The Book of Bera

by Suzie Wilde

  Hefnir changed course. She did not need to tell him it was not Iraland.

  All through the night they bailed. Bera suggested fixing the spare sail under the hull like another boat skin but they were short of ropes and it was hopeless. Morning confirmed it was land but the boat was heavy and wallowing. Would they reach it in time?

  Starkwhales surged past in an arrowhead, leaving them rocking in their wake. Block whales came over in turn to inspect a chosen person then drift away, snorting and blowing with disappointment. Right whales loomed then dived, leaving behind the smell of a thousand fishy meals. An ice shark gave them a glassy stare, a grotesque pink worm hanging from its eyeball. Seals kept their distance until it had gone and then came to play around the sides of the boat, twitching long whiskers at the settlers. Dolphins swept under the bow and leapt or streaked alongside, grinning; giving them hope. So much life.

  Sigrid groaned. ‘So many horrors to eat you.’

  Huge skuas soared over the boat on their way out to sea, as did other birds, unknown to Bera. Outlying islands were so steep that they were fit only for the thousands of birds that massed them. Beyond them were savage, white-topped ridges that glowered from the centre: Ice Island. She knew that in her bones.

  Bera left Egill in her burrow, fearing what she might do if she saw it.

  Hefnir was watching her. He must know that wherever they were they must land to make repairs. He would stay where she had brought them. This was her time and she felt her Valla powers increase with every breath of this different air.

  Now they were so close to safety, the exhausted men had stopped bailing and water was pouring through every crack. Yet there was nowhere to get ashore: rocks would splinter the boat and they would be eaten before ever reaching land. The wind died and they rowed; desperately scanning for a river-mouth to enter. Everything at sea level was black, even the sand on the wide, shallow beach. Bera refused to despair and let her sea-going mind take the land’s instruction.

  ‘Put ashore,’ she said.

  Hefnir snorted. ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘It’s wide and shallow.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Here, Hefnir, before we sink.’

  The land beckoned and Bera was at one with the injured boat, a dying narwhale coming to rest, as Hefnir let the boat ride in on a rolling wave. But this time landfall would restore life. All their lives, if they pulled together.

  The crew leapt off to fix the land anchors as the boat was too full of water to pull up the beach.

  Bera was all urgency. She jumped off and fell over, her legs were so weak, but kissed the sand in thanks for giving safe harbour. The black, gritty grains crunched between her teeth and made it real. Rakki landed next to her, followed by Heggi. The settlers wanted to be on dry land. They stumbled like drunkards to get higher up the beach, then toppled onto their backs, staring up at a strange sky.

  Bodily needs soon became more pressing than their fear. A group of men went off behind a ridge of rocks and returned looking much relieved. Women and children followed, including Bera. It was a joy not to have to brace every muscle and cling on tight to a bucket.

  Afterwards, Bera helped get the livestock off. At the sea’s edge, she formally thanked Fate for their safe deliverance and glared defiantly inland. Jagged mountains couldn’t frighten her, whatever they hid. Hadn’t she faced down all the perils of the Ice-Rimmed Sea? She felt a surge of new life on a new shore and also inside her. The essential part of herself that she had packed away had made the baby strong, too.

  Heggi ran along the strand, splashing and laughing, with Rakki prancing by his side. Hefnir was at the boat with his crew, starting repairs, back in charge. The settlers kept in their tight family groups, looking about them nervously. They kept close to the sea, as if some local band of troles might stride over the high ridge of black rocks that walled off the beach from whatever lay inland.

  A river came down as far as the beach, fanning out in a myriad of streamlets that fingered their way to the sea. It was perfect for washing. Folk gradually began to chatter. Children chased and laughed, even Dellingr’s girl. Bera thought back to her own childhood, when her mother died, and knew they would have no idea that what was lost could never be returned.

  Bera avoided Asa. No mother could easily stop blaming someone for the death of her child, especially if guilt lay heavy on her own shoulders. Bera hoped the new land would gradually bring some sense of a fresh start, of possibility rather than only loss. It had worked its magic on her already.

  The animals had forgotten their terror and begun to forage. Bera led Dotta to a large patch of grass beneath the black wall and the other beasts followed. She left them grazing.

  There was no sign of Egill. Bera went to the boat and a crewman said she was still below deck, but even wilder.

  ‘He’s like some village cur, kicked and starved to madness.’

  ‘I’ll go below.’

  ‘Watch it, he’s nearly had my hand off.’ He showed her the tooth marks.

  Bera took some weak ale with her. The smell of filth and madness made her retch. She reminded herself that this was once her friend and managed to approach, matter-of-fact.

  ‘Hear that banging, Egill? Ice unclenched a few boards and they are fixing them.’

  A croak. ‘Ottar?’

  ‘The boatmender. You helped him once, remember?’

  Egill whimpered, growled, keened. Bera coaxed her into drinking. She spoke directly about the passage, about Asa’s baby; anything but where they were. It took time, an age, but finally Egill returned to a form of sanity.

  ‘So lonely,’ she managed.

  ‘I know.’

  They cried together for being orphans and said a prayer for poor Feima.

  ‘That Heggi. He’ll be a good stockman.’ Egill drank to it.

  ‘Hefnir wants him to be a trader.’

  ‘Raider.’

  ‘Heggi would never kill.’ Bera’s certainty was a comfort. ‘But there’s something about the Serpent King... Did Hefnir ever say anything?’

  Egill tapped her forehead with her fingers. ‘No one stronger than you.’

  ‘When I was most afraid I found my Valla strength.’

  ‘Folk trust you.’

  ‘So come with me.’

  Egill cringed away.

  ‘Trust me, Egill. You’ve been through the same flame as me. We’re forged by it. Like this bead!’

  Egill reached towards the glossy black bead.

  Bera seized the advantage. ‘Let’s get you washed and dressed so folk can see you’re a woman.’

  ‘Not one nor other. Shan’t wear a dress.’

  Bera lured her friend with the bead. At the freshwater stream she washed her. Egill’s bones were sharp and frail like a bird’s, but as the grime left her body, so she calmed. No one commented. Perhaps folk accepted her already – for whoever she was.

  The women had got some food together that didn’t need cooking. Children took it to a rough camp on the far side of the beach from Skits Mountain, as folk were calling the beach latrine. Sigrid managed to keep her meal down and declared it was the best commons she had ever tasted.

  A quiet fell over them once they had eaten. Bera surveyed them all. They were her folk and she would make it right for them. Before that, she had to make them believe in this place as she did but she must also be truthful; she had found her true self on the passage across and would not be made into a puppet by the lies Hefnir told to control people. Even Egill would come to understand the land as Bera did. Until then, she would not name it.

  It was time to seize the future.

  She took Hefnir’s beaker from him. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We’re going scouting.’

  ‘Why hurry? There’s no one to trade with. Nothing to trade. It’s like a giant’s hearth.’ He lazily picked up a handful of black sand and let it slip through his fingers. It was like clinker, apart from the fact that it left his hand clean.

  ‘So am I to go alone?’
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  Hefnir took back his beaker, downed his ale and got to his feet. ‘Come, Thorvald, and you two. My wife wants to go raiding.’

  The other crew laughed.

  Bera strode ahead as best she could with sea legs and deep, dry sand to wade through. The men dawdled, chatting, as she clambered up higher ground to the wall of sharply pocked black rocks and rubble. She hurt her hand as she tried to scramble over to the other side, which made her scalp tingle. She found a gully that was exactly foot-width and it was easier. And then she stopped.

  The landscape opened out before her. It was a vast open plain of vivid green pasture, rising to mossy foothills and mounds of ice-bound whiteness at great height beyond. There were rainbows over waterfalls; a fertile lushness that held the promise of grazing, crop-growing, survival. Better than that: thriving. She had trusted her instinct and now, after all they had been through, to find this! She turned to call the others but could not speak.

  When they got there she opened her arms wide to present her gift.

  ‘I brought us here, Hefnir. Not my skern, not my mother: me.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry for you.’

  Thorvald quickly said, ‘A man could grow old here without shame.’

  ‘There will be no old age for you and me,’ Hefnir said.

  Bera would not let him spoil it. ‘The others must be shown this. It is our certain future.’

  The settlers stood ranged along the ridge, looking with awe at a land that pushed back the bounds of their known world. They linked arms so the weakest could stand and then gazed some more, as if the sight could feed them.

  Pale horses swept across the valley. Their manes and tails were silver and they looked like the wind.

  ‘It’s all the same but... more,’ said Heggi, delighting Bera.

  Thin wisps of cloud trailed the mountaintops. Above the tallest peak a high, wide cloud was forming. It funnelled and twisted downwards, pursing into a pout at the base.

  ‘That’s a special sign,’ Bera said, having scried it in the black bowl. Then, Egill had swayed her into fearing it, now it was full of promise.

  Hefnir blocked her view. ‘There are no trees. What do we build with?’

  ‘There’s a strong spirit here, Hefnir. I can’t yet reckon it exactly but it’s a good place.’

  ‘We’ll stay close to the boat tonight and have a meeting.’

  Bera was glad he would help choose where exactly to settle. Between them, she and Hefnir would reassure folk that this place held promise. It meant putting up with his weakness but so be it. The prickle in her scalp could only be about Thorvald. She wanted to leave the blood debt behind, on a crueller shore.

  As they walked back she felt the first stirring from the child she carried. It made her real, this baby whose rights she had sworn away. Heggi was her firstborn; they had witnessed her oath. A son should lead but if Bera became a new kind of leader, her daughter could too.

  Bera felt disloyal, so she inspected Heggi’s wound. The sea air had crimped the edges and it looked like a sea slug crawling up his arm.

  ‘This needs to dry out,’ she said. ‘Keep it clean. Don’t let Rakki lick it.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  He had grown up on the passage, apparently, but into what? This sounded dismissive, like his father, and he was off as soon as he could.

  The settlers worked as a team. Men unloaded some stores, ready for the feast, while the crew rigged up the spare sail between some rocks, forming a booth in the gully for shelter. Then they got back to repairs, letting Egill help.

  Bera wanted a big fire, like the mead hall. Like home. Children gathered driftwood and dry brush. Some women made a hollow in the sand, while others collected large rocks, which they placed round it to make a wide hearth.

  When the firestack was built, Bera called everyone over. She used her burning-glass to light it and this amazed them. Egill made no boasts about Iraland. Afterwards, she stayed close to Sigrid as she supervised the hot meal.

  Bera would tell them about their new life when bellies were full. Till then, she took charge of drying their blankets. She found long pieces of wood, spat out by the restless sea that pounded this shore, which they used to fashion a drying rack. They set it up behind the fire, so it gave shelter from the wind that was blowing off the land.

  Heggi was missing, as was Dellingr’s girl. Growing up indeed – but they would soon be back when cooking smells reached them. Bera dribbled whenever she bent down. Hot food was enjoyed before it ever reached the mouth.

  Sure enough, the pair returned in time for the first hot meal since Seabost. The feast was an end-of-passage mash-up stew but it tasted delicious.

  ‘Can I have some more, Bera?’ Heggi asked.

  She filled his bowl. ‘What were you doing earlier?’

  ‘Rakki needed to catch some puffins.’

  ‘Where are they then?’

  He scruffled the dog’s ears. ‘He hasn’t quite got his eye in here yet.’

  But he blushed and looked across the fire to his love.

  Later, Bera went inland to the river for fresh water. Heggi came with more containers, which pleased her. A group of swans glided off when they saw Rakki. He chased them and they lumbered into the air.

  ‘Rakki likes it,’ said Heggi. ‘Is this the place where we’ll settle?’

  ‘Somewhere here. It’ll be hard work but we’re not cribbed by the lack of land like back home. There’s pasture.’

  ‘I wish...’ His voice wobbled.

  ‘Feima?’

  He blinked away tears.

  ‘We can’t change the past, Heggi. We have to make the most of now, so that we have a future.’

  She heard applause. Her skern. Was that why he would never discuss the past? He waved happily and capered along the riverbank.

  Why did she still feel uneasy? Egill’s terror that this was the gate of Hel must be as catching as red-spot. It was vital to keep her from knowing where they were as long as possible.

  They emptied the brackish water from the containers, swilled them out and refilled them. They were ready to leave when Hefnir arrived with some leather flagons. He said nothing to Bera as he filled them, handed some of the full ones to Heggi and then led his son away. Perhaps Hefnir was also tainted with Egill’s fear but daren’t show it. Rakki sensed something because he came to Bera, pushing his head against her until she stroked him. The feel of the dog’s rough fur comforted her but as soon as she picked up her flagons he scurried off after Heggi.

  When she got back to the beach the sea was blood red. The strange funnelled cloud now covered the whole western sky and was aflame. The fire was dancing, sending golden runes up into the deepening sky with a message. This time she could read it.

  Take charge, echoed her skern.

  Bera called folk to the fire. ‘Set up camp in the booth. Then we shall have a meeting about our new settlement.’

  Dellingr held up a hand to stop anyone moving. ‘Folk are dog-tired. Can’t we talk tomorrow?’

  Bera was furious. Did he think he was leading? ‘We daren’t stay on the beach longer than one night, so we need to plan whether to move inland or explore along the coast. We decide together, so we pull together to make it a success.’

  The waves sucked and crackled on the shore.

  ‘Or...’ Hefnir opened his arms wide and smiled. ‘You can show a deal more sense and come to a better land, with me.’

  19

  The rising moon squatted on the sea-rim, the colour of a great white bear. Its light made everything its own reverse. Bera looked across at her husband. His features were stark and the mouth she had once thought strong was merely stubborn. His hair hung in greasy, salt-crusted braids like hers, just as their clothes were oily and damp. She was bone-weary and wished they could sleep and wake refreshed, ready to work together. If only he would ever share his true thoughts with her.

  ‘We should talk before the meeting starts,’ she said.

  ‘Why? The choice is the sam
e for everyone, including you: come with me or stay here. Folk know who feeds them, so you’ll come too when you’re left with only the whey-faced Sigrid for company.’

  ‘They don’t need another hard sea voyage. Help me find the best place to settle here. You owe it to them, Hefnir.’

  ‘I owe them nothing. I saved them, remember.’

  ‘Wrong. But let’s not argue. The boat is damaged. Stay safe here with us.’

  ‘Safe? Here?’ Hefnir snorted.

  ‘The Serpent King waits for you in Iraland.’

  ‘I’ve managed him for years.’

  She waited for him to recall their last encounter with the Serpent but his face did not soften.

  ‘No kind word, Hefnir? He killed my father and you have not spoken once about my loss. Do you see other folk’s sorrow? Do you feel for Asa at all, whose baby was swept from her arms?’

  ‘She was neglectful.’

  ‘She blames me for hobbling Dellingr with Heggi.’

  ‘Any decent mother would have jumped in after her child.’

  Bera gave Hefnir a last chance to prove his worth. ‘I am carrying your child.’

  He looked away and spat. ‘Probably Dellingr’s.’

  Once she might have cared enough to slap him. ‘I pity you, Hefnir.’

  He headed for the fire.

  Bera had seen in his eyes that he didn’t believe it was Dellingr’s; he simply wanted an excuse to leave. If she had ever respected him, it was lost in that moment. Loss makes you strong.

  Bera told the boys to build the fire up even higher, making a beacon. Weary folk shuffled into a wide arc, facing her. Hefnir stood in front of his crew. One of them was swaying, either the worse for drink or land-sickness. Children stood by their parents, wide-eyed, smelling fear just as Rakki did, staying pressed against Heggi, with Sigrid and Thorvald on the other side.

  Moonlight was a silver sea path and the sand black gold by firelight. Could Hefnir not see the signs of richness here? There was movement where the waves licked white foam. It was her skern, paddling like a child, splashing. He saluted her cheerily and carried on.