Obsidian

by Suzie Wilde

  All the grief and fear crashed into a moment of weakness. Bera buried her face in her apron and wept. Dellingr held her back and let her cry and she liked his silence, and the heavy heat of his big hand. She thought she might never stop but then she did and felt only relief.

  He dropped his hand. ‘You’ve stored that up a long time.’

  ‘My father always said tears were a woman’s way of getting what she wants. I don’t want anyone being sorry for me. But, Dellingr, I feel so alone. I need my smith, with his knowledge of the old ways. You used to bring out the best in me.’

  ‘Aye, well.’ He thought about it. ‘Do you know for sure this way into Hel will open?’

  It’s not opening for us to go in but for Hel to come out.

  ‘I know nothing for sure,’ Bera said. ‘It helps to think out loud.’

  ‘Then use me.’

  Bera touched his sleeve, like an earthing. ‘Hel’s tears ruined the earlier homestead.’

  ‘And soaked into the stones. I said—’

  ‘But it is also our future. The ice cap blowing is like nothing we’ve ever seen, worse than the snow-drop. It might come soon but I never know when, just like the flood back home.’

  ‘What does your skern say?’

  Eruption.

  ‘Nothing useful.’

  ‘Some haven’t forgiven you for forcing them to choose to stay or go, Bera.’

  ‘It was Hefnir who forced them!’

  ‘Still. Don’t tell folk they may have to move.’

  She met Dellingr’s eyes. ‘There will be nowhere to run. If there is an eruption, the sun will disappear and turn this whole island to cinders.’

  There was a burst of laughter from one of the huts. Bera quickly moved away from Dellingr but it was only some youngsters who leaped over the burn and ran off into the fields. Was there ever a time when Bera had been as carefree as them? There had always been her duty of protection, with no mother to guide her in Valla power. And now no husband or father to protect her little family. Only Dellingr, inside the homestead. She briefly thought of Faelan but there was a sense that she might also protect him.

  Dellingr was studying his hands. ‘I was going to tell you a few days ago but you get me that worked up…’

  ‘I never mean to trouble you,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, Bera. You’d trouble me no matter what you ever said.’

  She prepared her face for being told he was leaving her.

  ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter now,’ he said. ‘It’s not going to happen.’

  Bera followed the sound of the shouts and happy squeals. The few children were playing bully-bully. Heggi and Ginna were in the thick of it, just like she and Bjorn used to be.

  Her skern draped himself round her. He’s growing up.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  Her skern’s eyes were wide, like an owl’s. I meant Heggi.

  ‘He’s playing.’

  With Ginna. Heggi will be asking for a bond soon.

  ‘His voice has hardly broken yet!’

  He’s twelve. Not so much younger than you were when you married his father.

  ‘I was forced to. I was a child.’

  Old enough to be a mother, sweetie.

  Heggi arrived, panting. ‘I went up to see Dotta and she’s thriving.’

  ‘The new grass is doing her good.’ Bera picked at his tousled hair. ‘These caffles! I swear you stick burrs in your hair on purpose. Keep still!’

  But Heggi twisted away, laughing.

  ‘How’s my little sister?’ he shouted. ‘Can we have a naming feast?’

  ‘What are you after, boykin?’

  ‘She needs a name… and I could have my coming-of-age. Please, Bera.’ He did his big eyes.

  ‘There’s not enough ale for a feast.’

  ‘That man sold us a barrel of mead.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘I keep saying about the fat rider. Before the whale came, on the fat horse.’

  ‘What mead?’ Bera asked. ‘Why wasn’t I told?’

  ‘Drifa gave him some eggs for it.’

  ‘And he took them? That’s not a fair trade.’ It increased her concern.

  ‘So can I tell everyone there’s a feast tonight? With mead? For my coming-of-age?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The naming, then. A feast, Bera! Go on!’

  Folk needed a feast but Bera was scared she would rush and name her child something irrevocable. Let Fate decide.

  ‘Borgvald.’ Sigrid was there, holding her own baby high. ‘Baby Borgvald. The image of your papa.’

  ‘I hate that name,’ Heggi said, then ran off with the dog at his heels.

  8

  Bera put off the feast until the next day, thanks to a thunderstorm that revealed gaps in the hall that had to be plugged. Heggi made sure people knew and the promise of mead at last put a smile on everyone’s face, he claimed. Sigrid went missing on the afternoon of the feast, taking both babies with her. Heggi said she was up at the forge huts with Asa. Where else? Bera thought, as she jabbed some driftwood into the fire.

  ‘Go and get someone to help you make the floor ready for tonight.’ He’d ask Ginna, of course.

  Heggi whistled for Rakki and they raced out, leaving the door wide open. Smoke blew into her eyes, with something gritty that smarted. She rubbed, making both it and her mood worse. With eyes streaming, Bera crossed to the door and slammed it shut. She felt defenceless, to be alone and half-blind.

  Face your fears.

  ‘My fears are shapeless. I have no living enemy to fight.’

  Blindness. Remember this.

  She decided to bathe her eyes in cold water. She came into the covered way, which smelled of rotten eggs that stung her eyes. For a while the river’s constant, cheery sound soothed her, until she looked across to the ruins and saw a figure. The Watcher? Her eyesight was bleary and when she looked again it had gone.

  When her eyes were clear she suddenly ached to hold her baby. Asa would have to invite her in. But before she reached the hut, Sigrid came out with the babies and Asa went back indoors without a word.

  Bera took her baby and wrapped a shawl round her. ‘What is she accusing me of now?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing. Anyway, she knows I’d stand up for you.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You tell me, Sigrid. I thought we would all pull together.’

  ‘We are all pulling together.’ Sigrid stopped to catch her breath.

  ‘She doesn’t, ever, and yet she’s still your friend. And she’s not alone.’

  ‘We were all together through winternights.’

  ‘Because we had to be – but now with every lengthening day the ties loosen, and there are worse challenges ahead. How can we withstand them?’ Bera was too angry to speak again until they reached the covered way. ‘See this, Sigrid? Built to keep us safe. Together.’

  Sigrid sniffed. ‘It stinks in here. It’s trapping the smell.’

  ‘It’s Hel’s foulness that is the problem, seeping from that mountain.’

  Sigrid gagged. Bera rushed to get her baby inside the hall. Heggi and Ginna were ladling water onto the soil and stamping down on it. They were splashing it about instead of sprinkling and they slipped and fell and then shoved one another with muddy hands. If only they had blond wood to build with and spruce boughs to lay on the floor, smelling sharp and clean, banishing evil. If only her father were here to do things properly…

  Life has to be lived as it is, not how you want it to be.

  The baby gave a gurgle and was slightly sick on Bera’s shoulder.

  Sigrid passed her a cloth. ‘Give her to me. I’ll get them both cleaned up.’ She left with a baby under each arm.

  Drifa came out of the shadows. ‘We’ve set up the mead at the back.’ She gave her a strange smile. ‘And I have something for the bairn.’

  Bera’s scalp prickled. ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘You
can’t refuse a gift.’ She pushed a small packet into Bera’s hands and held it there in her strong fist.

  ‘There’s little enough yet for everyone, Drifa.’

  ‘The old ways are best. There was always a gift at the naming.’ The smile again. On, off. ‘Keep it. For your daughter.’

  She released her grip and stepped out of reach.

  Bera unfolded the grubby waxed cloth. Inside was a small black bead, like a rat’s eye; a tiny version of the one in her mother’s necklace, where her free hand immediately went. Both beads throbbed like twin heartbeats.

  ‘Where did you get this?’

  The farmer’s wife brushed away an invisible bead of sweat. ‘This fire’s hot enough.’

  ‘Drifa. Where did you get it?’

  ‘It was that fat rider with the mead. He said I was to make sure the bairn got it. Your girl.’

  Bera’s scalp prickled again. ‘Why didn’t he give it to me?’

  The woman looked away. ‘You weren’t to be found. Folk are arriving, see. I’ll pass round mead for the toast and send you a cup.’

  ‘It will taint the milk!’ Bera spoke to her back.

  Sigrid barged past her still holding both babies. ‘You’re not feeding her.’

  ‘I meant your milk,’ Bera said, taking her daughter.

  Sigrid winked. ‘A drop of mead in the milk and the babes will sleep like tops.’

  ‘Did you hear any of that? That rider gave her a bead for the baby.’

  ‘I’m feeling that mizzy-mazey.’ Sigrid belched. ‘Bless me. What rider?’

  ‘I reckon she and Farmer were going to keep it, like the mead. It’s like the bead on my necklace, the same stone. Why would a pedlar give her something so precious and a barrel of mead and only take some eggs?’

  ‘Well, what else have we got to pay him with?’ Sigrid burped again. ‘Let’s see it.’

  Bera held it out on her open hand.

  ‘It came from the earth and was forged in fire and air.’

  The crows’ voices brought the vision back, vivid.

  ‘Lightning flickers, light, dark; death, life.’

  ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘Farmer arrived drunk.’ Sigrid took the bead. ‘Who’ll have a pretty necklace like your mama’s, den?’

  She gave it to the baby, who put it straight into her mouth.

  ‘Burning, burning, fire, burning,’ the crows urged with wild glee.

  Bera saw a blizzard of fiery fragments, blinding her, fizzing into the sea, which exploded into hissing smoke. This was more than she had seen before – and was a warning.

  ‘Take it out, Sigrid!’ Bera cried.

  Sigrid held it up. ‘I’ll knot it on this old leather cord to keep it safe for baby… What are you going to call her?’

  Bera was reeling. It was the beginning of what she had seen at the birthing. But how soon?

  Sigrid carried on. ‘You still haven’t decided, then? Best be quick. I’m naming Borgvald tonight too. I wanted a B and a bit of his father. Borg’s a good strong name, just like Sigrid’s own baby boy is going to be.’ She made a farting noise at his neck.

  Bera could stand no more. Was she the only one who could see they might die? Sigrid’s love for Borgvald felt like a betrayal of Bjorn too. She did not want to say something cruel, so Bera took her own baby, carried her over to the stool and slowly calmed as she rocked her. Perhaps motherhood brought fearfulness, like Valla skills brought passion. What name to give her? Not Alfdis. Her feelings for her dead mother were muddled. She loved her – but there was also a memory of fear, which was different from fearfulness on behalf of your child. Perhaps a Valla name would protect her baby; a link forged between one strong woman and another. Part of Alfdis, perhaps.

  She became aware of being in the centre of watching folk. They were gathered – so few! – waiting, watching, for her to start the naming as soon as the baby was fed. Heggi had his arm round Ginna.

  Her skern was busy measuring the length of the hall, placing one thin foot carefully in front of the other, wobbling.

  Let him be a man.

  ‘What kind of man, though?’ The past pressed in on her.

  Dellingr stood beside his wife. Asa made sure Bera noticed he was waiting on her: passing her cup for filling and settling her shawl; showing he was hers. Bera had no desire for a husband. It would mean forgiving Hefnir – and she earned her own respect. Her daughter began to burble with joy, beating her arms and legs so hard that Bera nearly dropped her. She raised her high to kiss her and breathed in her particular baby smell. It made her dizzy. The warm scent of her hairline was more potent than mead. Was that love?

  She needed her wits about her. This wasn’t only about naming; a full meeting was an important time to take charge of their future, to give them knowledge in a way they could understand. But what? There was so much she wanted to tell them but without certainty she would only frighten them. A true leader had to shoulder the worry until action was needed. This was a time to remind them they were safe here because of her and if they trusted her strength and purpose they too would be strong.

  Bera steeled herself and went to stand at the hearth. Thorvald would have banged his sword for attention back in Seabost. Here, with so few of them, they were already quiet.

  ‘My mother, Alfdis, was famed for her skills, though she is now dead.’

  If folk wondered why Bera started this far back they said nothing; they were used to stories.

  ‘Sigrid here was my mother’s friend and can bear witness to her strength.’

  Sigrid made the hammer sign. ‘I can.’

  ‘I am the link in the Valla chain, like a bead on my mother’s necklace, and I alone predicted the dangers in Seabost when none of you would listen, and brought us here.’

  There was a rumble from some men at the back of the hall, standing with the swaying farmer. Bera pressed on in case others joined in.

  ‘We are a small but brave group of settlers who left famine, and worse, behind us.’

  ‘How do we know?’ one of the men shouted.

  ‘Aye, we’ve only your word.’

  The settlers shuffled and stared at her.

  ‘Haven’t I lost more than anyone here? You all witnessed what happened to my father.’

  Dellingr stepped forward. ‘We’ve all lost something and we’re all tired.’ He spread his hands. ‘So much work and so few of us to do it. But Bera’s right. We should listen to what she has to tell us.’

  Bera carried on. ‘I honour my father and one day I shall claim the blood debt from the Serpent King.’

  There was silence.

  Oh, well done. Now they’re all thinking about bloodshed. Name her, quick. Make them happy.

  ‘Now we have another Valla in the long line.’ Bera lifted her high, for all to see. ‘Raise your horns for the naming.’

  Heggi rushed over and stood where the father should be. ‘Can I say it?’

  ‘It has to be me, to bind it.’ The word ‘bind’ chilled the pit of Bera’s stomach. But why? ‘Raise your cups to my daughter, who shall be named… Valdis.’

  ‘Valdis!’ Heggi was late but his face glowed.

  ‘Oh, that’s a good one,’ said Sigrid. ‘Like your ma’s name, Alfdis, with a bit of Valla.’

  Bera recognised that Heggi had wanted his moment of importance; to be like his father at a gathering and a man for Ginna. That was what had frightened her: that somehow she and Valdis and Heggi were bound by Fate and nature to Hefnir.

  Yet she was glad to see all her folk’s happiness and she let them have their moment. Dellingr was right: they had worked so hard, ever since they chose to stay with her and not go with Hefnir to a land of easy wealth. It was in every line of their wasted faces. She must always be grateful to them, though she often forgot this in the daily struggle. Perhaps she could just be a mother. She could give up trying to unravel visions and persuading folk of possible disaster and striking fear in their hearts. So she decided not to think about the bad
smell from the mountain and the darkening plume of smoke that was gradually clouding the sky above them. Ignored the heat coming off the black bead of her necklace. Just for this one night.

  Obsidian draws out the dark in everyone.

  ‘One night, please. No warnings, no riddles.’

  Bera closed her eyes and willed her mother to unite with her daughter, Bera, and granddaughter, Valdis. The three of them, bound together against whatever this new land could throw at them.

  Sigrid nudged her. ‘Now do Borgvald.’ She raised her cup, ready to drink.

  Bera’s scalp flared and she knocked the cup from her lips. ‘Don’t drink the mead!’

  Her skern was pointing at the barrel. It was far, far too late.

  A man groaned, clutched his stomach and fell to the floor. His boy fell next. They curled into tight balls of pain, shrieking.

  Bera flung the baby at Sigrid. ‘Have you drunk any of it?’

  ‘I had one sip, that’s all.’

  ‘Get the babies home safe. I must see to the others.’

  She ran through the hall, where more people were writhing on the muddy ground. To her horror, she saw that one of them was Dellingr. She faltered, caught Asa’s eye and ran on.

  Where was Heggi? Please, Mama, let him be safe. He sauntered in from the latrine as she reached the door.

  Bera grabbed his wrist. ‘Were you sick?’

  ‘No – what’s going on?’

  She tugged him outside. ‘Poison.’

  ‘Is Ginna—’

  ‘Grab that basket.’

  They dashed through the tunnel and out into the meadow, lit by the moon.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘The river.’

  When they got there, Heggi rounded on her. ‘Tell me what you’re doing!’

  ‘That plant with the broad leaves that got into Dotta’s feed? I saw it growing here the other day.’

  ‘The one that made her sick? That was ages ago. How can you remember?’

  ‘It’s what I do.’

  ‘Why do you want that one?’

  ‘Stop asking questions, Heggi, and help me look for it! It’s thick and fleshy… Oh, Mama, where is it? There was a whole clump, only a week or so ago…’