by Suzie Wilde
It was Thorvald. ‘... be enough.’
‘You’re certain?’ Hefnir. Then mumbling.
Bera crouched down, leaning against one of the struts to get her ear close to the opening. Someone farted and she nearly fell over. It was comical – but dishonourable. Suppose one of the thralls found her? Or Rakki and Heggi? How could she face anyone again?
‘I want no more to do with him.’ Hefnir, loud. ‘How many more times?’
‘I need backup. He’s still claiming blood money.’
‘Tell him to go to Hel. I’ll kill the bastard if I see his ugly face again, that’s the only reason I’m not going.’
‘He has rightful claims, Hefnir, as you well know.’
‘I’ll go with Thorvald.’ Heggi!
‘You will not,’ said his father. ‘No argument. Thorvald can go alone.’
‘He will start something.’ Thorvald.
There was a thump, as if Hefnir had slammed his fist into wood. Bera missed the start of his reply. ‘... if she ever was family!’
‘So what is your answer?’
‘Give him some – but less than he says they want. Four tusks. Show them who’s boss. How dare they say who they will and will not deal with? To Hel with them!’
A door crashed open. Bera leapt up, banged her head on a bucket and froze. Had they heard it? She stayed like a hare in a burning field until someone spoke again and then she ran for the shadows. They came out, talking.
Bera needed to hear the rest of it, so she tried to keep up with them yet stay hidden. The trouble was, she would be seen crossing the clear ground before the longhouse... but she would worry about that when they got there. She strained to hear what they were saying.
‘I told Sigrid,’ Thorvald said. ‘So now she...’ His voice faded into the distance.
Told Sigrid what? Was that why she was avoiding her? Bera waited until she thought they must be across the opening and then kept low and followed.
Hefnir was asking, ‘... and Heggi too?’ Rage made his voice throb.
There was no reply, only the sound of footsteps treading onto stone.
Bera flew round to the main entrance and ran through the whispering passage, flung open the door, whipped off her cloak and sat at the loom, shaking.
There were voices in the byre. Sigrid came through from the pantry and raised her eyebrows when she saw Bera, who put a finger to her lips. Sigrid put a lit taper near the loom and sat next to her, which was unusually quick-witted.
When the men came through it looked normal but there was a new self-consciousness about Sigrid. The men smiled and joked and said nothing about tusks and blood money. They were all play-acting now. Bera did not know what was happening or who to trust anymore.
They sat up late, long after Heggi had reluctantly gone to bed. Bera wanted to find out why Hefnir had been so angry but she could not get him to their billet, nor could she will Thorvald into going to his. She couldn’t ask Hefnir directly and be accused of eavesdropping. So the men talked about the hunting trip while Sigrid sewed and kept her head down. Their short honeymoon was entirely lost in Hefnir’s version of the trip. Perhaps it only had ever been in her mind. But their coupling was special there and he could not destroy it. Or was he hiding his love from Thorvald? Was their bond more loyal than her marriage? All the more reason to kill him.
Thorvald’s instinct to protect Hefnir shifted to Egill. ‘Is this boy a fool or a traitor?’
‘He brags, that’s all,’ said Bera, quick to protect her friend. ‘He gets excited and then drunk.’
‘He’s a frail creature,’ said Hefnir. ‘Bera’s the only one with any time for him.’
‘Ah. Kind-hearted Bera,’ said Thorvald. ‘Killing with kindness. Ottar says—’
Sigrid squealed. ‘Ow! This needle is so blunt I’m having to drag it through the cloth. It went right into my thumb. Oh, and now look – there’s blood on it. I’ll have to go and soak this in cold water. It’s that new tunic you brought back from the Marsh Lands, Hefnir. It nearly fits Heggi now. I’m taking it in a bit for him.’
She blithered while she busied herself with gathering all her bits and going out with the tunic. Sigrid never squealed. Was she protecting Ottar? Or Bera? It couldn’t be about Bjorn: she had never once mentioned her son. Bera would have to watch and wait to find out what had been happening while they were away – and if it all concerned the Serpent, as she believed it did.
Next day, Hefnir declared that he would announce the new feast at the mead hall, so Bera said she and Egill would plan what should happen. She collected Egill from the boatyard and took her to a small cove beside it. Huge rocks had tumbled into the sea so long ago that stunted trees grew in the crevices between them. It was very private and there was a large flat rock, perfect for sitting.
‘I think Thorvald is plotting something with the Serpent King,’ Bera said.
‘To kill Hefnir?’
‘Of course not. I have to deal with him soon but he’s especially on guard. He even suspects you.’
‘So use poison.’
The word made Bera recoil, although the idea kept tempting her. ‘What if I use it and lose all my powers because I’ve abused them?’
‘Fate made you mix those plants.’
And Fate had sent her a partner in Egill. ‘I’ll do it straight after the new festival, which will be at the next full moon.’
‘Best for plant potency.’
‘And he’ll also be drunk. I want you with your wits about you.’
Egill looked sulky. ‘Want some fun.’
‘You can have fun but, listen, we need to purify them...’ She outlined her plans, using fire to cleanse, as it did dead bodies.
Heggi returned from the bath hut as grubby as ever, so Bera marched him back and scrubbed him with a good deal of rigour. They arrived at the mead hall late and as soon as they got there he charged off, rubbed ash on his face and then joined his scruffier mates. She tried not to mind.
A group of women were standing around Ottar and Egill. Her father was at his lustful stage of drinking, when he would pucker his lips and lean towards any woman. Egill was bragging about Sowun, as though it was all her idea. The name had not been agreed, even. Bera went to find Sigrid before she lost her temper.
She was over by the food.
‘You’re here at last, then.’ Sigrid kept working. ‘Looks like we’re stuck with this new feast of that Egill’s.’
‘It’s my idea, mostly.’
Sigrid wound the large stewpot higher over the fire. ‘You, him – either way means more work for us.’
‘More for the thralls.’
‘Let them poison us? Look at them. They understand every word. They only pretend to be stupid. I’m glad we never had any slaves at home. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them.’
‘Why don’t they knife us in our beds, then? It’s simpler.’
Sigrid made the hammer sign. ‘Don’t say that. I won’t sleep a wink now.’
Bera went over to the ale barrels. ‘Do you understand every word?’ she asked the nearest thrall.
The woman smiled. It meant nothing; the household women were trained to smile when they provided any service. But if Sigrid believed the thralls were out to poison them, the finger of suspicion would point that way, which would work to Bera’s advantage.
Heggi swaggered past with a loutish boy who reached down to Rakki. The dog cringed away.
Bera stopped Heggi. ‘Has that boy ever been cruel to Rakki?’
‘I’d knife him,’ Heggi said.
He would, too, at once, with no dithering. Bera bent down to stroke Rakki, whose breath smelt suspiciously of cheese.
‘Come on. Let’s go and find your father.’
Hefnir was, of course, with Thorvald. ‘Plenty of salt there,’ he said.
Thorvald nodded. ‘And wine.’
‘What is wine?’ asked Heggi.
‘We make ale with grain and beer with apples,’ his father explained. ‘O
ther folk make wine with grapes, which are a sort of fruit, like fat cloudberries.’
‘That sounds good,’ said Bera. ‘Why don’t you bring some home?’
‘It gets drunk too fast.’
‘Gets us drunk too fast, you mean.’ Thorvald laughed at his own joke.
‘I can’t wait for the new feast,’ said Bera.
That night the moon was bright enough to cast shadows through the hall. Bera was still awake long after Hefnir had gone to sleep. The drink made Hefnir snore and she remembered the nights at her old home, listening to Ottar. She worried if she was about to break some rule of Valla healing. She had certainly promised not to attack Thorvald here. She let herself think about playing hide-and-seek and bears and trole-stones and bully-bully with Bjorn; so she nearly missed the quick movement of someone slipping out of the women’s quarters. Probably one of the thralls going over to join her man in the male quarters. But the shadow passed the fire and Bera pitied her: whoever the woman was, she was heading for Thorvald’s billet. Poison was definitely the only option, if the woman was to be a fixture there – though she would thank Bera for saving her, if she knew.
It rained continuously for the next week but work had to be done. Folk went about looking sour and smelling it, too, in their greased woollens. Bera hated the mud and creeping dampness. She sent a thrall to cut some fresh spruce and when he got back he said the men were up in the forest getting wood for the big fires as she had ordered but were doing nothing but complain. Folk’s glumness gave her the name for the new feast: Brightening.
Later, she went out with some swill for the pigs. She liked to scratch their backs and think. Heggi was at the prize sow’s sty.
‘Why do we keep her in when the others roam?’ he asked, by way of greeting.
‘We need to watch what she’s eating.’ Bera put down the bucket. ‘The others eat all sorts. They don’t have the sense of chickens.’
Heggi wrinkled his face. ‘Stuff on the midden heaps!’
The solid waste from the latrine went onto the midden, ready to be used on the fields.
‘There’s much more here than at home.’
‘Than Crapsby?’
Bera let it go. The sow blinked her tiny eyes and sniffed the air. She trotted over to her, looking as if she was tiptoeing through the mud. It made Bera laugh.
Heggi came closer. ‘You like animals a lot, don’t you?’
Bera swung the bucket over the fence and poured its contents into the sow’s long trough. The pig made small happy grunts as she ate.
‘I don’t want this old girl dying.’
‘I don’t want Feima to ever die.’
‘She’ll calve all right. You said he’s the best cowman.’
They watched for a while.
‘You know this feast thing...?’ Heggi began.
The sow came over for a back scratch. Bera dug her nails into the coarse flesh, feeling the hairs like spines springing away. ‘Spit it out, Heggi.’
‘Well... you know Dellingr’s daughter?’ His face glowed hotly.
Bera hoped he would not notice that she was blushing too. ‘Go on.’
‘She’s asked me to go with them that night. I don’t know where, just with them.’
‘Hefnir’s said no, hasn’t he?’
Heggi prodded the fence with a long stick. Just like his father.
‘Heggi, I can’t say yes if Hefnir has forbidden you.’
‘It’s not fair!’
He threw the stick in her direction and whistled for Rakki as he sped off. The dog left off ratting and raced after him.
He could have blinded her, the little swine.
The men returned from the forest a day or so later, dragging boughs behind them. Folk came out to watch and Egill was on hand to explain how to build the bonfires, as if they didn’t know. Someone cuffed her and it began, again, to drizzle.
There was something so dismal about the scene, so unlike the idea she had planned, that Bera felt a weary dread.
My, we are glum.
Her skern was perched on top of a stack of branches. She hoped they would collapse and make him look foolish but he was as light as air.
‘Will this rain never stop!’
Yes.
‘It wasn’t a question.’
It was an answer. What’s more, I can tell you that the eve of Brightening will live up to its name and be fine and clear and as potent as you wish.
‘I’m not worried about that.’
Yes, you are. And you are also correct in your... queasiness about the proceedings and their aftermath.
‘What queasiness?’
Prevailing circumstances and all that.
‘What does that mean? That I feel sick and the cause is something else?’
Only you could possibly say, dearie. You’re as headstrong as ever if you ask me but then you seldom do these days.
‘Is it any wonder when you’re never here?’
He had gone, being a skern that could always give but not take criticism.
She did feel mizzy-mazey, as Sigrid would say. The word scared her suddenly. She hunted for red spots on her body but could find none.
The skern’s weather prediction was accurate. By the time of Brightening the skies cleared and sunlight raised everyone’s spirits for the eve. Bera chose to forget her worries, now the decision to poison Thorvald had been made. Let the consequences be dealt with later. She enjoyed helping Sigrid make plaited hats for the children, especially when Heggi brought more straw and stayed to watch, then made a clumsy attempt of his own.
‘Where’s Rakki?’ she asked.
‘Oh. He saw a rat when we came past the latrine and set off after it. He’s the best ratter.’
‘Not good enough,’ Sigrid said. ‘Those rats are bold. One stared at me all the time I was at the stool the other day. Little red beady eyes. Put me right off my stroke.’
Rakki chose that moment to return and stand by Sigrid, grinning, with no rat to show for his chase. They all laughed.
When the hats were ready, Sigrid took them round the village. Bera stayed with Heggi. He tied the rough hat he had made on Rakki, which set him capering about, furiously shaking his head.
‘It would be good if Feima’s calf is born at Brightening,’ he said. ‘I might go up and see.’
‘Take that thing off Rakki. It’s driving him mad.’
He called his dog and untied it.
‘What is that hanging from your belt?’
He touched the twisted cloth. ‘This? Um... a present for Feima and the calf.’
‘What is it?’
‘A piece of cheese,’ he mumbled.
Bera laughed. ‘You know cows only eat grass.’
‘Well? We make cheese from their milk, don’t we? Why shouldn’t she try some? She might like it.’
‘She might die laughing, more likely.’
He scowled and began to untie his belt.
‘Oh, go on. Keep it. I dare say you and Rakki will eat it long before you reach the pasture.’
‘So I can go?’
‘Yes – and go with your friends later. I won’t tell your father.’
Heggi rushed up, kissed her clumsily and dashed out with the dog at his heels. Bera wished he would stay like this. She could never be his mother but it was good to be agreeable – and she feared that Heggi grown would be as hard as the rest of Seabost. Bera set off in search of her own friend.
Egill was outside the village, demonstrating what should be cut or picked. She was certainly popular amongst the old and lame and ugly and shone like a silver taper.
‘It’s important things are right,’ Egill said. ‘In Iraland folk would come from all around to learn a natural kind of knowledge.’
Bera was not fond of her bragging mood but Egill sent the women off collecting and came over.
‘Something to tell you,’ she said. ‘Slipped my mind till just now, with them.’
‘You sound like my skern.’
Who appeared,
hanging like a bat from a gnarled tree and trying to look hurt. Without success.
‘It’s about skerns and that.’
‘So now you know all about skerns!’
Egill shrugged. ‘Only saying normal folk can get help from the dead at Sowun.’
Bera felt a surge of hope. Her mother might advise her how to kill Thorvald without breaking Valla rules. ‘Could we do it at Brightening?’
‘Don’t see why not.’
‘How do you do it?’
‘Gather rowan to shape into a circle that you look through.’
A liminal place, like a threshold. Could work. Ask about squid ink.
‘Squid ink?’
There was something lost in Egill’s eyes and Bera tried to imagine what she would be like if Hel had not taken her father.
She took her hand. ‘I am your true friend, Egill. I worry about you.’
‘Not used to folk. Help me, Bera.’
‘Don’t let my father give you so much ale.’
‘Drink takes the pain away.’
Bera led her to the gnarled tree. ‘Look. This is Hagthorn. It’s a love potion if you soak the leaves and its berries heal a broken heart.’ She pulled her skern’s branch towards them.
‘Mash some of it for me, then, Bera? Make me feel something.’
Folk took Sowun and made it Brightening. Men dressed as women and women as men and went in search of their favourites. The light night kindled a wild energy in the air. Bonfires and torches kept wild beasts away. Bera had shown folk how to shield and purify against other enemies and bowers were garlanded with rowan to keep out evil. Egill had also talked about making protections but when Bera glimpsed her she seemed set on mayhem.
She worried the Serpent King might get invited in. Folk in drink could be unpredictable. Bera tried to do some mending while she waited for Hefnir to come home but instead of coming up with a plan to thwart her enemy, she kept thinking about Dellingr chasing other women. Knowing him, he would save it all for Asa. It made her furious and she hurled the woollen hood away. Sigrid came in from the pantry and it flew past her like a ghost owl.