by Suzie Wilde
‘If only I could sleep,’ she said. ‘The baby never stops crying.’
‘You can, then. I have her in the day, so you can rest,’ Sigrid said.
‘It’s you who looks ill, Sigrid. You have for days.’
‘Don’t start that. Babies go through stages and you need to be rested, so come back inside.’
Screams greeted them. Bera wanted to run away but went to the crib. The baby’s face was puce with outrage. Her tiny fists and feet punched the air and her cries became even more ear-splitting until Bera picked her up and prepared to feed her again. She gave some token sobs then latched on, only pausing once or twice to hiccup. Her eyes, like tiny black stones, fixed on Bera’s. Surely mothers felt some surge of love then? This child had the power to bend her to her will, like a thrall. She had sucked all the life from— Bera stopped herself. It was her own baby girl. Her eyes closed and the wonder of so quickly soothing her child struck like a miracle. It made her tearful.
‘I do love you,’ Bera whispered.
Perhaps Faelan’s mother could be like a grandmother and make everything better. Bera decided to visit with the baby, as soon as she could get up there.
‘Can you take her, Sigrid?’ she asked. ‘I want to check the animals.’
‘You won’t forge a bond,’ Sigrid warned.
‘Bonds can be broken.’ That sounded like Ottar. ‘I have a duty to provide for folk.’
‘Your first duty is to provide for your baby.’
‘Babies die. Ask Asa when you’re next up there.’
Sigrid took in a sharp breath.
Bera touched her arm. ‘I’m sorry. It sounded worse than I meant.’
‘It always does with you. You blurt. I wish you and Asa were friends, like you were after Hefnir left.’
‘We were never friends. And she’s the one who’s being hostile.’
‘She’s still grieving. It’s not something any of us can shrug off but there’s work to do and—’
‘Oh, her and her grief! Do you think I feel nothing? You’re always saying it’s loss that makes you strong. We’ve all lost something we love, Sigrid, but she carries on as if it’s only her! And the thing is, I don’t know whose side you’re on. How can I trust you when you go up there every whipstitch telling her who knows what? You never could keep a still tongue in your head.’
One side of Sigrid’s face flushed red, as if Bera had actually slapped her. Full of shame, Bera wanted to be out of there; to run away from being this sort of person and not the gentle mother she had loved. Who Sigrid had loved too, before Alfdis betrayed her. That was the reverse side of being a Valla; with power came passion. There was a darkness in Bera that she vowed to fight.
‘We need to talk about what happened,’ she said. ‘I need the whole truth, Sigrid, and then move on.’
Sigrid nodded and once the baby was settled again, they sat together on a bench.
‘Was there a twin?’ Bera asked.
The relief of her knowing poured out of Sigrid. ‘Kind of a twin. It came away first, up on the slope. Not like your baby girl but a wizened, misshapen… You should never have gone up there. If Faelan hadn’t acted fast, you could have… Anyway, folk are saying it’s a bad omen, the dead twin being in the womb and the earth trembles and the like. Farmer’s wife, that Drifa, started saying a lamb was born with two heads at the same time, but Heggi says she’s lying.’
‘They have a right to be afraid, though I think the twin is another sign, not a cause.’
‘When did you know there was a twin?’
‘I didn’t, before. I had a glimpse of a skern and its child on the passage over. They must have hidden… the other.’
‘It was a poor, shrivelled thing, all its life sucked out by—’
‘Don’t say it!’ There was a limit to what Bera could bear to hear – and she needed no more reasons to blame her living child.
You fear her.
Sigrid patted her hand. ‘Then count your blessings. She came early but you’ve a bonny daughter.’
‘What did Faelan do?’ Despite the shame, she had to know.
‘He got his horse and rode like the wind to get me.’
‘Dear Miska. What then?’
‘He got you up on the mare’s back while I dealt with the stillbirth and held you tight, then when I got home Dellingr was there, not Faelan, and he never left your side till the real birthing started.’
Bera thought there must have been anger between the two men.
‘Then what, Sigrid? What were you using to heal me? Before Faelan’s potion?’
‘I never stopped.’ Sigrid looked shifty. ‘It was that old narwhale tusk that you used on Heggi.’
‘Some good remains in it then, for all its bad start.’
‘Except I’ve used it all now, on you.’
If the tusk was gone, what could she use to heal?
After a week of rest, when Sigrid took the baby out into the sun, Bera could count her blessings. She had a healthy daughter and Farmer said the soil was warm enough to plant seeds. Bera wanted to see how far she could walk, so she went out to the fields. Besides, it was nearly time to feed the baby. The tie that bound them was invisible but stronger than anything. She marvelled at it.
You also fear it.
There was no smoke coming from the mountain. Sigrid was tilling with the other fieldworkers, with the baby in a sling. Bera wished she was one of them, swapping tales, warm with honest work. Would they let her belong, even if she were strong enough? Drifa would give that odd smile and not let her join in. How much fatter than the others she was. She and Farmer must have been keeping food back for themselves. She would have to put a stop to it.
A horse came up out of a dip. Not Faelan’s Miska. This horse rolled like a barrel, lumbering over the rocks and stones of the burns that striped the pasture. The lumpen man on its back had ropes and bags tied round him and bulging sacks tied to the saddle. A commonplace, fat pedlar, so Farmer could deal with him, or Sigrid.
Not everyone fat is commonplace. Ask Sigrid.
‘Is this a riddle about Sigrid?’
Better out than in. He raised a playful eyebrow.
Bera gave him a look.
She picked a new blade of coarse grass, stretched it between her thumbs and blew. A couple of fieldwomen looked round. She blew again, louder, and the grass broke with a reedy squawk that made her laugh.
You’re a baby yourself. Her skern stroked the nape of her neck. It’s good to see you smile again, sweetheart.
A vivid memory of eruption mixed with the agony of birthing; violent and confused.
‘I keep trying to work out what part of it was real.’
Real?
‘Is it the start or the end? When I lost the twin the earth rumble got worse, and in the birthing there was a snow-drop but there’s no smoke now and the air is changed.’
This is a strange land. Signs are muddled. That’s why I stay close to you these days, just in case.
‘I need to feel hopeful for the future.’
Why is Sigrid so plump these days?
‘She has always been plump.’
Your baby needs you. He pointed to the front of her tunic.
‘I hate all this! I’m like a cow!’
Bera stomped off towards Sigrid, pulling a shawl over the wet rings.
More like a bull on the rampage.
This was Hefnir’s fault, all of it. It was mixed with the loss of her father’s boat – Raven – that he had stolen from her, leaving her with a baby and a body that was sore and strange.
Faelan’s mother knew Bera had the sight. Perhaps she had other answers too.
Bera pulled another fur over her shoulders, making sure she didn’t smother her swaddled baby. As the ground rose, the mounds of snow grew denser, until by the time she reached thorn trees her feet had lost all feeling. Winter’s grip was strong, up here. She stamped her feet and made smoke rings of icy breath in the air. The baby cooed at them and Bera snuggled into the fu
r to kiss her.
Trying to love her?
‘You know nothing of a mother’s love.’
You really think being a good mother will help?
Their distant homestead looked like flotsam on the beach. There was their sentinel, the Stoat, but from here the line of rocks that protected the beach from storm seas merged into the beginnings of the ruins.
Heggi had told her how to find the place where he skated by following a line of blackthorn trees. They were bending away from the wind like old crones with kindling on their backs. He had marked a path through them with the H rune. Bera found it and when she looked up Dellingr was coming through a clearing. His face was ruddy – either from the cold, or because he was as embarrassed as she was, thinking about what he must have seen. What only a husband should know.
He held up his bundle of thin branches. ‘Kindling.’
‘Not enough for a forge fire,’ Bera said. He was so far out of touch with the old magic it made her tearful. ‘I’m sorry if there was trouble with Asa, when… when I lost the twin.’
He turned away, then quickly back. ‘How’s the bairn faring? And you?’
‘We are both well now.’
She pictured him carrying her into the billet, staying with her, unflinching, until he knew she was safe. A good man. He had defied his wife by staying near Bera but it was hard not to in their tight-knit community. Besides, embarrassed or not, there was nothing improper in her feelings for him.
Bera stamped her frozen feet. ‘It’s so cold up here.’
‘This is no winter chill. I’ve been walking all about the edge of the three pieces of his land and there’s something not right.’
Fear clutched her stomach. ‘What have you seen? Not Drorghers?’
‘There’s a powerful sense of something, on the boundaries.’
Bera breathed deeply and let it trail thinly back through her nose a few times. ‘There’s no evil about here.’
‘We’re not at a field edge.’ Dellingr came closer. ‘Are your powers back, then? Like they were at home?’ Full of hope.
‘They never left me,’ she lied.
He looked at her sadly for a moment, then walked away.
‘Your kindling!’ she called after him but he carried on.
Bera propped the thin bundle against a thorn tree, thinking she might take it to the forge on the way back as a peace offering. She kept feeling he disapproved of her; that she was letting him down; him, and all the other folk she had promised to lead. Could she face Faelan’s mother now she had lost her Sight?
The baby began to cry. Bera set off again, to get her daughter to sleep, but kept losing her footing. Stubbornness made her carry on instead of going home, and at last she saw distant smoke. She felt excited at the prospect of being in a proper, warm homestead and perhaps Faelan would be there. She could at least be honest with herself about it. There was a new stirring inside her, perhaps as simple as wanting to make his blue eyes crinkle with laughter. Where was the harm in that?
Breaking your oath to Fate, for one thing.
‘Did I make one?’
By being born.
Bera felt the weight of her baby, a Valla who was also now bound to Fate.
When she got close to the frozen lake, she could see she had come the wrong way to the farmstead, which was on the other side. There was marshland between her and strange, round huts that looked carved out of the soil. A few sheep grazed on the slopes that she realised after a while were roofs. Did they graze everywhere? Farmworkers must live up on this vast, high plain, with grazing as far as the waterfall. She began to edge round the marsh. Her hat was making her head hot and prickly, so she took it off, had a good scratch and hoped it was not lice. When had she last combed it? Too much time looking after the baby to look after herself properly.
Bera stepped to the left and dread stopped her. It was as solid as hitting a wall of stone, and terrifying. Her breath died in her throat. She had to get her baby away but could only move slowly on legs turned to stone. It did not feel like a Drorgher, except for the freezing terror.
When she finally saw Dellingr’s kindling she knew she was free. Was this what he meant about a field edge? Did Faelan know about it? Then something was crashing through the scrub, but it was too late to hide. Rakki burst out and ran to her, followed by Heggi, red-faced and panting.
She let out a long breath. ‘I am so glad it’s you.’
‘Asa told me to fetch you!’
‘Must be important if Asa sent you.’
‘It’s Sigrid.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘She’s been stung by a spider.’
‘Surely Asa can—’
‘It was huge, she says. Come on, Bera!’
Heggi tugged at her and Rakki charged ahead. Bera was too out of breath to speak, until they stopped above the forge.
‘Is Sigrid at the huts?’
‘No, Asa came to the longhouse, soon as you left,’ Heggi said.
‘So they’re at the longhouse?’
‘Asa was scared of the spider, so she…’
‘So she left Sigrid alone!’ Bera was furious and went faster, hoping she would be in time.
Bera gave the baby to Heggi and told him to stay well clear. Groans were coming from the latrine, where she found Sigrid on all fours, with her clothes up round her neck.
Bera stayed in the doorway, in case the spider was inside.
‘Sigrid! Does it hurt?’ she called out. ‘How many times did the spider bite you?’
Sigrid turned and sat, clutching her stomach. Sweat ran down her face and she began to pant.
‘I’m coming back with a remedy.’
Bera rushed to the pantry and looked round, distraught. What remedy? There were no potions left and she had no idea what to use against spider-bite. No narwhale horn as a cure-all.
Her skern was resting his elbows on the table. Told you.
‘Help me.’
Too late for a remedy, that’s for sure.
A long scream made her run back to the latrine. Sigrid’s clothes were rumpled, and she was rocking like a madwoman. Then she looked up and smiled. Not mad at all. Sigrid was rocking a purple, bloody baby. Suddenly it became all mouth and lungs. And was very clearly a boy.
‘Get some hot water,’ Sigrid said, triumphant.
Bera was hurt. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t know!’
‘What do you mean, you didn’t know? You’re always boasting you know everything about birthing!’
‘I do. Like podding a pea, no thanks to you.’
She should have foreseen it. ‘I would have helped if you’d told me.’
‘My courses were all over the place with fret and I was that ill on the passage and half-starved here. Grief. This poor fatherless mite…’ Sigrid, who had withstood every loss, started to sob.
‘Come on, Sigrid. You’re always so strong. Let’s get you cleaned up.’
Bera understood the wild and mixed feelings. She helped Sigrid onto the bench and comforted her old friend, as a mother not a Valla. She wept with Sigrid in relief and love but also because she wanted to be young and free, riding the waves. Everything was making Bera feel old, as if life was rushing past her, all her choices gone.
5
Another birth, another celebration – there were songs – even with no mead or feast meats. Bera said they would have proper naming ceremonies when there was something to harvest. In fact, she was delaying because she had no idea what to call her child and was hoping the Vallas might give her some inspiration. Sigrid, on the other hand, wanted to pay tribute to her boy’s father and had several possible names, which she hugged to herself.
Faelan gave them more seeds, saying they were from plants that were grown on the island, collected at the right time, so would fare better than the ones they had brought from Seabost. His kindness made her doubt that whatever evil bordered his land could be anything to do with him. And so work went on, in good he
art as folk believed they could survive the next winter. Men drilled the soil, followed by women strewing the seeds. Afterwards, children kept birds away – when they remembered. It began to feel like home and Bera liked folk saying she had brought them to a good place. She hoped it was true. It was encouraging that no smoke had reappeared from the mountain, so perhaps the safe delivery of her child had stilled the land’s unrest. She wanted to believe it – and when she heard the whispers about ‘monster’ she hoped the twin’s death would seal it.
A few days later, they were in the home field and Bera was working alongside Sigrid, their babies swaddled in slings on their backs. The seed was in a deep pocket at the front of their aprons and they each took a handful to strew; left, then right.
‘I think Dellingr is watching over me,’ Bera said, ‘since the baby. I hope Asa knows it’s not my fault.’
Sigrid gave her a look. ‘She knows what he’s doing.’
Bera flushed. ‘There has never been—’
‘I don’t mean that.’ Sigrid sniffed. ‘You always like to take comfort from him, Bera, the old magic and that. Have you thought that maybe that’s what he’s doing with you? He’s precious little else left him. Asa knows he needs that.’
So you should be kind.
They worked on. Left, then right.
‘I like everything being simple,’ Bera said. ‘Work, feed, sleep. No claims on me, no worries about the future because I can’t see the future.’
‘Well I can and it’s coming fast, on a horse,’ Sigrid said, and pointed.
It was Faelan. He circled them shouting, ‘Stranding! Stranding! It’s a big one!’
Bera raised her hands to get him to stop. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Get all your folk to help, Bera! It’s a right whale! On the strand, the beach. The days of hunger are over!’
‘There’s no whale down there.’
‘Another place. I can take you and Heggi in the boat, if you like.’
Bera grinned. ‘I’m coming.’
The settlers collected what tools they had and joined Faelan’s folk, who had carts full of proper kit, to be shown the way. Sigrid said nothing would get her on a boat and was glad to be left in charge of the babies. Asa stayed with her and Dellingr declared he was needed to look after both women. He did not meet Bera’s eye. Ginna defied both parents, took her father’s cart and set off with the other settlers. Bera had to admire her, and told Heggi so.