small cluster of trees beneath me. Miraculously, the ground beneath it is clear of ash. I land, endeavouring to catch my breath for a few minutes. Behind me, Hekla explodes again in anger. I feel the shock waves sweep across the valley, a force powerful enough to knock me from the skies, had I been flying. I reach instinctively for the Brisingamen at my throat. In the next instant, a shower of hot rocks begins to fall from the sky. I roll sideways into the base of a tree and curl myself into a ball. I feel the burning stones hit my back and legs, as if I am being struck by a staff. I wait until the shower subsides, then stand unsteadily. Night is falling fast now. I know that I must carry on, either to Laxardal, or somewhere closer, where I can shelter for the night.

  And then I see it: a riderless horse running towards me at a gallop. The animal is half-crazed with terror, its eyes enormous blisters of fear. The horse runs straight past, blind to me. With a sickening feeling, I see that it is Dvalin’s. I summon my strength and take to the skies, heading in the direction the horse came from. I fly for several minutes, searching the ground in vain, struggling to see through the mounting darkness. I have nearly given up hope when I see him. He lies face down, his body already covered in a thin layer of ash. I land next to him, and for an instant I am too frightened to move. I stare at the curl of his ear, the tangle of dark hair falling down his back, and feel my throat tighten. I reach out and lay a hand against the side of his neck. I feel the warmth of his body beneath my fingers and a faint pulse. With relief, I rest my forehead upon his shoulder, offering a prayer of thanks to whatever gods remain. Then I gently turn him over and wipe the ash from his face. His head is bleeding and one of his legs has been torn open just below the knee. I try in vain to wake him, then gather him in my arms and pull him up into the sky.

  THE NORNS

  Water abounds here. Twelve rivers and their offspring run in all directions, their names like stark warnings: Shivering, Crooked,Torrent. But rivers are as vulnerable as the land. Past Hekla’s northern flank flows the River Thjorsa, swollen with run-off from the vast ice sheets of the central plateau. Like all rivers on this island, it is unnavigable, loaded with silt and gravel ground down by bedrock from glaciers far inland.When Hekla blows, the Thjorsa trebles in size with the debris of destruction: pumice, ash and snow. Hekla’s venomous ashfall contaminates its waters, poisoning fish and carrying death to livestock further downstream, as the river finds its way back to the sea. But this is a fitting end to the cycle of eruption, for the sea gave birth to Hekla, and to the sea some part of her must return.

  DVALIN

  The first thing he sees when he wakes is the low ceiling of the cave. He sits up in the darkness, and the back of his head bursts with pain. At once, he falls back to the ground. He remembers the explosion and the stone that struck him, but nothing else. Slowly, he looks around him, his eyes struggling to see through the darkness. He does not know how he got here. The cave is long and narrow, its ceiling low. The entrance is a sliver in the rock at the far end, through which a tiny amount of natural light enters. A small pile of dead brush lies on the ground next to him. Beside it is something else. He peers at it closely: a pile of dirty feathers. His heart begins
to race.

  Once again, he pulls himself up, more carefully this time. After a moment, the throbbing in the back of his head recedes slightly. He looks around in vain. She is nowhere. He looks towards the narrow entrance. The opening is obscured by several thick leafy branches. His throat is parched and sore from ash, and for the first time, he sees that his leg has been wounded just below the knee. Someone has tied it with a strip of cloth. He can feel nothing, for the entire leg is numb. He lies back down again and waits, drifting into sleep.

  The next time he wakes, she is there, crouching next to him. “You’re back,” he murmurs.

  She smiles. Her face and hair are covered in soot. “Did you think I would abandon you?” she says. “I’ve brought some wood for a fire, and clean water. And something for a poultice. Your leg needs dressing.”

  She holds the goatskin up and helps him to drink. Then he watches as she sets about grinding leaves between two stones. “How did you find all this?” he asks in amazement.

  “With difficulty. Everything is covered in ash.”

  “Hekla,” he says, lying back down. She nods grimly and continues grinding. After a few minutes, she stops. “I think this will have to do.” She carefully unties the bandage on his leg, exposing the wound.