Obsidian

by Suzie Wilde

  19

  The latch clacked open and she put her back into pushing the heavy door wide enough to slip through. She rammed it shut behind her and turned. Smoke formed a gauzy blue layer in the still air, lit by windows too high to see. In the half-light beneath stood a high wooden throne, with Cronan’s crooked figure below it, covered in the birds she had once thought were crows. Crowman. How blunt her skills had been to make such a childish mistake – but it revealed how far she had come since then.

  He gestured at the empty throne. ‘The Abbot is too ill to see you today.’

  She moved closer. ‘Then I shall miss seeing him at all. I have work to do here, Cronan, and you know it. One mountain has already blown so I think it’s all happening faster than we thought. Our purpose is good, so let’s make haste.’

  Bera sounded braver than she felt. It reminded her of her arrival at Hefnir’s hall in Seabost, feeling out of her depth, watched by hostile, unseen eyes. Here, Cronan had grown in stature. It wasn’t only the birds that made him bigger: he was in his element here and confident to step out alone in the dark and even his voice was stronger. Perhaps the crows also gave him the clue to where she was even at a distance because he was looking straight at her with unnerving accuracy. All the birds fixed her with their beady eyes too, so that she was pinned. Black eyes, black beaks. The souls of murdered men, so folk said, but she did not believe it.

  Or you don’t want to, if Crowman keeps them. Her skern, perched on the throne, spat the name.

  Cronan stroked the head of a bird. ‘Corvus corax. The most playful of the corvids.’

  ‘Crows,’ Bera said.

  Cronan gave a small cough in correction. ‘Ravens, Woden’s birds, you might say.’

  ‘Woden only had two.’ Bera wished he would keep to his own beliefs. ‘Why do you need so many?’

  He smiled. ‘A humpback needs more than Woden… for whatever purpose they serve.’

  ‘They are mind and memory,’ Bera said. ‘I’ve heard the birds speak.’

  Cronan nodded. ‘Some say that ravens are like a Fetch, or your skern.’

  ‘So they can help. Is Obsidian here or in the tower?’

  ‘The black stone is in the tower within the tower.’

  ‘Then who guards it? The one who feeds the wolves?’

  ‘It is guarded by the same ermite, ever since we were children. We were friends – until he was chosen to enter the tower. Even if he ever wanted to leave, the wolves would not allow it.’

  ‘How do I get in there?’

  ‘We next take him food a week hence—’

  ‘A week!’

  Her exclamation made the birds bate. Cronan crooned at them to settle them.

  ‘See what your impatience produces.’

  He’s got you bang to rights.

  Bera ignored her skern. ‘I’m not impatient for my own sake. I knew the eruption would happen, so I walked all the way to Smolderby with Faelan… and rowed here and put up with all this and left my baby…’ Her throat was swollen.

  Cronan delved into a large leather pouch that hung from his belt and pulled out some seed. He scattered it on the floor and his birds flew down and fought over it.

  ‘You see?’ He sighed. ‘They get what they want but it causes disharmony. In this place, with the help of Brid, there is always harmony.’

  ‘Are there only men here?’

  ‘Apart from you, yes.’

  And Egill, but Bera kept quiet. ‘Then they cannot be like any men I know. There are always fights, deaths sometimes.’

  ‘Jealousy. There is no jealousy without women.’

  ‘Or skerns,’ she said.

  Her skern did not deny it.

  Bera thought Cronan might be deliberately moving her away from what she needed to know.

  Ask him about the serpent on the door.

  ‘We didn’t finish talking about what the serpent means, like the cross Egill wears, and on the door. In our world, the serpent is to be feared, not worshipped.’

  ‘Feared and worshipped. They are not exclusive.’

  Not black or white.

  ‘Brid chooses us. That’s why we bear her mark.’ He gestured at his wrist; an age since he had shown her his tattoo. ‘There is one who serves her who has dedicated his life to her. He brings us food, money, anything we ask of him, back from our home land.’

  ‘Iraland?’

  ‘There and elsewhere. We call it Wolf Island, for reasons I think you’ll appreciate.’ He coughed. ‘He brought wolf cubs here. We live here only thanks to his beneficence.’

  He must mean Faelan.

  No time for remorse. ‘I need to get into the tower right now and find Obsidian.’

  ‘Do you know yet what you must do with the stone if you manage to take it?’

  ‘It will be clear when I touch it.’

  You hope.

  Perhaps he heard the doubt in her voice. ‘It would be wiser to find that out before you try and break in.’

  ‘It must be now! The convulsions have already started and if Hel’s Gateway has opened the rest will follow, because they are linked below the earth’s crust like the beads of my necklace.’

  He whistled and his nine ravens flew to his open arms.

  ‘Burning, burning, fire, burning,’ cried the birds.

  ‘There is a prophesy that the world will end in a wall of fire.’ Cronan’s voice was bleak.

  ‘The start of it is here,’ she said.

  ‘Only you can take the stone, Bera. A Valla. Yet I fear that the fate you bring will be the death of my friend, the Warden.’

  It explained why he hurried then delayed.

  ‘I promise that if it’s possible to take the stone without hurting your friend, I will leave him alone.’

  ‘We believe that if ever the stone leaves the tower, it will kill us all.’

  Bera was puzzled. ‘If I don’t take it, you will die. You know this, or why else bring me?’

  ‘It’s possible to be the hand of Brid and yet fear where it will strike.’

  ‘If I could scry, perhaps I could find out if I can safely take the stone,’ Bera persuaded. ‘To save your friend and you.’

  Cronan considered it. ‘Then I’ll show you why I’m a seer, what I use.’

  He led her deeper into the dark hall and Bera wondered where he would go to ‘see’ but she was excited at trying some new way of prediction. Perhaps it would be more certain than scrying. It was bound to be better than her skern.

  Ever the ungrateful.

  ‘Then use words I understand.’

  I can see the future, not the past, and use words accordingly. You are conflicted, for example. Both excited and scared.

  ‘Will this ensense help or destroy my Valla powers?’

  Help. I think.

  Cronan slipped into a crevice and Bera hurried to see what he was doing. The air smelled sweet. He took something out of a box next to a row of candles that cast a yellow light over a dim alcove in the rock. It was already smoky in the narrow recess and the sweetness overpowering.

  ‘I shall only ask about Obsidian,’ she said.

  When he put the substance into a burning dish, the smoke grew denser. He beckoned her in and then slipped past her, leaving her to the cloying scent. There was hardly room for a single person inside. No proper man like Hefnir, anyway. Or Heggi, when he was fully grown, wherever their home was, glimpsed, and even now he was getting bigger, like a… like a…

  Bera let herself slide down, gazing inside her mind.

  Smolderby was silently burning. The shanties were gone and beyond the beach was a wall of fire. Crispy whirls of black floated on the wind that dropped down from the cold mountain. Grey ash fell like feathers. The rain of charred stones lay in heaps, cracked and steaming, with rough, grey stones covering the sand. Faelan was a wreck of a man, amongst the wreckage around him. Then he limped through the charred streets and twittens that were full of ash and smoking lumps of clinker: a city deserted by its folk.

&nb
sp; Lightning crackled above the ragged mountain, which still stood. A dog appeared. His fur was burned all along one side and he walked slowly on three legs. Faelan sank to the ground and when Rakki reached him he held the dog tight, letting him lick his poor burned face.

  ‘You must stop soon,’ Cronan said. ‘With your powers, the ensense could…’

  The smoke was sweet and choking but Bera wanted to sink back down to Faelan. She could make him better and it would be as if she had never left him to die.

  Someone was shaking her.

  ‘Listen to me, Bera. It’s dangerous to stray too far in the smoke,’ Cronan said.

  Bera breathed deeply, wanting the danger. ‘I should have been kinder. Never kind.’

  Cronan put a beaker to her lips but everything was burning. Then, blackness.

  Bera was standing at one end of a long table lit by thick tapers. She had no memory of getting there and no idea how much time had passed. Her head hammered and her eyesight was hazy but a shock of blond hair made her heart sing. Heggi. He was sitting at the far end, talking to his father. He looked up and they ran towards each other and hugged. She was his dear mama again, even before she told him his dog was alive and being cared for by Faelan. She did not say they were both suffering.

  His pinched look vanished and he raced about, telling everyone that Rakki was alive and they smiled for him, without knowing it was a dog. Some of the people round the table were as black as her bead, their faces shining with some inner joy. Bera felt as whole as having her skern tight around her shoulders and it almost made up for having no answers about her purpose. Well, she always ended up depending on herself alone. If only her head would clear.

  ‘There’s so much food, Mama. Come and see!’

  ‘Hold my hand, boykin, I’m a little unsteady.’

  ‘I expect it’s tiredness,’ Heggi said. ‘I slept and slept when I got here.’

  How long had she been with Cronan? She could only remember his disappointed face when she had nothing to reveal about Obsidian.

  Heggi led her to his place and Bera found herself sitting next to Egill, with Hefnir opposite them. They were apart from the rest of the company, now a blur. Egill passed a shallow copper bowl along to her so that she could wash her face and hands. Bera hoped her eyes would clear and kept rinsing her face. After she had rubbed it dry with a cloth she was shocked to see so much soot on the pale linen and hid it on her lap.

  The table glowed. There were silver dishes piled high with richly decorated foodstuffs she couldn’t name. What Ottar would have called ‘swanky’ if it had been a carved prow. But there was also a whole boar’s head, with jewels for eyes, as well as glossy breads, nuts and berries; steaming dishes and various pickles; bowls of honey, skyr, and dried fruits. Cheeses. Everything lit in a warm light from special thick tapers that smelled sweet as nectar.

  ‘These are much better than our tapers,’ she said. Her voice sounded distant.

  Hefnir smiled. ‘They’re made of beeswax.’

  ‘Candles,’ said Heggi, proud of his new word.

  Hefnir’s eyes looked softer in the light, like flies in amber.

  Bera felt warm and happy. They were a family, safe and fed. ‘I want candles at home.’

  There will be no home for anyone if you fail in your duty. Her skern popped a walnut into his mouth and crunched it ominously.

  She was incapable of feeling his warning. Her blood flowed like honey. It was a long time since she had been in a hall like this, with its huge roasting spits at the hearth. It was impossible not to smile, for the joy of letting go of her cares and duties and forgetting loss, illness, everything, and sitting in this scented stronghold got the better of her and she gave in wantonly. She was mazed with happiness.

  If others noticed, they didn’t say. They were probably too busy eating. Some thralls, small and dark-haired like Faelan, brought large platters of roast meats. Bera drooled and rammed thick slices into her mouth, closed her eyes and savoured the sweet juices.

  When she went to seize some more, Hefnir raised a glass cup, full of something red.

  ‘They’re not thralls,’ he said. ‘They like to serve.’

  ‘What’s in there?’ Bera asked. It might have contained elf blood in such a place as this, but she could drink anything now.

  ‘Wine.’

  Heggi lifted his own glass. ‘Do you remember, Bera, at a feast once, Papa told us all about wine?’

  Hefnir said, ‘Try it and see if you like it.’

  Never believe a man when he’s being kind. Hefnir had told her that himself. He filled her cup from a silver flagon. She lifted it to her lips and was surprised at the coldness of the glass. When she raised it, the smell was like entering a storeroom when the fruits begin to rot. Like sweet vinegar. She sipped and although her lips stung, the taste filled her mouth. It was delicious – but heady.

  ‘I’m not sure you should be drinking it, Heggi.’

  ‘Papa says I’m old enough.’

  Hefnir toasted her. ‘His is watered.’ His smile was wolfish.

  Bera found the tussles comforting; they were a reminder of home, of what she was trying to save. She thought of their new homestead with a pang. Her daughter was there, but she was not thinking of the new longhouse as home at all. Well, that could change. Her wine was all drunk and Hefnir refilled her glass.

  She hiccupped. ‘We have a baby girl, you and I.’

  ‘What did you name her?’ he asked, with no surprise or pleasure.

  ‘I told you,’ said Heggi. ‘Valdis, only Sigrid and I call her Disa, like Sigrid used to call Bera’s mother.’

  It troubled Bera but she sent out a silent prayer to her mother to guide Faelan safely to her baby. Although the ensense had befuddled the visions, it had let her into Faelan’s true feeling for Rakki and knew that having reached him, he would protect him. And so he would her baby.

  Hefnir nudged Heggi. ‘You should have named her after your own mother.’

  He got hiccups. ‘B-Bera is my m-mother.’

  Bera kissed him. Then she ate so much that she thought her underskirt would rip and she loosened her belt. The faces opposite grew more blurred. There were raised voices: Heggi certainly and probably Hefnir, but she couldn’t make out what they were arguing about. She patted the place beside her but it was empty. No Egill. In fact, she couldn’t remember Egill being there after she had passed her the bowl. Then the room began to spin.

  Voices were rumbling, loud then soft. Cronan?

  ‘She was in the ensense too long. I couldn’t lift her and had to fetch a warder.’

  ‘The wine’s gone to her head.’ Hefnir. ‘I’ll get her to bed.’

  She was lifted off the bench.

  Heggi giggled like a toddler. ‘You should have watered hers too, Papa!’

  ‘Take your drink like a man,’ said his father roughly.

  Bera felt sick. There was not a chance she would lose all the delicious food she had eaten, so she swallowed hard.

  There was Egill again, a looming grin. ‘I’ll look after Heggi.’

  ‘Need… air.’ Bera waved a hand and knocked over her glass. ‘Crystal.’ It sounded nice, so she said it again, loudly. ‘Crystal.’

  ‘Come on.’ Hefnir swung her up into his arms.

  He carried her along dark passages. Up, down, jiggling, then throwing her over his shoulder. She spat out something bitter and cursed like her father. She laughed and got the hiccups, which did not stop.

  At last they were outside and he propped her against a wall. It was night and the air was cool. Bera felt more drunk but less sick. She slowly slid sideways to lean against Hefnir, who stayed quiet. The sun’s skern, a thin waxen moon, had risen.

  ‘Like a fingernail,’ she muttered.

  ‘The ash cloud has gone,’ Hefnir said.

  She shook her head. ‘Cloud’s higher. Making everything milky, like through muslin.’

  He kissed her hard.

  It took Bera completely by surprise. Hefnir’
s skin brought back youthful longing. It was like the first time, when they shared mead in the same kiss.

  He softly kissed her neck and chest, untying her dress and gazing at her.

  ‘You’re truly beautiful now,’ he said, his familiar voice thick. ‘I could almost—’

  She kissed him, almost biting him; taking charge in a way that she had not done before, even on the hunting trip. She was a woman, not a girl. And a Valla, with all that brought.

  He pulled away. ‘I don’t want you saying you were drunk.’

  She was, but it only took away the strangeness. Their need was simple and mutual. With relief that Valla passion was met by wifely duty, Bera relished their honeyed and natural reunion.

  20

  Thirst woke her. For a moment she thought she was in her billet in Seabost but when she reached out a hand, she was alone in a cold, high bed with heavy covers, not at all like her bedroll. The light was different too: there were fat, tall candles smelling of honey. It felt like the middle of the night and she lay back, feeling worse than a megrim and sleep would not return. She tried telling herself that the ensense and wine had affected her judgement; that Hefnir was a necessary tool in her getting the black stone; that he was her children’s father; that he had changed. None of it was true. Ottar would have said, guilt is for the gulled. It was as human an act as drinking when you have a thirst, so why did remorse nag her? Hefnir was her husband, so the betrayal would have been if she had given in to the feelings she had when Faelan was near… She needed to get up. None of this was of any importance compared to finding Obsidian.

  The morose form of her skern flickered wanly.

  I wish I was better at prediction.

  ‘I’m not thinking of replacing you with ensense,’ she said. ‘It has other properties that I don’t care for.’

  He brightened and winked. Faelan is good with animals but you shouldn’t use that as a yardstick for trust. Think of Dellingr.

  ‘He will be himself again,’ said Bera. ‘When I get home, I’ll put it right.’

  Hope over experience. That’s you all over.

  Bera swung her legs over the bed and went in search of water. She was pleased to see she was in the same room as Heggi but the other two beds were empty. She drank a ladleful of water from the stoup at the door and then saw Heggi was awake.