by Suzie Wilde
... Thorvald waiting on the bank with two men. Pounding rain and strong gusts under a purple thundercloud lashed them, making their greased coats slick like sealskin.
‘Where is Hefnir? Help me see!’
I’m doing my best.
Hefnir was up on the dam, looking at the gates. He struggled to keep his balance and kept pushing his drenched hair out of his eyes.
The water was near the top. Hefnir beckoned and Thorvald climbed onto the dam. He slipped and then moved cautiously, followed by the thralls, who wobbled wildly. When Thorvald reached him, Hefnir shouted in his ear and sent the thralls to check the braces on the other gate. Hefnir signalled that they should push – but the men carried straight on and back towards the village.
Thorvald followed but kept slipping.
Hefnir made for safety, sending pebbles slithering. The bund of earth and stones that joined the dam to the riverbank was beginning to slip. He scrabbled across the crumbling mound, making it more fragile, and jumped. He tumbled onto the grass and scrambled up to high ground.
Thorvald turned back. His feet went underwater but he kept on. Loud cracks and rumbles drummed above the storm. The whole structure was shifting. He made a rush, skated about, teetered and then leapt in a frantic twisting motion. He landed badly, halfway up the bank. He began sliding towards tar-black water. He punched his toes into the mud and clawed the sodden earth while reaching out with the other. Hefnir, white-faced, made no move.
‘Hefnir! Help him!’ Bera shouted. She saw a thorn tree and Thorvald made a last, desperate lunge for the tree and grasped it. He screamed in pain.
One edge of the bund tipped and water surged towards the gates. Egill’s brackets snapped like kindling and something gave way inside Bera. A torrent barged through, gathering up willow, rowan and alder; bowling stones and boulders that crashed into fences; forging downwards until it caught up the two thralls and carried them off. The flood ripped through fields and smashed down crops; it snatched sheep, spilled and tumbled cattle.
Heading straight for the village.
Water poured into pantries and latrines; ale stores, byres and pigsties. It muddied the pure and impure and swept the filth into every crevice. An army of cats that normally went unnoticed massed the high places, looking with contempt at the dogs paddling beneath them. Rats sleekly swam for safety. Pigs squealed as they were lifted and deposited beneath rafters ringing with the terrified squawk of chickens. The swill and muck floated off amongst a bobbling wash of thimbles and cloth, beakers and bowls, milking stools and reels of twine.
She had been too bound up with avenging Bjorn the wrong way. Using poison had nearly killed Heggi and now folk would starve because she let others take charge. Even Egill! It was all too late. Icy water prickled Bera’s feet and a rush of wild anger swept through her that Hefnir would lock her in here when she could have made amends.
A fury that was shared by the Drorgher. This creature, patient and cunning, hating Hefnir, was waiting for Bera to drown and become the blackest and most terrible threat with her Valla skills. Together, unstoppable.
That must not happen! Her skern was a fury at her neck.
Bera let the drilling force of her gaze turn on the Drorgher. Its true shape finally appeared, shrinking back in the pure white intensity. Bera recognised who she had been and saw a dragonboat at sea; the abused woman seizing a black dagger and pressing it beneath her ear, making blood drip.
‘Heggi!’ the woman cried, before cutting through the cords to silence.
And Bera knew why the child had never been harmed in here and why the Drorgher had wanted to have a terrible revenge.
‘Go now,’ Bera said. ‘I send you in peace to your long rest.’ So, in pity, she used her force to blast her into eternity.
Bera pictured her entering the Great Hall; the huge doors swinging safely shut behind her. Gone.
Her skern was clinging to the top of her head with sharp nails. A present danger: the water was over her knees and rising.
Call him.
He meant Rakki. Bera turned her gaze inward and silently shouted for the dog. She knew the moment he leapt into the filthy water and urged him to find her.
The water was already up to her waist. The door was battered by tubs and crates as the water poured in any way it could. The earth steps would be mud. Bera cursed being short. Floating boxes barged into her and she held on to one, pushed it under water and stood on it. When she tried to do it with a second box she lost the first and had to wait to find another. She got her feet on the box and tried to keep her balance as the rising water lifted her.
Then, at last, a barking and distant voice.
‘Come here, Rakki!’ Heggi.
He would not come in here, the place he dreaded. The dog whined and scrabbled at the door, splashing.
The water was up to her chin, even with a box to stand on.
‘Heggi!’ Bera shouted. ‘Heggi!’
Rakki barked dementedly. A loud thump.
‘Bera?’
He had come! ‘Get an axe!’
She was on tiptoes. She reached up to see if she could feel the ceiling and it was right above her head. He would have to get an axe from the byre and she would drown. She was afloat when she heard his shout.
‘Stay back!’
The first blows were tame but then he thundered the axe into the door, which was thick and took a good hammering. Bera tried to keep her face up and tasted mud. Worse than drowning at sea. Then she was helpless; swept up and out like a wave crashing onto a beach.
She scrambled onto her hands and knees, blinking. ‘What took you so long?’
Heggi declared his dog had a sixth sense and then burst into tears.
‘He’ll have some tasty meat – if there’s anything left.’ Around them, rubbish gently settled into sludge as the waters raced on towards the sea.
Heggi was grey. ‘You look awful.’
‘So do you!’
They laughed and Rakki licked her face clean.
‘It was very brave to come for me,’ said Bera. ‘Please believe that I had no idea your father was locking you in this terrible place.’
‘Thorvald lets me hide in the big store. But sometimes Papa locks me in that small one for my own good. Like when you first came.’
Bera shuddered. No wonder the child had hated her.
‘I will never let you be shut in the dark again.’ He must never know the monster was his own mother. ‘But what was in there is now gone.’
He hugged her and she kissed the top of his head. They had both suffered so much.
Weighted with stuff, the waters slowed towards the fishermen’s huts and left a heap of soiled belongings against their doors. The flood had no strength left to do more than lift their nets and it oozed through the boatyard where Ottar and Egill slept on, dead drunk. It let down the last remnants of its load and trickled towards the slipway, past pitch pails, brushes, blocks and tackle. Finally, exhausted, it slipped into the sea like an old woman welcoming her bed.
15
Sigrid was cleaning the pantry with some thralls. They were all as dirty and sodden as Bera, so she faced no questions. Then she remembered Heggi’s wound. The linen bandage was soaked with floodwater. Heggi hitched it up and Bera smelt it.
‘Oh, Heggi! It’s gone bad. I must clean it.’
Sigrid gestured at the chaos around them. ‘What with?’
‘We’ll find a way.’
One of the thorns had snapped but it had done its work and Bera gently pulled out the others. The sides stayed knitted. There was a jar of honey on the top shelf, so she spooned some on the scar.
Sigrid delved into an inside pocket and came out with the medicine stick. ‘I rolled this up with his bedding.’
Bera tied the stick on top, ignoring his complaint that it hurt more.
‘Be grateful to Sigrid.’
‘All right,’ he quavered. ‘I’ll be strong.’
Unlike his father. When they finally met over a sc
raped-together meal, Hefnir kept moaning about the unfairness of it all. The man who had locked her in! Bera despised his talent for blanking the disagreeable. He always talked big about leadership but his involved lying and whining, not being out there helping, like Sigrid – and Thorvald. Bera was finally witnessing the load that his second had to bear. Or, at least, admitting it; which made a difference to how she felt about Hefnir. Just let them get away safely and then she would settle all scores - in a new way. Till then, she didn’t even respect Hefnir enough to argue. She could hardly bear to look at him.
The village was a brown slurry of ruined lives. At first folk were grateful that it was only the old and a few thralls that had died but as they began to reckon the other losses it dawned on them that this would become a slower kind of death. Some were at the longhouse asking for bowls of stew and other handouts, including clothes. It couldn’t go on like this. Bera kept the confident strength that she had found in the darkness and called a meeting at the rune stone herself. It was the right place – and its distance from the village stench would be a blessing. She told Heggi to fetch Ottar and Egill and his father if he was with them.
They arrived without Hefnir and joined a silent, straggling line as they climbed. But as they left the wreckage behind them, spirits lifted and children started to play. This side of the village was untouched; at last some luck had come to the poorest. Bera paused at the crossroads and sent someone to the huts and forge to get them to the rune stone.
Bera went straight up to the stone, half expecting her skern to be waiting like before. He was not but she could cope alone. She briefly touched the runes but did not call on her mother for help. As soon as Dellingr arrived she spoke to her bedraggled folk.
‘Together we are strong. So here’s my plan. First, we must get clean. We must take soiled things down to the sea to scrub. Brine is good. Then we set them out for sunlight to purify. Our thralls will wash clothes and bedding, so take yours to the river and help if you can. I’ll set some men to clean the bath hut so we can wash ourselves. Bring any odd bits of soap you can find. Don’t put dirty fingers near your mouths and watch the children.’ She turned to her father. ‘Could your men build a field latrine? Everything spoiled or rotten can go in there, too, once it’s dug.’
Ottar nodded. Egill drooped beside him, not meeting Bera’s eyes. Was this guilt?
‘You said about the children,’ called out someone. ‘How can we stop them playing in the filth?’
‘They’ll be too busy to play. The older ones can start by rounding up the animals and getting them back to fresh pasture. The younger ones can beat the wildlife out of houses.’ It pleased Bera that she sounded like her father at the start of a busy boatyard day.
Then Hefnir arrived and folk made way.
Bera was not going to let him take over. She explained what others were doing and asked him to head up a working party to collect heavy household goods and take them to the sea. She was in charge with a good plan and folk obeyed without question. Hefnir noted it, but she was careful to speak respectfully to him in front of them. He nodded as if it was his plan, although he darted a look at her that was all about revenge. He barged past Dellingr and blamed Heggi. Bera left the smith alone with his family.
After making sure everyone knew what they had to do, Bera went home to get the thralls busy. The mired hall was worse for coming back to it from the clean sea air. Her voice echoed in the empty room. Sigrid returned from organising the bath hut and told her several thralls had run away.
They got busy. Bera made a heap outside of anything damaged by the water; amongst them was Hefnir’s favourite gaming board and a couple of Heggi’s old toys. One of them was a small wooden horse.
Bera held it out and Sigrid took it. ‘I’ve never seen this before.’
The Serpent, Heggi. ‘Burn it all.’ There was no time to fathom the connection.
They washed down the walls, floors and doors, shrieking every time a mouse or spider scuttled past, which was often. The children arrived, banging pots and pans together to rid the house of all creatures that had taken refuge there.
Bera had made sure they had something to take with them, if only hope. In a golden dusk she went round the village with spare food and explained that she had devised a fair draw. Some shrugged, or said things always got better again in Seabost. Others declared they would rather chance staying than face certain death on a risky sea passage. Bera persuaded them that whoever was chosen to be a settler should leave most of their belongings for those left behind. This made everyone feel generous and lifted spirits.
She told them all to gather in the scrubbed mead hall, as the only place fit and safe to sleep. Now was the time of reckoning, before they got to thinking.
There were still too many to get on the boats. Tiredness and tension took its toll. No children played chase. Pale faces followed her wherever she went, waiting for their Fate. Neighbour was pitched against neighbour and friends were wary.
Bera wanted Hefnir to stand beside her so they would appear united and strong and give confidence. She found him with Thorvald. It looked like Hefnir had been drinking all day while they had all worked hard, Thorvald especially.
She confronted Hefnir. ‘More thralls have run off.’
‘Plenty more over there.’ Hefnir waved an arm vaguely westwards.
Thorvald leered. ‘Iraland. Red-haired bints, like your father had. It’s why he wants to go there in part.’
‘Ottar?’
‘Hefnir.’
Hefnir held out his gold chalice for more.
Bera ignored it. ‘I want to start while folk are clear-headed. Ready, Hefnir?’
‘You’re best without him,’ Thorvald said in her ear. ‘I’ll take care of him, as always.’
Thorvald had paid her another compliment of sorts. And he was sober. The stab of pleasure immediately made her ashamed.
Yet the glow of Thorvald’s good opinion was in her voice as she stood alone in front of the Seabost folk like a shepherd before a herd of bewildered sheep. There was plenty of milling about and scratching of heads but no anger, even when Egill slunk into the back of the hall.
‘We have tokens like this,’ she began, holding up one of the counters. ‘Some are blank but others, like this one, have a rune-mark on them.’ She kept the token raised until the crowd was quiet. ‘There are the same number of these as places on Hefnir’s boats, marked R for the long journey. There are not enough places for everyone so this is a fair draw. There is one token for each free man if he wants it. They are all mixed in this leather pouch and each man will come and pick one out for his family. If you draw a blank you must either make provision here, use your own boat or move inland.’
Bears, wolves and troles lay inland. The Serpent King. Frightened voices echoed round the hall until Thorvald called for quiet. Dellingr came to stand next to him, then fixed his eyes on Bera.
‘When you say there are tokens for us all, does that include you and your kin? Are you chancing with us?’
It was like slapping her face.
Bera’s confidence leached away as guilt thickened her tongue. Hefnir was looking for courage at the bottom of his chalice. No help there. Ottar was at the back with Heggi and Egill. He raised a fist to brace her. And there was her skern, trying a similar move and looking ridiculous.
It made her smile and she calmly had her answer. ‘The boats are Hefnir’s. He risks his skin every season to keep them – and keeps this village too. Thorvald takes the same risks, as you told me yourself, Dellingr, so he has a place. Ottar built these boats, so he must go. And should we leave our son behind?’
Bera’s challenge hung in the air.
Dellingr spoke so low that folk craned to hear him. ‘But what about you, Bera? You’ll draw with us, won’t you?’
How could she? Yet it seemed to matter to him so much.
There was a roar and Hefnir charged forward, spit flying. ‘Bera saw the danger. She got Ottar boatbuilding and you skivers to r
ation food. She must go and is going. She is my wife. My possession. I could sail out of here with boats laden with all my possessions. Instead of which, I’m offering places. Is it my fault there aren’t more boats? Sea-riders came, remember? I lost much that day, but I’ve shared my gains over the years, haven’t I?’ He scowled round the hall. ‘So who’ll fight me for my place? Dellingr? You going to fight me?’
Thorvald was at Hefnir’s side like a shadow, sword drawn.
Dellingr stared at Thorvald for a long moment, then turned away.
Bera started shaking the pouch. ‘Who will be the first to draw?’
Folk hesitated.
‘They won’t come near him, Thorvald,’ she hissed.
He took Hefnir’s free arm and led him over to the barrels.
Bera shook the pouch again. ‘Trust to Fate, who has already decided.’
‘That’s what we’re afraid of,’ said a fishwife.
‘Go on, then, Dellingr,’ said the baker. ‘You go first.’
Bera’s heart hammered.
Asa looked with meaning at the baby at her breast. Dellingr’s jaw set firm and he stepped forward. Bera was no cheat but the marked token was still in her hand. Was Fate meaning her to let it slip as he drew? When Dellingr paused beside her she slid it down between two fingers.
‘I’ll let you draw,’ he said. ‘I want no man to think I’ve cheated.’
She was thrown. It shouldn’t be this easy. She had his life between her fingers, like a thread, as a Valla would. ‘No, Dellingr. You must draw.’
‘Like you said, Fate’s already decided.’ He locked eyes with her.
Did he know? Dellingr was essential to settling successfully. And she wanted him to come. He must come.
Bera delved into the bag and gave him a token, face down. ‘Only you must see the rune-mark.’
Dellingr closed his fist over it, without looking, and then went over and gave the token to Asa. She kissed it for luck and then slowly turned it over.