by Suzie Wilde
Her sight was certainly troubled and she let Hefnir lead. He scrambled to the top of tumbled stone and rocks to give a hand up to her and Egill. It meant she could make sure he was with them and not trying to steal the glass from her back.
And so they climbed. Bera struggled with the weight of Obsidian. She considered carrying it like a baby but the thought appalled her. With each dragging step it grew heavier, until there was a black hole in her sight looking ahead, so she walked with her head half-turned to see at the sides. The Fetch was there, and though she could not see its features, she needed no warning that she was about to die. The people she did know looked as ghostly.
‘Hefnir?’ she called, afraid.
He came to her side but she shook her head. He would think she was going mad and try to seize the glass.
‘I need some water,’ she said, instead.
‘One mouthful,’ he said.
She only wet her lips, to save enough for the others on the way back down.
‘I am walking along a ghost fence between the living and the dead.’
Hefnir took the leather flagon and passed it to Egill. She must not have spoken aloud. Perhaps this loss of sight was the first stage of madness after all.
Her skern patted her hand. It’s Obsidian, all right.
Its effects got worse as they got higher. The world around her was becoming insubstantial and grey, whilst she could see down through the shadowy earth into the fiery caverns beneath. It was like putting a hand in front of the sun and seeing the fingers glow red with blood round the dark shadow of bone. Sometimes there were explosions and Bera jumped to avoid being skit by boiling rock but they were far below them. She sensed the others giving her worried looks and tried not to jump, but every time she misjudged her footing she was glad to have Egill beside her to stop the fall.
Then the earth slid sideways and all three of them slithered on loose stones.
‘Did you feel that?’ asked Egill.
Hefnir’s voice rasped, ‘You stupid bint, of course we did.’
They pressed onwards and it was growing even darker. The brands were nearly burned out so they had to waste time breaking off ribby branches and get them to catch light. Without tar, they would not burn as long and then they would all be blind. There seemed no way they could reach the summit before the top blew. The earth tried to throw them off and this time they could not keep their feet. Bera’s fall was stopped by a boulder and she clawed her way back to Hefnir. He held her tight, dusty faces close.
‘We must go on,’ Bera said. ‘Only I can stop this.’ She did not say he would never see her again.
He softly kissed her filthy forehead. Hefnir already knew.
As they got higher, Bera saw the inside of the mountain better than the world outside. Molten metal was rising, bubbling up towards the cone. It was a race and one she had to win. Yet every blind step tired her more; a scramble over black and slippery skree.
Egill took her hand, keeping her steady. ‘Let me take the black glass for a bit. It must be back-breaking.’
‘It’s not that big.’
Bera so wanted to let one of them carry it. It was getting hotter and heavier all the time and the bead on her necklace scorched whenever it touched her skin. She hated Obsidian and the things she had seen in it, but who could she trust to bear it? It viciously slid sideways, making her stumble. Egill grabbed her and they skidded until they hit solid rock. Broken fragments slithered away, bouncing and skimming all the way to the bottom.
‘The land wants me to fail. It’s trying to kill me.’ Her croaked words sounded mad now she said it aloud.
‘I’m always lucky,’ said Egill.
Did she really believe that, after all that had happened to her? Which one of them was mad?
Hefnir called down to them. ‘Get up here on this ridged part. Careful.’
Egill led her towards him and then he held out both hands to pull Bera up to him. Where he stood, the ground was crustier where there had been seepage of liquid rock many years earlier.
Lava.
‘I can see inside the mountain,’ she said.
‘Does that help us?’
Hefnir wiped his black face with a grimy hand. Bera could not judge his expression. Even close, nothing was sharp. The flow of lava was a shimmering veil before her eyes. Somehow she had to stop the destruction and she knew that this time, she needed their understanding and possibly their advice. Had she told them already?
‘I can see the firestorm that’s brewing in there.’
‘You keep telling us,’ said Hefnir.
‘How close?’ asked Egill.
‘A whisper away, coming soon. Listen.’
The others were shadows in the brymstone dark. They trudged on in silence. Trusting her, she hoped.
The air was thick, like poison phlegm. Bera begged any Vallas to bring a breeze to whisk it away but nothing stirred. They had gone, like all the animals. They tied linen rags over their mouths and noses and Bera felt smothered. Her eyes streamed with bitter tears that scalded her raw face. The glass was bruising her spine and she finally pulled her shawl to one side without taking out the glass. It took all her will. Then it slid to the front, making it hard to move forward. She had to hold it to stop it escaping, and without handholds she kept slipping back down the slope that was growing steeper as they wound upwards.
Hefnir held her. ‘Admit that you are struggling. You said you needed us, so let me carry the stone.’
‘You want it too much.’
‘You can watch me.’
‘I can’t see well enough!’ She wondered who was shouting.
Hefnir kept his voice low. ‘Give it to me, Bera. Trust me.’
‘I saw your face the moment Egill unwrapped the black bowl.’
‘Obsidian in-thralls you,’ said Egill.
‘So long ago,’ Hefnir said, ‘and it was your bowl, Bera, not mine.’
‘I had to wrench it out of your grasp.’ Bera’s chest ached. She coughed and a spike of pain stabbed her ribcage. She longed to rest, to give it to someone else. But never Hefnir.
‘I gladly gave you the bowl, remember?’ Egill took Bera’s face in her gritty hands. ‘I kept it all that time but gave it to you straight, and let you scry in it and all. I’m not in-thralled to anything.’
It was true that Egill had kept the black bowl wrapped in sacking. She said she was waiting for the right person to come. Bera. Or had Egill been hiding from it?
You trust her already. Hand it over.
Egill was a mystery. Not boy, not girl, not good or bad.
‘Give her some water.’ Hefnir’s voice boomed like a shout in fog from a distant boat.
Bera felt a pouch at her lips and drank.
‘Did I faint?’
Egill touched her forehead with her lips. ‘Fever. You swooned right out.’
‘I used to kiss Heggi like that, feeling his heat.’ Bera looked around. ‘Is he here?’
‘He’ll be back soon. He’s scouting ahead.’
She meant Hefnir.
Egill went on, ‘So if you’re going to do it, be quick.’
Bera untied her burden. ‘You have it for a bit then, Egill.’
‘You sure?’
‘I may already be dying. I can’t see you, hardly.’ Too hard to explain its quickening. ‘Guard Obsidian, my friend.’
Egill kissed her. ‘Put this rock in the shawl and Hefnir will think you still have it.’
Hefnir returned. ‘Up you get. You keep saying it’s coming soon, Bera, so crack on.’
‘She can hardly move,’ said Egill.
‘Well. I’ve found a better path, so we’ll be quicker with whatever it is you’re trying to do, Bera.’
If only she could tell him. She had spent her life watching for signs and trying to make sense of them. There must be a time and a place when it was right to return the stone and sacrifice herself. But the world had shrunk, like her sight, to a pinprick of no purpose.
Cling on!
What’s important?
Heggi and Valdis.
Bera struggled to her feet, dazzled by the bright fury inside the mountain. She was completely blind. Egill came to her side and they began the long climb together, her huge moonstone eyes seeing for both of them.
Gradually, without the weight of Obsidian, Bera began to see their dismal world. Lightning crackled above them; a constant glimmering of wan light that made the land starker. They all trudged: Hefnir in front and Egill bringing up the rear. Desolation haunted them. The sun became a pinprick of red light and then vanished, leaving a sky that was as yellow and curdy as chestnut blight. Day was night and only wildfires kept them on their grim track. Stumps of trees were broken and black, warnings of doom past and doom to come. Cracks in the ashy crust smoked and then Bera held her breath as long as possible. Her chest felt scorched and she only prayed they would get her to Hel before they all died.
From time to time they had to stop. Even Bera, who was aware of the widening channels of lava beneath them, realised that they needed to rest if they were ever to reach the summit. On one of these stops she lay on the ground, listening to the fire song beneath, and welcomed her skern.
Hel’s calling you to the place.
‘It’s that simple, is it?’
Simple? Look at you.
‘What must I do then?’
There are no choices.
‘I need to think I might live. Otherwise it’s too hard. I think Egill knows, which is why—’
Hefnir spoke quietly. ‘Roll over very slowly, Bera. Look. Can you see something moving? Down there, see it? A flicker of light.’
‘It’ll be coming up through a rift.’ Egill didn’t trouble to look. ‘Another wildfire.’
‘It’s moving,’ Hefnir said.
In a flash of forked lightning it was possible to make out figures.
Hefnir softly swore. ‘Did you see them?’
Bera nodded. ‘I can sense them. Who else could it be?’
Another white flare confirmed it: a small group was trailing them. At its head was a monster with a full dragon body. Bera’s bones chilled with dread.
‘I’ve expected him,’ she said.
‘The Serpent King.’ Hefnir spat.
‘And the small one is Heggi.’
Hefnir stayed low. ‘I’m going to get a better view. See how many of them there are.’
Bera wanted to scramble down the slope, kill the Serpent and carry Heggi back to safety. She yearned for it. But even if she was successful, that meant Heggi would have to witness her death. Or worse: die with her.
With no sword, how could you kill the Serpent King? And he has crew with him.
‘They would kill Heggi if I attacked anyway.’
Her only option was to keep climbing, though it broke her heart. The Serpent King must not come near Obsidian in such a place as this. What particular darkness would it coax in his dragon body? Her desperate hope that sacrifice would not be demanded was doomed – because even if she could keep Hel from Obsidian, she could only save her life and Heggi’s by giving it to the Serpent.
Egill rubbed her thumb down Bera’s cheek. ‘Don’t cry, Bera. Heggi’s safe, and close.’
Her eyes were already smarting so much she didn’t know she was crying.
She got to her feet. ‘Best move on. I’ll take the looking-glass back now.’
Egill pulled away. ‘Let me help, Bera, please. I feel it’s what I was born to do.’
‘Perhaps you were, perhaps not. But the Serpent King is mine and I must keep Obsidian safe from him.’
She took the rock out from her shawl and Egill reluctantly slid the glass into it and Bera made sure it was secure.
Hefnir returned. ‘You silly bints, trying to hide it,’ he said. ‘It’s one stone. Once we’re up there I’m going to collect hundreds, bigger than that, and I can buy the known world.’
‘Only if I manage to save the world, Hefnir. And you must believe I can, or you would never have agreed to help.’
He gave a mock salute and led off, all three of them as wheezing and stiff as old folk. She wondered what he really believed. Did he manage always to forget evil, or was it deliberate lying?
‘He can only think of buying the world, not saving his son,’ she muttered to Egill.
‘Don’t misjudge your husband, Bera. You didn’t see him on the beach. We all know there’s only one black stone the Serpent wants and for himself, not for sale.’
Bera nodded. ‘The world and its creatures will be better off dead if he ever seizes Obsidian.’
30
The final climb was the worst. The path became a gully and Bera had to claw her way upwards. Black thoughts swirled around her like bats. Her purpose remained clear but her body was failing. The wolfbite was poisoning her blood; her leg was weak and so swollen that her boot had sunk into the flesh. Her hands were bleeding and nails broken on the sharp rocks. She trusted an outcrop to take her weight, which then gave way, and only Hefnir’s quick hand saved her. After that, they were sliding and scrambling back on a skree of large glassy nuggets. It was all they could do to breathe.
The darkness had thickened into a suffocating enemy that stifled speech and decision. The Fetch returned, just in the corner of her eye. Its lithe movement reminded her of Egill when they first met. She had thought the world was opening up for them all then. Now they were staggering towards death.
They reached a small level and the path disappeared. Hefnir went to look for a place to go on. Bera rested where she stood; the ground was too hot to touch. They took off their useless linen veils and wrapped them round their hands for more protection.
‘Do you see the person with us?’ she asked.
‘Is it your Fetch?’ Egill whispered.
‘It must be.’ Bera took off her shawl and rolled her shoulders.
The looking-glass slipped enough to make her look in it. In that moment a shaft of self-knowledge entered like an obsidian dagger. Any hard word that had ever been directed at her came flying at her like a fist. All true. Stupid, useless, clumsy; selfish, cold, heartless; she could hear them all and every failing brought death. Bera counted them on her fingers.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Reckoning,’ Bera said. ‘I deserved to lose things: boats and the sea; every home; my whole childhood.’
You didn’t lose it, sweetheart, you never had one.
‘I thought you didn’t deal with the past.’
I don’t. But who we were is always inside who we are.
‘I was cold to Heggi at the start. So I’ll lose him too.’
Now that is the past.
‘He’s here now and I left him. Does he hate me?’
Yes.
‘Can’t you go to him, make him understand?’
I am not, ever, going to leave you again.
‘He wouldn’t be able to hear you anyway,’ said Egill.
Bera reeled. ‘Who are you talking to?’
‘Your skern.’
‘How long have you heard my skern?’ Shock turned to outrage. ‘How dare you not tell me! It’s worse than theft… it’s like – like – rape!’
‘It only started before the ice bear. I thought it was you calling, it sounded like you.’
It has to be in liminal places, a threshold – which can be a special time or circumstance.
‘Is this a threshold?’
Oh yes, of course – but you knew that. That’s why we’re here.
‘Did you know she could hear you?’
He went long and thin like smoke through a keyhole.
She has a certain knack. It’s because she is… borderline herself.
‘What does that mean?’
Egill rubbed her nose with her sleeve. ‘I think it’s like I told you at the start, Bera. You’re so black and white. You want me to be a boy or a girl. I’m neither. Both. It’s not a question of choice, I just am.’
‘Tell me your real name.’
‘You think you can pin m
e down then? Own me? Names are power.’
‘So why do you use your father’s name? Guilt?’ She meant to hurt.
It took Egill a while to answer, as if she were working something out for herself.
‘I let him die, Bera. I… wanted it to be him, not me. The moment I met you I knew it was the start of something that would make it right, so I chose his name when you asked. There’s death coming, for sure, and I want it to be mine.’
Had she recognised the Fetch? ‘No. Listen, Egill. I—’
Hefnir shouted, ‘Stay there. I’m coming back.’ He lost his footing and slid down to them. He gasped and wheezed. ‘So… hot. Scalded my lungs.’
Bera rescued the flagon of water and he poured it down his throat. It spilled onto his shirt, already clinging to him with sweat.
‘Careful!’
Bera offered it to Egill, who refused to drink.
‘Is that the way up?’ Bera asked.
Hefnir took more breaths, sounding like bellows stoking up a fire. ‘Blocked. Old fall of rocks, melted then cooled, huge lumps. No way to top.’
‘You two stay here,’ she said. ‘I’ll find a way and come back.’
She knew Hel had chosen the time. This was where she had to go on, alone.
Bera went to where Hefnir had been standing when he shouted down to them. He was right: the way became a wall of rock made of sharp, metallic stones and porous boulders. She tried to go around it but large cracks poured fiery heat, driving her back. On the other side, the earth’s crust fumed and heaved, a stinking morass of fire and putrid gases. Not that way either. Perhaps Obsidian would give the answer. She hauled her shawl round to the front. It was too light.
‘No, no, no, no!’