by Suzie Wilde
‘We’re going!’ she shrieked.
Her daughter screamed and hugged her, Asa burst into happy tears and the baby wailed.
Dellingr looked back at Bera. His eyes made her feel unbearably sad.
Then folk clustered round her, keen to draw. Bera made sure there was enough to drink so no one noticed how few could leave. When it was over, Ottar and Egill came back to the longhouse in case there were reprisals.
After a rough meal, Ottar finished his ale, wiped his mouth and looked at Hefnir.
‘What about Egill?’
‘Other decent folk can’t go.’
Hefnir had sobered now the difficult decisions were made. Bera caught a flicker of recognition in Thorvald’s eye and felt disloyal.
‘It’s you that brought me here,’ said Egill, matter-of-fact.
‘That’s true, Hefnir,’ said Bera, ‘and don’t forget Egill can pilot.’
Hefnir snorted. ‘I know the way backwards.’
‘To Iraland?’ Bera waited for him to deny it but his face was blank. ‘Egill? He needs you, doesn’t he?’ It was suddenly clear to her. ‘He took you from your island to get him there. He wasn’t saving you, he was looking after himself.’
Egill smiled. Perhaps she knew she was safe.
‘Ottar and I reckoned another two places on our boat,’ Bera said, and looked pointedly at Sigrid.
They all looked.
Sigrid threw her apron over her head. ‘Stop staring at me.’
Thorvald unveiled her and stroked her cheek. ‘She has a mortal dread of the sea, as you all know. It might kill her to come on board. Someone else can go in my place. I’m stopping here with Sigrid.’
Hefnir gave a startled bark of laughter.
Bera was equally shocked. What was Thorvald’s game? Was he trying to force Sigrid into going out of gratitude? A look passed between the couple that made Bera tearful with envy.
Hefnir gave a lazy, knowing smile. ‘I see what you’re doing, Thorvald.’
Thorvald kept his arm round Sigrid and led her gently to their billet.
Ottar stood up and stretched. ‘You’ve been right all along, Bera. We need to get going soonest.’
Bera managed not to gloat. It was all too serious.
She took Heggi to his bed and helped him undress because his arm was sore.
‘I’ll look at it properly tomorrow. All right?’
Bera unwrapped the old dressing and gave it to a thrall to burn.
‘You didn’t say stepson,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘At the choosing. You said “our son”.’ He curled up with Rakki.
‘Was that all right?’
Heggi kept his head buried. Not avoiding the question, like his father, she now saw, but with shyness. She felt protective and kissed his hair. It smelt of oatmeal and honey.
Bera crossed the hall, yawning and longing for sleep. The others had gone to bed, apart from Thorvald, who was waiting for her.
‘Sigrid insists you look at this.’ He awkwardly held out his hand, palm upwards, where deep punctures and scratches had turned puffy.
Bera winced. ‘What did that?’
‘Thorns. At the dam.’
Of course. When Hefnir should have helped him.
‘Come to the dairy.’
Bera tended him in silence. The act of care was awkward, probably for them both, as Thorvald kept his eyes fixed on what she was doing. Or did he think she would pack the wound with poison?
Afterwards, Bera went to her billet. She unpinned her brooches and laid down her keys on her marriage chest.
Hefnir had a fit of coughing. He got up, banged his chest and swigged some ale.
‘Come here, wench, and give your master a kiss.’ He grabbed her hips with both hands.
Bera was too tired to fight. Hefnir pulled off her dress and stood back. Her body became beautiful under his gaze and her breath caught, as it had on their honeymoon. Here was more proof of her Valla passion.
‘I can be a brute,’ he said, and kissed her. ‘You did well tonight. I thought there would be a riot. I was proud of you.’
His pride in her increased desire. It was neither good nor bad; it simply was.
Afterwards they lay together, heads close. Bera’s small feet stroked his shins. The thought came to her that desire could be his weakness, too, and she could use it to get at truth.
‘What did you mean about Sigrid and Thorvald?’ she asked. ‘About what he’s up to?’
‘You never give up, do you, shrimp?’ He sighed. ‘You won’t like it, but men would say anything to get under a woman’s skirt.’
‘Hefnir!’
‘I’m serious. You watch. Come the day we leave he’ll be the first one on the boat.’
‘Are you the same?’
He studied every feature on her face, as though for the last time. It was an odd sensation and made Bera sick to her stomach.
‘We’re all the same when it comes to women, Bera. Don’t believe any man if he seems kind.’
Was he warning her about himself?
The next day Hefnir gathered together the few remaining thralls and told them they would be free in a few days. One of them was the slant-eyed woman. Thorvald stood by in case there was trouble.
‘You can try Crapsby, this side,’ Hefnir said. ‘They might have enough food.’
Bera shuddered, thinking of wind blowing through the empty ways, left to Drorghers. ‘You must go further. We thank you for staying and will send you off with food.’
Hefnir clapped his hands. ‘Heggi’s small fishing boat could keep a man if he works hard and—’
‘I claim that boat,’ Thorvald said. ‘I shall buy it from you. It will keep me and Sigrid this season.’
Hefnir snorted. ‘You? A fisherman? That’s funny.’
The slant-eyed thrall listened with the rest, her face closed. Hefnir was making no secret of their going. He must be sure that she was loyal to him. Or was he telling the Serpent King they would not pay for protection they no longer needed?
Thorvald asked to see the fishing boat.
Hefnir agreed, treating it like a shared joke. ‘I’ll bring Heggi to give some boating advice.’
Bera set the thralls to work and the woman was not among them. She told Hefnir.
‘She’s gone early, pleased to be free,’ he said.
‘Free to tell the Serpent. You seem unconcerned.’ She had an idea. ‘Are you hoping he’ll come to Iraland and force Thorvald to come with us?’
Hefnir sighed. ‘You always see things the way you want them to be.’
‘No, Hefnir. It’s usually the opposite.’
He left and Sigrid came in from the byre, her expression shifty.
‘I went to see Asa,’ she said breezily. ‘I found some baby things of Heggi’s that would do for theirs.’
‘I wish you’d asked first.’
‘You’re too busy.’ Sigrid went on into the pantry.
Bera was at her heels. ‘Was Heggi up there?’
‘Asa said he was off with the lads. Getting puffins for the poor folk or some such nonsense. That baby’s the image of Asa.’ Sigrid turned away.
‘You love babies, don’t you?’ Bera said, all crossness gone.
She fought down the urge to tell her she had married the man who had killed her only child. It was a secret that must never be told. Bera could see the affection Sigrid had for Thorvald, much as she wished otherwise. And despite what Hefnir said, she believed Thorvald was staying with Sigrid. Otherwise why would he want a boat?
Sigrid rubbed her eyes on her apron. ‘Anyway, your soft spot for Dellingr’s done them some good. Even Asa admits it.’
‘What soft spot?’
‘It got them on a boat.’
‘I drew the rune-mark by chance.’
‘But you know what I’m talking about.’
Bera’s face flared with the guilt of her original scheme. In the end, though, she had only willed it. Wasn’t she a Valla?
<
br /> Sigrid patted her arm. ‘Folk know you’ll need a smith.’
‘I hate all this! What has Asa been saying?’
‘Don’t worry, she’s grateful.’
‘But I did nothing, I swear!’ Bera marched over to the shelves and clattered some bowls and dishes onto the bench.
Her skern sat cross-legged at the end.
You have the gift of memory.
‘Memory brings pain.’
Blind Agnar and his old dog came into her mind, Falki’s wife. Poor Sigrid losing everyone she loved.
Pain’s useful. It’s how to be kind.
She went over and kissed her friend. ‘How do you stay so strong?’
‘Loss. It’s loss that makes you strong. You’ll see.’
16
The boat wasn’t finished but Bera insisted they had to leave now. Folk needed no persuading that they must go before gale season began.
The night before they were due to set off, Bera returned to an empty hall. The thralls were gone and their quarters silent. A single stewpot was bubbling over the fire and there were no sweet-smelling boughs on the floor or hangings to brighten the walls. Only their bedrolls remained. Bera felt sad. This had become her home, eventually.
A groan came from Thorvald’s billet. Inside, Bera found Sigrid sitting on the sleeping platform, head in hands.
‘You can’t stay in here,’ Bera said. ‘It’s worse than the hall.’
Sigrid lowered her hands. ‘I’m that mizzy-mazey.’
Bera felt her forehead. It couldn’t be red-spot again. ‘Have you been sick?’
‘Twice. And I’ve got a splitting headache.’
‘No fever, though. I know what this is...’
Sigrid shook her head. ‘Leave me be.’
Bera sat beside her, thigh against thigh. ‘Have I ever asked you for anything, Sigrid? Really asked, I mean.’
‘Here we go.’
‘You’re sick because fear is forcing you to stay when your heart doesn’t want to.’
‘You sound like Thorvald.’
‘Sigrid, I beg you. I implore you. Please come with me.’
Sigrid shot up. Her neck was cords of anger. ‘It’s not about begging, Bera! I’m the one who followed you here, much as Ottar tried to stop me, scared to death of what I’d say. Well. That’s long ago.’ She sat down again. ‘Listen. You’re my dear friend’s daughter. I’d follow you beyond the known world – on land. I’m a stupid old fool and terrified.’
‘So tell me about Ottar.’
Sigrid pulled a fur round her shoulders. ‘We’re going to have it out about Bjorn first.’
Bera’s lips prickled as the blood left them. She struggled with what to say; what would do least damage. It was all too late. She should have told her at once. No. She should have killed Thorvald before Sigrid laid eyes on him.
Sigrid sighed. ‘You did know that Bjorn loved you?’
So how could she not avenge his death? Bera lashed herself.
‘You were sweet children, both of you. But then you grew up and Bjorn talked about wedding you. That was wrong, Bera, so Ottar did the deal with Hefnir. My poor Bjorn died, of course, but it was all arranged by then.’
‘Stop.’ Bera struggled to understand. ‘Are you saying Ottar sold me so I wouldn’t marry Bjorn?’
‘He and I talked about what to do. Then Hefnir came wanting boats and it all fitted.’
Bera’s throat ached when she thought of Bjorn’s poor poem. ‘Then Bjorn died.’
Sigrid clenched her jaw. ‘I didn’t want you leaving me with this secret between us.’
‘What secret? I loved Bjorn like a brother. I’d never have married him.’
Sigrid held her face in both hands. ‘We couldn’t risk you lying together.’
‘Why? He wasn’t kin.’
‘Oh, Bera. Ottar said he’d kill me if I ever told you.’
‘But you need to.’
Sigrid whispered, ‘Bjorn was your half blood brother.’
‘Close kin?’ Bera dreaded hearing more; perhaps she had known it already. ‘So are you saying... Ottar was his real father?’
‘He forced me, out of spite and jealousy.’
‘What jealousy?’
Sigrid smiled, sadly. ‘You keep trying to be like your mother, Bera. She was a Valla all right, but human, too. She took my husband.’
‘Bjarni?’
Sigrid touched Bera’s necklace. ‘Bjarni gave her that bead with his rune on.’
The one Bjorn kept saying was his.
Never believe a man when he’s being kind.
‘Folk always said Bjorn was the image of his father but they didn’t know that was Ottar.’
‘You said you couldn’t have children.’
‘Nor could I with Bjarni. I had Ottar’s son – his only son. I was even grateful, afterwards.’
Then, like good sail-trim, everything tracked clean: Ottar’s raising Bjorn; his disrespect for Sigrid; his watchful guarding of a Valla’s honour. Why Sigrid had kept quiet about wifely duties. Why no one talked about her mother. Jealousy.
‘I didn’t want you learning Valla stuff and getting like your mother.’
‘You haven’t told Asa all this?’
‘Course not! I do feel better getting all this off my chest, mind. I should have told Bjorn and all, but Ottar plays everything close.’
Cramps clawed Bera’s stomach, taking her breath away.
‘Whatever is it?’
Bera feared blood with no idea why. An iron hook ripped her guts.
‘Bad pain, Sigrid.’
‘What pain? Your heart?’
‘I don’t know.’ Not heart. Womb.
Thorvald’s voice. ‘We’re starving. Is she ill?’
‘She’ll be all right. Go and fetch some water.’
‘Need air.’ Bera managed to walk through to the hall, leaning on Sigrid.
Hefnir was by the fire. ‘My last night here ever,’ he said, sounding pleased.
‘Bera’s ill.’
Thorvald came back with water. He moved a stool for her to sit and then put a beaker into her hands. Bera drank thirstily. Too late, she marvelled at taking something from Thorvald that might be poison. Or did the cramps mean she was poisoned already? She felt like she might die. The hall was spinning. Had Hefnir ordered Thorvald to poison her because she was in charge? Or was he jealous of Dellingr?
‘Now.’ Hefnir clapped his hands. ‘Last chance, Sigrid. Stay or go?’
‘Stay.’
‘And I stay with her,’ said Thorvald, calmly.
‘You can stop this pretence now.’
‘I stay with my wife.’
‘Wife!’ Hefnir pushed his face close to Thorvald’s. ‘You’re coming with me.’
Thorvald stared him out.
Bera struggled to focus, to speak.
Hefnir approached Sigrid. ‘His duty lies with me. Not with an old crone like you!’
She squared up to him. ‘I want him here with me!’
‘Then we’ll have to make you not want him, won’t we?’
‘No. Stop it now, Hefnir.’ Bera knocked over the stool.
Thorvald helped her back. ‘Nothing you say will make a difference, Hefnir.’
Hefnir jabbed a finger in fury. ‘Do you know who he is, Sigrid? Do you know who you married?’
‘No, Hefnir. Enough.’ Dots danced before Bera’s eyes.
‘Well, Thorvald, I won’t shield a murderer any longer. That’s what he is, Sigrid. This is the man who killed your son.’
Bera’s sight narrowed to a point. Someone would end up dead. This was all her fault. It began that day on the beach. The hot iron smell of blood.
And then Sigrid’s steady voice. ‘I already know it all, Hefnir. I know how you pick fights and leave Thorvald to sort it out. I know what you made him do that day and I know...’ Her voice finally cracked.
Thorvald ran to her. ‘Dearest...’
Sigrid patted his hand. ‘I’m all right. It doesn’t
mean I love Bjorn any the less.’
The known world was skewed, leaving Bera reeling. ‘How long have you known?’
‘Before the handfasting. We have no secrets.’
‘How could you forgive him?’
‘It’s not about forgiving, Bera,’ Sigrid said. ‘It’s about love. One day you’ll understand.’
Hefnir roared. ‘Mawkish crap! Would you really leave me, Thorvald? For that? For a fat, old, bandy-legged woman who’s a scold and a gossip and—’
Thorvald punched him.
Hefnir put a hand to his mouth and was studying the bright blood from his split lip when the black tunnel closed.
Bera came round in her billet alone with Sigrid.
She put a hand on Bera’s stomach. ‘How far along are you?’
Not this, not now. Let Sigrid be wrong.
‘I’m not...’
‘You’re not showing. Is it moving?’
Bera shook her head. ‘I was using a potion, but I forgot in all the trouble. I don’t want a baby! Don’t hate me for saying it, Sigrid.’
‘Lie back and rest. I wish we’d all kept our mouths shut.’ She pulled some furs around Bera and stroked the hair off her forehead. ‘I’m so stupid.’
‘You’re not. I’m glad I know everything.’
But a baby... Her skern had even hinted at it when she felt sick. She wanted them all to be wrong – or was Fate giving her the one reason to get Sigrid aboard?
‘I’m afraid, Sigrid. What if the baby kills me, like my mother? I need you.’
‘You do.’ Sigrid looked her straight in the eye. ‘I’ve been thinking, while you were in your faint. Someone needs to look after you and the babe.’
‘You’re coming with us!’
‘I don’t know how I’ll manage, mind. I’ll drown, for sure. And the thought of being eaten by monsters with teeth... the Skraken! Thorvald will have to club me to get me onto that vessel.’
‘Believe me, Sigrid, I’d do it to get you aboard but Thorvald won’t.’
‘Won’t do what?’ It was Thorvald himself.
‘Club Sigrid.’
Nor, of course, had he poisoned the water. Bera was recovered enough to go back to Hefnir, who was still staring into the fire.
‘Sigrid’s coming with us! So you can make it up with Thorvald because they are both coming.’
Hefnir gave no sign he had heard. But Thorvald swept up his wife and swung her like a child. His gashed face grinned. It was the ugliest sight Bera had ever seen but it touched her.