The Book of Bera

by Suzie Wilde

‘He’s up to no good, I’m telling you.’

  ‘Sigrid, everyone knows he’s up to no good. It’s not some great insight of yours.’

  ‘Thorvald shouldn’t be going alone.’

  They sat at the loom. Bera had heard enough at the latrine to know that Hefnir would not go with Thorvald, though she did not know why. Would the Serpent do her work for her? Then who would protect them all?

  ‘That thrall.’ Bera pulled her eyes. ‘She does the hot room.’

  Sigrid tapped her hand. ‘Who’s stopped working now?’

  ‘Hefnir and I talked about the Serpent in there. Do you think she told him?’

  ‘Sure as eggs are eggs. What did I tell you? We’ll all be murdered in our beds.’ Sigrid made a ferocious hammer sign. ‘Thorvald’s walking into a trap, Bera.’

  But what trap? And what to do about it? Bera wondered who or what was doing the betraying that was soaked into the longhouse walls. She felt for Sigrid – but most of all, she felt very afraid.

  As soon as he got home, Bera took Hefnir to the threshold of the byre and tried to get him to understand what she feared.

  Though still light, colours were less intense. Day birds had not roosted but owls twitted and tweaked from beyond the hanking apple trees. It was the start of the season of confusion.

  ‘I have no idea which woman you’re talking about.’ Hefnir started fiddling with one of the old harnesses hanging on the rail.

  ‘I told you. She’s the one in the bath hut.’

  ‘Why would I notice a thrall?’

  His denial, totally different from his son’s, made Bera suspect he was hiding something. Did he use the woman, like his men sniggered in the mead hall?

  ‘What did we talk about in the hot room?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  Why was he lying? Surely he couldn’t be saying things he wanted the thrall to report to the Serpent? Unthinkable.

  ‘Then I’ll remind you. Storms. Flood. Ruined food. A boat taking us away.’

  He took the harness off its peg. ‘All this should be inside, not left out here to rot.’

  ‘Leave it alone, Hefnir. This is important.’

  He threw it over the rail and rubbed his face with his hands. ‘You worry too much.’

  ‘Are you going with Thorvald tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘What do you care? You want him dead.’

  It was no longer that simple. ‘How do you know the goods have ever reached the Serpent? What if Thorvald’s his partner?’

  Hefnir’s lips turned white. ‘I trust Thorvald with my life.’

  ‘We all make mistakes.’

  Hefnir raised a hand to strike her. Bera flinched but stood her ground.

  He turned and left her.

  Hefnir had said the Serpent King could expect nothing after demanding even more. He had also said the woman couldn’t talk but Heggi said she did. Bera trusted Heggi. So what did she say to the Serpent – and what was he capable of doing?

  Hefnir relented. Thorvald was to take two walrus tusks and trade some salt. Bera hoped it was enough, as she stood beside Hefnir at dawn.

  Thorvald was grimmer than usual that dawn, even as he held Sigrid in a quick embrace. He rode off, leading the packhorses, and she managed a small wave. But then she put her apron over her face and ran back inside.

  ‘He’ll demand more, won’t he?’ Bera said.

  ‘He can rot in Hel. I’ve told Thorvald to make promises and by the time he realises no more is coming, we’ll be long gone.’

  ‘More lies.’

  Hefnir studied the sky. ‘No sign of rain, Bera.’

  ‘That’s not a lie. We’ll have more rain than we want very soon.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m going up to the dam. Once that’s working we can get the water where it’s needed.’

  Being a Valla was truly lonely, especially without her skern. His absence made her uneasy and irritated. She should be at the loom but couldn’t face Sigrid’s fretting, so she decided to follow Hefnir up to the dam and have a word with Egill. Bera needed any kind of friend.

  Two cabin-like structures were going up on either side of the river, using the skills folk had, which would then be joined. This was Ottar’s plan. Her father’s inventiveness impressed Bera, as did the strength and kinship of the workers that made teamwork natural. And yet their work was a waste of time. If only she could take all of them! She couldn’t, so she must devise a fair way of choosing and until then boats had to be made seaworthy. Ottar was busy re-hogging and trying to manage this, too. These thoughts of him raised her spirits. It gave her hope. Then she saw the line of rowans had been cut down. Rowans, that protected from evil.

  Egill, balanced on one of the crossbeams, was directing operations with wild sweeps of her arms. Bera wanted to stop it.

  Egill jumped down when she saw her. ‘It’ll be finished in no time.’

  ‘But still too late, Egill. The rains will come.’

  ‘And the dam’s to hold back the flood.’

  ‘But what if there’s too much water, like my vision?’

  ‘See the two gates ready to go in the gap? Open them a bit and the river flows down slowly. Safer than before.’

  ‘What if they won’t open?’

  ‘Rains all the time in Iraland but it wasn’t a problem. It makes a lake behind the dam.’

  Egill sprang onto the newly built platform; elfin as she was on the very first night they met. Bera had thought then that she was a boy of talent. So was she doubting Egill only because she was a girl? The dam did look sound enough, and if her father had planned it... Perhaps her warning had done its work.

  And yet. Egill could never admit she was wrong. Well, nor could she.

  The air was brooding. Change was coming, as any sailor would sense. Certainly Ottar would – and she hoped he was working through the light nights.

  The sky was leaden when Bera next visited the boatyard. It was busy, with the reassuring sound of sawing, banging and hammering. Lads whistled as they rushed past with short planks and brushes.

  Then she found Ottar in his hut, head in hands.

  ‘Not like you, Father.’

  ‘I’m never going to get this finished.’ He looked at her with bloodshot eyes. ‘Go on, say it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Told you so.’

  She needed to see for herself. ‘Shall I go alone?’

  He pulled himself up with an effort, got his tool belt on and led her towards the slipway where the boat was up on blocks. He was right. It hardly looked any bigger.

  ‘I’ll finish off this bit,’ Ottar said to his best lad. ‘You go up to the shed and help the others.’ He patted the hull like an old friend and Bera swallowed hard to hold back tears.

  ‘We’ve had to make the best of short planks and worked through the night and all.’ He spat on his hands. ‘Still, there’s no victory for a sleeping man.’

  They walked round, admiring his work. Though small, this was a proper boat – and if a boat looked well she would sail well.

  ‘You’ve kept her lines neat.’ Bera’s voice was thick.

  ‘I’m a good builder and one of the lads is coming on.’

  The smell of new-sawn wood brought back her early childhood, when Ottar was kind. Her father lovingly stroked the boards with his rough hands and whispered something she had long forgotten.

  ‘Heart of oak for the gunnels; ash for the mast and oars. The mountain ash is the strongest and the whitest wood comes from the north face.’

  ‘You said that for the first boat you ever made me.’

  ‘You remember that?’

  She did. And his look when she kissed the oar with her rune carved on it.

  ‘Boats are always bigger inside than out.’ Ottar had said that, too, and he knew it. He set up a work ladder. ‘I haven’t started work on the decks so be careful.’

  Bera tucked her skirt through her legs into her belt.

  ‘You used to scamper up ladders like a squirrel.’
>
  ‘I liked being higher than everyone else.’

  She did not go up like a squirrel but it was neatly done, despite her garments. She clambered over the rail and stood on the stern platform. It was a mess of unfinished sawing and Bera could not imagine how all the stores, animals and settlers could fit.

  There was a low grumble, like a trole’s stomach. The scudding sky was thickening and turning yellowish. Bera let herself down onto the ladder and joined Ottar below.

  ‘Is this the storm that’ll launch her?’

  ‘I thought you believed in the dam?’

  Ottar kicked some wood shavings. ‘Egill finds mischief with nothing to do. And with my design it might do the trick.’

  Bera was more anxious about the boat. ‘You need to finish this soon.’

  ‘Have you done the sail strip?’

  ‘Nearly.’

  ‘When will you tell folk? They need to get their heads straight.’

  Bera drew him under the shelter of the hull. ‘Hefnir’s going to ask for settlers but there’ll be too many.’

  ‘Flood might drown ’em all.’ He gave a wry laugh.

  ‘Can you reckon how many folk could fit on our boats?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘And make some wooden counters? I’ll mark runes on the same number as can go and folk can draw them.’

  He nodded. ‘I get it. Looks fair. Could work.’

  ‘The fishermen have their own boats.’

  He snorted. ‘Them boats’ll sink soon as look at them.’

  ‘Then fix them.’

  They walked back up through the yard together.

  ‘That’s a good idea of yours,’ said Ottar when they reached the gates. ‘Counters of Fate.’

  ‘I thought of it when I was talking to you.’ Bera kissed her father’s cheek.

  He looked surprised.

  She set off for home. After a while she turned, and he was still there, watching her go. Perhaps she was beginning to get her real father back.

  She and Hefnir argued and carried on arguing in their billet. Unlike her father, he still believed the dam would give them time. When the last taper guttered he refused to hear any more and then fell asleep.

  Thunder rolled overhead. Bera was hollowed out by worry. They were too slow and perhaps Fate would resent the drawing of lots. She tossed and turned and got the bedroll twisted round her so she had to get out and rearrange it. Then she stared at the hanging, which flickered with dry lightning. She longed for the comfort of her skern. There was an odd dragging sensation in the pit of her stomach, as if she were being eaten from the inside. Somehow it was linked with his absence, but she was too scared to look closer.

  13

  Midsummer came and went and still Thorvald did not return. Bera was anxious, rather than glad, for what might he be plotting with the Serpent King? Or, if he was dead, who would protect them? Sigrid was as jumpy and vicious as a scalded cat.

  One night, when she was checking on Feima and her calf, Bera heard Thorvald return.

  She put down her shovel, patted Dotta and went into the hall.

  Thorvald wasn’t even wounded. That secret part of her was glad he was here to look after Sigrid, who was happily bustling in from the pantry with some food. And then she was ashamed at how much she relied on his strength, as they all did.

  Thorvald tore off a hunk of bread. ‘He wasn’t happy,’ he said to Hefnir, ‘but I told him the next tribute would hold what’s promised and he calmed down.’

  ‘So will he wait?’ Bera walked over to them.

  ‘He’ll wait.’ Hefnir’s mouth twisted. ‘He’s all talk.’

  Thorvald swallowed the bread whole. ‘I said there’d be gold if he waits till after harvest but he wants it before.’ He started on a big ham bone like a starving animal.

  Sigrid gave him the whole platter. ‘You’ll all be gone by then.’

  Thorvald pulled something from his teeth. ‘Seems like the ground’s parched to me, not flooded.’

  Bera glared at him. ‘So I’m lying?’

  ‘Could be you’re mistaken.’

  ‘Could be we’re mistaken about a lot of things. There we were, worrying about you and you come home without a scratch on you. What private deals have you struck with the Serpent?’

  ‘Stop, Bera,’ said Hefnir sharply.

  Thorvald cheerfully waved the ham bone. ‘Doesn’t trouble me. Let her say what she likes. It’s the same old story.’

  Sigrid said, ‘Well, I for one thank you, Hefnir, for not sending him off empty-handed.’

  Hefnir raised his goblet. ‘Let’s drink to your success and the dam. We won’t be forced to leave here now.’

  ‘Do you understand nothing?’ Bera kicked over a stool.

  ‘I want to go so we will go. But it’ll be in my time, not yours. It’s why I’m helping build the dam,’ said Hefnir.

  ‘Then think on this. Flood or no flood, you’ll be forced to leave here fast if you don’t give the Serpent King exactly what Thorvald’s just promised him. He’ll be out for blood.’

  Thunder rumbled and dry lightning shimmered nearly every night. Daylight shortened and work slowed but eventually the dam was finished. To Bera’s dismay, Egill’s boasts turned out to be true and the scheme began to improve everyone’s life. Drinkable water (if rather muddy) came right down into the village and folk pictured a future full of ease. Why would they want to leave, now?

  The final channel was dug at the back of the mead hall, so there was a celebration that evening. It was Bera’s chance to end the secrecy and see if honesty would work. As soon as she saw Dellingr come into the hall with his daughter she took a jug of ale over to them. She wanted to show everyone she had no reason to avoid him.

  ‘The dam’s pleased everyone,’ she said loudly.

  He held out his drinking horn. ‘Asa’s over there with the baby.’

  She would not be got rid of. A roistering mob of youths snatched up his daughter and rampaged off, Heggi amongst them.

  ‘They’re more unruly than I was at that age,’ Bera said.

  Dellingr smiled. ‘You’re still young. I think us lads were worse than them; fights and so on. Times change.’

  ‘You sound like my father!’ Bera regretted sounding familiar and babbled. ‘Have you been thinking about what I told you? I mean, a fair way to choose and why.’

  ‘No time like the present.’

  ‘You mean it?’

  ‘I don’t like secrets and it’s been hard keeping silent all this time, with Asa.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He briefly touched her, like fire. ‘You mustn’t keep folk in the dark any longer.’

  Bera wanted more from him. With his knowledge and strength, she could be a mighty Valla and have no need for Thorvald. Everything would be simple again. But Dellingr went straight to his wife and Bera’s stomach twisted.

  Bera told Hefnir to get folk gathered round. They probably thought she was going to bless the dam, which reminded her that she must.

  Hefnir came back to stand beside her. ‘Stick to our plan, Bera: ask who wants to settle in the Marsh Lands, all right?’

  Between Ottar and Egill was her skern. At last! He saluted her, looking perky, which gave her confidence.

  Thorvald bellowed for quiet.

  Bera began. ‘Imagine you have come home from a hunting trip. It has been a good trip, with a big haul of walrus.’

  ‘Like Egill,’ shouted someone, to cheers and laughter. They were sunny with success.

  Bera hated to end it but she must. ‘The weather is fair... it’s midsummer … but right then your skern warns you of a terrible danger. When you least expect it, would you believe him more – or less?’

  She had the crowd’s attention. Other folk drifted over. They were used to listening, even in drink.

  Out poured the truth, unstoppably. ‘I saw ruin with my own eyes. Our ancestors abandoned us and took the sun with them. The sky grew black as a raven’s wing and lightning blasted the vil
lage. Downpours and deluge washed away everything. Folk were left to starve.’

  Hefnir groaned.

  Her skern tapped his head. She must think how to tell the truth and yet give hope.

  ‘But then I saw a boat.’

  Hefnir shouted. ‘Our lifeblood is the sea. It brings us what we need to survive. Beyond these shores lie lands of plenty. A man can grab what he wants whenever he wants. You know where we traders have overwintered in the past and it’s an easy life, a good life. Everything’s gentler than it is here – especially the women, eh, boys?’

  His men roared and raised their horns. They needed to leave soon, but in limited numbers, and not for the Marsh Lands. The black bead burned against her neck.

  Hefnir was calling for volunteers. ‘So step forward those who venture. We’ll trade, raid and settle with the profits.’

  ‘I’ve just broken my back on that dam,’ said someone.

  ‘Aye, what was the point of that?’

  Hefnir raised his arms. ‘It buys time for the daring and will feed the sluggards. So who’s for it? Who wants to catch life by the throat?’

  Asa marched to the front and beckoned to Dellingr. All the folk came forward apart from the farmers. There was bravado: some fishermen who were quick to start a fight and first to leave when a knife flashed. But there was excited good humour everywhere.

  Then Ottar stumbled into the circle, held upright by Egill.

  ‘We have finished... project,’ slurred Ottar. ‘My friend here, young Egill. Egill’s project. To the dam!’

  They drank the toast and Egill took a bow. Did her father think he was being helpful?

  ‘Thank you, Father,’ Bera began.

  Ottar carried on. ‘I want to say... this. Promised my daughter...’ He waved his horn at her. ‘Best one. She don’t believe me but... promised her a bigger boat. But not big enough.’

  She had to make them take the flood seriously. ‘Listen, all of you. I want you to go home and ration what you have in store. Eat as little as possible and forage for wild food. There is plenty because of this fair summer. We must be ready when the rains come.’