Obsidian

by Suzie Wilde

  ‘Of quicksilver poured down, burning stone and flesh and metal as it came, flowing out to the frozen sea, which hissed and steamed.’

  He gave his wide blue stare. ‘I was told you have the sight. The mountain is called the Gateway to Hel. There was a monstrous din, but almost no one was alive to hear it.’

  She thought then of Egill’s father.

  ‘Now there’s talk of settlers trying to come back and for sure that means you can’t be helping everyone.’

  Bera was used to men who could blank questions or give single-word replies. One in particular.

  ‘You talk a lot.’

  ‘You should hear my mother. In fact, you really should. It was her that said you have the sight. My mother says she needs you. I will help you, so will you help me?’

  ‘I don’t know how to get to your farm.’

  Faelan took a stone and drew on the black sand. First, he made three long lines.

  ‘That’s the three parcels of land that are my farmstead. Where they meet, here, is the forge.’

  ‘Old magic.’

  ‘That’s right. That piece is an old settler’s. He died a while back, leaving it to me and my mother.’

  Bera looked at his face, thinking his mother was probably beautiful.

  ‘So this is our coast, here. You’ll know there’s no wide river to bring a boat in, so all these’ – he drew short lines like tiny fjords – ‘are what’s around us, apart from the beaches where you go to scavenge and another that’s too far to walk, over here.’

  ‘Beyond the ruins?’

  ‘That’s it. There’s a stream that comes out of the lake by my farmstead.’

  ‘Where Heggi went to skate.’

  ‘That’s the one.’ He drew a wiggly line going to a circle, past the ruins and out to sea. ‘Then there’s this.’ He scribbled above the longhouse.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The waterfall above us.’

  Bera had seen the distant whiteness.

  ‘So now you know.’

  Faelan looked at her as if he saw the person she wanted to be. She wanted to hold his gaze but that was dangerous with no husband or father to protect her, so she studied the drawing.

  ‘Is that where Heggi’s surprise is?’ Bera asked.

  ‘Where you’re to watch. I’d better get going.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten the Stoat!’ Bera pointed out to sea.

  He laughed. ‘Two stoats, in fact.’ But instead of drawing them in, he scuffed the map out with his foot. ‘Tide doesn’t come this high.’

  They started up the bluff. Bera’s knee was hurting and she let Faelan help her over some rocks. His hand was hot and leathery, like a dog’s paw, and fitted her own.

  Faelan whistled and called, ‘Miska!’

  His small horse looked up and trotted across the sand.

  ‘She’s so pretty,’ Bera said. ‘Hello, Miska.’

  ‘I bred her.’

  ‘He’s all talk.’ Dellingr stepped out from behind a rock. His expression was more guarded than his words.

  ‘You should be at the forge, not watching me.’

  ‘I can’t work at my ancient craft because I’m having to build like a ruffian. We’ve no food left, and if we get some, you don’t know how to keep it safe. We’re starving, Bera.’

  ‘I sent some grain over earlier,’ Faelan said. ‘And there’s swan and goose and all the river fish coming. Then harvest, and at Blood Month I will give you meat, to save your breeding sow and the weaners.’

  Dellingr stared at him. ‘And why would you be so generous?’

  Faelan was nowhere near the smith’s height but he stood his ground. ‘Settlers must pull together if any are to survive.’

  ‘You’re no settler,’ growled Dellingr. ‘More of a runtish thrall.’

  Faelan spread his weight evenly over his feet, ready to fight.

  Bera stood between them. ‘Thank you, Faelan. I shall tell Sigrid to bake some new bread. We need it.’

  ‘Then she’ll have to use goose grease and spit,’ Dellingr said. ‘He’s lying. Soon there’ll only be cow shit and frog spawn.’

  ‘Next winter, you might be glad to eat it,’ said Faelan. He swung up onto Miska’s back. ‘Come and visit, Bera. Any time you like.’

  As she watched him go, Bera wondered how his mother knew that a woman she had never met had the Sight. What had she agreed to help him with? She needed to be careful; get herself back in control.

  Away on Heggi’s steep cliff stood the lone figure she had seen before, as grey and still as a rune stone. Both of them, the figure and Bera, looking at Faelan. Then the Watcher was gone.

  Dellingr spat. ‘I doubt he even has a mother.’ He must not have seen it.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘They hadn’t the sense to look at smashed wood. Might be boat wreckage. Might be a few nails in there.’ His fists were clenched.

  Bera wanted to respect him but his pride was in tatters. He was spoiling for a fight but it was driven by fear. Was he right to be suspicious of Faelan? She could judge that better once she had met his mother.

  Dellingr was looking east, towards Seabost. His home.

  ‘I’m sorry we quarrel.’

  She took his hand. ‘So am I, Dellingr. We’re both so tired; all of us are tired.’

  He was waiting for something, but what? He let her hand go and set off for the beach.

  It was easy to see the tallest cliff, but quite a way beyond the homestead to reach it. The sun was beginning to set. Bera was longing to rest but a promise was not to be broken, so she kept on. Rakki stayed close. His mind prickled with possible dangers, just like a Valla’s would, and Bera felt he was guarding her. She was part of his pack and she was glad, not minding being the weak one for now because there was no rivalry with her dear dog. When she started up the grassy slope her bruised knee grumbled and the new grass was so slippery that she began to think it held some grudge against her. She stopped to catch her breath long before she reached the top and was grateful for her skern’s warmth.

  There was a shout. Heggi was waving from a clifftop, opposite where she stood. He pointed downwards and then disappeared. Was this the surprise? Rakki forgot himself and charged to the edge. Bera scrambled after him, then held the scruff of his neck to keep him safe.

  The cliffs here were the colour of a petrel’s wing. On the other side of the inlet, Heggi was slithering down steep, rough steps and onto a sort of quay, covered in eelgrass. He slipped, legs and arms flailing, then slid to an undignified stop. Bera was worried at first but then laughed and waved. He did not look up.

  She had not managed to explore this far but they had missed nothing useful: the narrow cleft between high cliffs might capture sea-ridden timber but it would be impossible to gather it without a boat. Now she could see the second black pillar that Faelan had drawn, standing guard over the approach to the harbour. The Stoat looked more like a humpback trole from here. Round the headland came a small boat, bravely bobbing in the short chop.

  A good surprise!

  Dearest Heggi. It filled her with joy and hope – quickly followed by pain.

  ‘Is he feeling the same? Remembering?’

  The Raven and her father, who built it, linked forever in grief. So many memories: the first small boat he made her, the work boat… Bjorn.

  Face your fear.

  ‘I always do.’

  The small craft was carrying several bundles as well as Faelan and a slim youth who reminded Bera of Egill. Bera had sailed bigger boats single-handed, so this one would be easy, once the baby was born. She could go fishing! It would return her to herself again and then everything else would follow. Others would see her restored. With her skill, she would give Faelan fish the size of his horse and then she would owe him nothing.

  Boats don’t solve every problem.

  ‘They do for me.’

  Faelan’s black hair looked even more like a raven’s wing in the breeze but as soon
as the boat entered the channel everything calmed. He steered right up to the ledge for Heggi to leap aboard. Her boy had not lost his boat sense and he jumped into the middle and quickly sat down to keep the small craft from pitching. Faelan let the boat drift back, then turned for the open sea and they were lost from view. Envy burned the back of her throat. They were out there on the water while here she was, fat and useless with the baby inside her, like a beached whale.

  Stop that.

  Bera was afraid to stand at such a height, so she got on all fours and crawled to the edge the other side. The drop was even greater. The soil trembled and a clump of earth fell over the cliff, which was so sheer that the grass looked as if it had been chopped away with an axe. Below her, drifts of birds lazily circled. Far beneath the birds, waves wrinkled and whispered and Bera was lost in giddy emptiness. She saw herself falling, like a child’s toy, smacking into rocks and against the metalled waves, smashed into gobbets of flesh that would be swarmed over by all the teeming life in sea and air. Terrible. But all the grief and worry would be gone in an instant, instead of waiting for the baby to kill her. Bera got to her feet, swaying, staring at the white smash of waves beneath her, coming closer, the hiss and suck of blood in her neck…

  Rakki gave a small whimper as fear rumbled through his body.

  Feel the rumble and the tumble

  And the boat-song in your blood

  Bera sank down onto her knees, weeping. Rakki nuzzled her hand and soothing him helped her too.

  The small boat appeared, riding the swell, and when the tiny dot that was Heggi waved, she waved back. It was important that he knew she had kept her word. Faelan steered to a place directly below her. She dared not stand up again, so she lay down on her side, shuffled forward with legs wide for anchorage and then carefully peered over the edge.

  Heggi was holding them off the cliff while the youth took the helm. Faelan gathered a bunch of lines, which he passed to the boys, then picked up one of the bundles, slung it around his neck and quickly tied it on. He sprang ashore and the youth let the boat stand off the cliff. Bera craned further out. Faelan had started up one of the ropes and was climbing a stack, legs splayed. How could he keep his balance with the bundle round his neck? Were his legs strong enough to keep climbing? The bundle shifted sideways and Bera felt sick. He managed to get it back and carried on. There was something odd about it, as if wool stuffing was coming out of a hood. What was he was doing?

  When Faelan eventually got near a ledge he swung for a while in the gusty breeze. A gull gave a small mew. Then another, and it was not the cry of a gull. Bera screwed up her eyes to see better. Faelan took one hand off the rope, swung the bundle over his head and onto a patch of grass. It was a tiny lamb! The small creature staggered and fell. Bera cried out. Surely it would slither straight off the sloped ledge; a man would certainly have fallen to his death.

  She crawled back from the edge, shuddering.

  It’s what they do here, with the lambs. To keep them safe.

  ‘Safe? On a ledge?’

  Her skern shuddered. Imagine what must be out there if they think a ledge is safer.

  A sharp pain stabbed deep inside, liquid fire swarming downwards, coiling like a serpent; white-hot metal. She had known it was wrong to do so much, Sigrid would be angry, but her promise… Rakki lay as if a trole’s hand had flattened him and the earth growled.

  It’s an earth tremor. Her skern held her tight. The boat will be safe.

  ‘Faelan will fall!’

  The juddering land made Bera tumble.

  Wait for it to pass.

  Her scalp prickled with fire. Poor Rakki was whimpering but she could not reach him. They had to endure. She pictured Faelan, swinging into that terrible space and crashing down onto the boat! Heggi might drown, dashed against those rocks. On the high headland was the distant grey shape of the Watcher.

  It’s slowing.

  Bera could hardly think straight. Was the figure linked to Faelan… or the earth trembles? There were some grunts and Faelan swung himself over the clifftop.

  ‘That was a close one,’ he said. ‘Glad the boat stood off and I got the wee lamb in place. Are you all right?’

  ‘Of course.’ She was also relieved, but pain kept her on her knees.

  He smiled. ‘You soon learn how to stand sturdy here. Lambs keep to their ledge even in gales when the grass is as slippery as seaweed. They trust their legs.’

  ‘Is that a lesson for me, Faelan?’ She meant it to be breezy but it sounded surly. Or worse.

  ‘I meant you should trust me.’ His voice was soft. ‘You can, always.’

  Bera let him help her to her feet. Her skirts were clinging wet from the grass and she pulled them away from her legs, at a disadvantage.

  ‘What about the boat?’

  ‘I’ll shimmy back down the rope.’ He looked at his hand, which was red. ‘Turn around. Let me look at your skirts.’

  ‘No!’ She suddenly knew the wetness was blood and was appalled that he should have it on his hands.

  Rakki headed down the slope, tearing away homewards. Bera smelled it on the air this time.

  ‘It’s going to be worse this time!’ she said. ‘Look after Heggi.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you.’

  There was a sound like thunder – but from the ground, not the air. They both staggered. This was no ordinary tremor.

  ‘It’s what I saw, Faelan! Hel vomits fire and—’

  An iron claw scored a red line of pain in her womb and she doubled over.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Bad… pain. Mixed up with what’s happening to the earth.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s punishment.’

  ‘What for?’

  He looked at her, as if there had been something guilty in the short time they had met. Bera had no time to wonder. Scorching pain drove through her as the ground shook them off. She fell and ended up further down the slope.

  ‘Bera!’ Faelan staggered towards her, his voice ragged. ‘Is it the baby?’

  ‘Too soon.’ Her sight was full of flame. ‘Need… Sigrid.’

  Gigantic waves rolled unhindered over the Ice-Rimmed Sea until they exploded against the land in a storm of spray. Bera stood at the bow of the Raven as it rose up onto the crest of a frothing breaker, surfing towards a black, black beach at furious speed. Joy and terror. Roaring, crashing, echoes, men’s shouts and screeching birds.

  Bera woke to the sharp rustiness of fresh blood. Alone, apart from her frightened skern, who cleaved to her until Sigrid arrived with a bucket.

  4

  Like the barnacled back of a humpback whale, the foothill reared out of a sea of grey ice. The glacier was unchanged. It drove its way, outside time, towards an ancient sea. The sooty ash that lined the folds and creases was from a much earlier eruption. Yet, for Bera, everything was changed. She was a mother and, like Valla, it was another loaded but empty name, with no one to show her what being one meant. That was inside. Outside, the world had shifted to reveal how precariously they lived on its thin crust. She recognised the smell of Hel’s belch and in the distance, a thick plume of grey smoke gave a warning.

  She was lucky to be alive after the past weeks.

  She had woken to Sigrid worrying at her hands. She was brisk with Bera, with the roughness of true worry. She said Bera had lost a lot of blood; she was angry that Bera had not taken care of herself properly, that she had so nearly lost her life this time. It was not the only thing she had lost, but they didn’t speak of it, not then.

  During the birthing, Bera had seen the same vision – of what? The island’s past? Future? The earth had split but was this good or bad? The deathly pain seemed to bring forth new life but that was confused with her own daughter’s arrival. The baby did not bring the joy that Sigrid showed and everyone expected. Her only gifts to her mother were fear and death. Near-death. Bera remembered her sight growing dim until, at the sharp pinprick of life, she felt her ancestors pushing her back
into the world.

  It was a relief to be alive at first and she made a silent offering that she would never give in to wrong feelings for Faelan, as long as she could stop her vision of ruin coming true. Then wondered what had put such ideas into her head.

  The trouble was, it was all tied to the baby. She made her weaker as a woman. The feeding and lack of sleep; the worry that something was constantly demanded of her but she had no idea what; the way her plans scattered like leaves on the wind. The tearing at the birth had left her sore, so she was waiting for her tender flesh to knit back together and only time and nature could achieve that. The bad birthing had skewed nature for good. The land was troubled. Waves of sickness ebbed and flowed with its swaying. The smell of brymstone. All linked: the baby and the earth’s upheaval. Draining her Valla powers too. How could she not blame her daughter?

  As the days grew longer Bera was strong enough to go outside on Sigrid’s arm. The border of sky and earth was changed where the snow had shifted.

  ‘Aye. We were lucky,’ said Sigrid, nodding. ‘The snow-drop went down the other side, towards the east, so Faelan said.’

  She owed Faelan a huge debt and it troubled her.

  ‘Did he visit?’

  ‘Once. His mother’s too poorly to leave for long, but she gave him some potion for you.’ Sigrid sniffed. ‘The thing I was using was doing the trick but Heggi and Ginna were crying, and Dellingr said to try it, he was that worried about you, and he hates Faelan, so I thought I ought to.’

  Sigrid’s chopped reasoning and the warmth of the sun on her back made Bera smile.

  ‘Something worked anyway.’

  Her strength was returning but she vowed to watch the signs more closely. Her body and the earth’s crust were somehow linked and, although there was calm for the moment, her vision at the birth had not yet been fulfilled.

  ‘I keep smelling brymstone.’

  Sigrid nodded. ‘I burned it at the birthing and afterwards, for blood-cleansing.’

  ‘That’s your old fishwives, is it?’

  Sigrid was silent and Bera was ashamed of mocking her friend’s care.