Freydis stood with Erik and Leif, examining great lengths of wood. ‘There you are! Father, if this girl can’t outrun Leif’s runner I will give him my best cow.’
The old man looked Hekja up and down. ‘You’ve seen her run? She has the legs for it, at any rate. But can she last the distance and find her way?’
‘She will,’ said Freydis confidently.
Hekja looked from one to the other, but didn’t speak. She already had learnt that speaking out of turn would earn her a slap across the ear.
‘Hikki!’ roared Erik suddenly.
The runner stepped out from one of the store sheds. ‘Yes, master?’
‘I want you to take a message. It’s two days’ sail north, but you will run it. Understand?’
‘Yes, master,’ said Hikki confidently. He shot a glance at Hekja. ‘I can run faster than any ship can sail.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Erik.
‘What is the message and where am I taking it?’ asked Hikki.
‘The farm is due north of here, the first one that you come to up the coast, as far up a fiord as this one. The message is for my youngest son, Thorstein Eriksson. Tell him: “The traders have come. Bring your furs and join the feast.” Understood?’
‘Yes, master.’ Hikki glanced at the sun. ‘I will need dried fish, so I may eat as I run. Then I will be gone.’
‘One moment,’ ordered Erik. He nodded at Hikki. ‘This girl is a runner too.’
‘Her?’ Hikki looked at Hekja in astonishment. ‘Girls can’t be runners!’ he protested.
One of the traders had overheard. He was young, only a few years older than Hekja, with hair the same shade as the butter she had churned that morning. He stared at Hekja, which made her remember that she had forgotten to wash the cow dirt off her face, as Freydis had told her to, then bent down and rubbed Snarf’s ears. ‘A girl runner?’ he asked curiously. ‘Do the women in your country run too?’
Hekja shook her head. Suddenly she wished she had proper shoes, and a woollen dress, and a hairbrush like Freydis’ so she too could pull her hair back into plaits.
‘I’ve never heard of a girl runner,’ said the young man, pulling out some dried meat from his pouch and feeding it to the delighted Snarf. ‘Surely they don’t have the strength.’
‘Perhaps there are things you haven’t heard of, Snorri the Skald,’24 said Freydis calmly. ‘Maybe girls are more capable than you think, Hekja, I want you to take the message too. And if my brother’s runner gets there first, you will be beaten.’
Hekja met her eyes. ‘I’ll run as fast as I can,’ she said. ‘I don’t need a beating to make me run.’
Snorri gave a shout of laughter. ‘There is no way a girl can beat a man! Uncle Nils!’ he called to one of the other traders. ‘This girl is a runner!’
It’s like I’m a strange beetle in the grass, to be exclaimed over, thought Hekja.
‘Girls cannot run,’ said Hikki flatly. ‘Their skirts get in the way.’
Hekja glanced at Freydis. Freydis smiled. ‘Run!’ she said softly.
Hekja hesitated. Surely she should take dried fish too, and maybe water. But, then she caught Freydis’ eye. This way she would have a head start over Hikki!
Hekja ran, sprinting across the fields, with the men’s laughter echoing behind, and Snarf leaping at her heels.
* * *
24 Skalds were renowned poets, historians and singers. The stories they chanted were for entertainment, beauty and to record the past.
Chapter 21
THE RACE
Once out of sight, Hekja slowed down. She knew there was no way she could keep that pace for long.
Where was she supposed to run to? North, Erik had said, and hug the coast. That should be easy enough, thought Hekja. And Hikki said that he could make the run in less than two days. Surely she could run that long. But fast enough to beat Hikki? Hikki had run messages for years. He was used to finding his way across country. Somehow Hekja knew that there was more to being a runner than just putting one foot in front of another.
She was now past the familiar hills where she had herded the cattle. She crested another hill, and suddenly there was a fiord in front of her, a deep gash of rock and cliffs with the waves crashing down below. Snarf began to bound down between the rocks, but Hekja called him back.
‘This way! Good dog! We need to go around, not down!’
‘Arf,’ said Snarf happily, as though this was the best game he’d played for days. He galloped along the cliff edge, just as Hekja caught sight of Hikki, in the distance.
He was wearing a strange shift, just two lengths of cloth tied together at the sides and fastened between his legs, so his arms and legs were free to run, and he had a sealskin pack over one shoulder. He was running further inland, so he had missed the fiord altogether, loping along as though he had done this all his life. Which of course he had.
Hikki waved and grinned, but didn’t slow down. In a few heartbeats he was gone.
Hekja bit her lip. Hikki was ahead of her now, and likely to remain so. But all she could do was try her best.
Over rocks and up cliffs she ran, scrabbling at the loose gravel and sliding down the slippery rock faces. Several times she had to stop and go back and find another route, each time keeping the smell and sound of the sea to her left. And all the time the thought pounded through her brain: Hikki knows how to judge the land. He wouldn’t have to double back like this. We will never catch him. Never.
Hekja had seen one of the thralls beaten, when he had left an axe out in the rain and it had rusted. There had been blood down his back and face.
‘I would rather run forever than be whipped,’ muttered Hekja under her breath. ‘Run up into the ice, so the ice giants can catch me, and freeze me forever…’
The sun sank below the horizon. The summer twilight filled the sky, dark enough for a few bright stars, but still bright enough for Hekja to find her way, as long as she stared at the ground and not at the bright horizon.
But even Snarf was tired now. Hekja’s breath came in long, deep pants. But she refused to stop.
Then Hekja tripped. ‘Ow!’ She examined her knee anxiously, but it was only a bruise.
‘Woof!’ Snarf lay down beside her, as though to say, ‘We’ve played enough!’ Hekja ran her fingers through his fur. ‘We’ll have to stop till it gets light. Do you think Hikki will run all night?’
Snarf scratched a flea instead of answering.
There was a clump of rocks a little way ahead, enough to shelter them from the chill breeze that was blowing up from the sea. Hekja wrapped herself around Snarf’s warmth. The ground was hard and cold, and she hadn’t even brought her cloak. But she was so tired that sleep came despite it all.
The first light woke her, the sun gleaming above the icy mountains. She was almost too stiff to move, and hungry too. She had run for half a day and half a night, and it had been a long time since Gudrun’s strawberries on the hill. Snarf was already snuffling around the rocks, hoping to find mice or lizards. But he followed her as soon as she began to run.
The shadows shrank and the day grew warmer, and the sun dried up the dew. There were streams to drink from, chilled by the falling snow, but hunger ate at her insides. Worse, it was slowing her down. Several times she stumbled, dizzy and unsure of where to put her feet.
Then suddenly Snarf stopped, and sniffed the wind.
‘Snarf! What is it?’ Hekja whistled. ‘Come!’
Snarf whined. He’d come if she wanted him to. But there was something he wanted to investigate, down on the beach.
Hekja hesitated. ‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘I’ll rest, just for a moment.’
Snarf whined again, signalling Hekja to follow.
Hekja nodded and did as he asked.
There was an animal track between the rocks, which led them down to the sandy beach. And there it was—the carcass of a whale. It was as long as a farmhouse and almost as high.
Perhaps it had beached itself.
Or maybe fishermen had brought it in. But certainly men had taken all the meat along the spine—the tide and ravens would never have picked it off so cleanly. The only meat left was right at the head. Hekja stuck her hand into the blowhole. The meat was still warm, still fresh. The fishermen could not have left it long ago.
She would never have considered eating raw blubber before, though the Irish thralls back at the farm had talked of whale feasts on the beach, eating the whale meat while it was warm and raw. But Hekja was too hungry to care. This was food, and it would keep her going. No matter how bad it tasted she would force it down.
Snarf tore at a piece of blubber, and chewed it hungrily. Hekja tried to do the same, but without a knife it was impossible. Finally Hekja shared what Snarf had managed to tear off with his teeth. It tasted better than she had expected—tough but juicy. Best of all, it filled her belly, and gave her enough strength to keep going.
Once she was full she finally washed the blood from her hands and mouth in the cold sea water. Snarf wiped his mouth on the grass, too.
Then Hekja began to run again.
They ran all that day, fuelled by the whale meat, with only short stops to take a drink. That night they slept again, for the few hours the sun spent below the horizon. The next morning, Hekja had to force her legs to move, they were so stiff and sore.
And then they ran some more.
Chapter 22
MIST!
The mist came slowly, drifting like fine silk at first, down from the mountains and up from the sea, till it was like barley flour around them, then thicker, and thicker still, till finally it was impossible to see the ground.
Hekja slowed, till she realised that the mist made little difference to Snarf. She couldn’t see, but he could smell, and this was quite enough for them to find their way.
Now Snarf’s nose led the way, with Hekja at his tail. The path was stony in places, and the lichen-covered rocks were slippery. But Hekja’s bare feet were steady.
Suddenly Snarf stopped, and sniffed the air. The mist clung to his fur, tiny jewels like the stones in Freydis’ brooches. ‘Gruff,’ he snorted.
Hekja bent down. ‘What is it, boy?’
Snarf gave a short ‘yip’ and this time Hekja heard it too.
‘Help!’
Snarf barked again, more loudly this time. Whoever had cried out must have heard him, because they called out louder now. ‘Please! Help me! Please!’
Hekja looked around in the fog, but there was nothing to see but white. She laid her hand on Snarf’s head, and signalled to him to be quiet, so she could listen more closely.
Girl and dog stood motionless—all that could be heard was the sound of their breathing in the quiet air, and then the rustle of a bird. And then it came again.
‘Help! Please!’
‘Hikki,’ breathed Hekja.
‘Arf,’ said Snarf, pleased that Hekja had finally worked out what his sense of smell had known all along. He looked at Hekja, waiting for her order. Keep running, or find the man?
But Hekja didn’t hesitate. ‘Find, boy, find,’ she said.
Snarf bounded into the mist, and disappeared. Hekja tried to follow him, then stopped, confused. ‘Snarf!’ she called.
‘Arf!’
Hekja followed the sound through the mist. Suddenly she saw something, a different colour from the mist and grass and rock, and then she saw Hikki lying twisted at the bottom of a cliff.
Snarf barked again, as though to say, ‘Look, he’s over there.’
‘My foot! It’s caught!’ cried Hikki.
Hekja ran towards him. It was obvious what had happened. Hikki had missed his step in the mist. As he slithered down the cliff face the rocks had crumbled under him as he fell, trapping his leg.
Hekja knelt down and examined the rock fall, then pushed at the rock above his ankle. Hikki grunted in pain and shook his head. ‘I’ve tried,’ he said. ‘It’s caught fast. Maybe a lever—a bit of wood to prise it off. Otherwise you’ll need to go get help.’
Hekja could hear uncertainty in his voice. Would Greenlanders venture out in the mist to help a thrall? In Norway Hikki had been the king’s slave, and valued, but things were different here.
She looked around. There was a stand of crooked trees growing near a crevice, not far away. Hekja pushed at one of the trunks until it snapped at the base, then shoved the branch under the rock, Hikki giving orders all the time.
‘No, further in, the other way, no, you’ve gone too far. Now shove…’
Suddenly the rock began to move, just a bit at first, so Hekja could shove another rock beneath, then shove again.
This time the rock shifted, just enough for Hikki to draw his foot away. The rock crashed down. But Hikki was already free.
He sat there for a moment, the sweat dripping down his face, even though his skin was blue with cold. Then he felt his foot carefully, and the ankle too, then held his hand up to Hekja.
‘Help me up,’ he ordered.
‘Are you sure?’
Hikki nodded. ‘It’s bruised, that’s all. I can move my toes. It will swell tonight but for now I can keep on going.’
Hekja helped him up. He put his weight on his foot gingerly and then more heavily.
‘It’s sore, but I can run,’ he said. He looked at Hekja for a moment without expression, then reached down and picked up the sealskin bundle by his side and unwrapped it. There was barley bread inside, made sweet with dried berries, and rich with butter, as well as some strips of dried meat.
‘Here.’ He divided it into three portions—one for him, one for Hekja and the other for Snarf. Snarf gulped his down as the others ate theirs more slowly.
‘I didn’t think you would get this far,’ Hikki said at last. ‘You really are a runner, even though you’re a girl.’
Hekja smiled. It was obviously the highest compliment he knew. ‘Thank you,’ she said, swallowing the last of her barley bread.
‘It’s not easy running in a new land,’ added Hikki. ‘Especially when you don’t know your way and it’s dark and misty and you’re all alone.’
‘I wasn’t alone,’ said Hekja as she patted Snarf and rubbed his ears.
‘Even so,’ said Hikki.
Hekja waited for him to set off again, as fast as he could limp with his bruised leg. But instead he took Hekja’s hand.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He hesitated. ‘I would like to say that I would have done the same for you. But I wouldn’t have. I would have seized my chance to be the winner and left you here. You have taught me something.’ He glanced at the sky as though to work out where the sun was, but the mist was still too thick. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait here for as long as it takes to roast a hare, before I run again.’
Hekja frowned. ‘Isn’t your leg too sore to run?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I am giving you a chance to win. It surely isn’t far to go now. Call it runner’s honour. Now run!’
Hekja ran.
She had lost all sense of direction now, but it didn’t matter. Snarf seemed to know which way to go, and Hekja trusted him. Soon she realised what he had been following—the scent of smoke, and fainter still, the smell of roasting meat. People! They were nearly there.
Slowly the mist began to lift. They topped a hill and there was the farm below.
There was no mist here, just a few drifting clouds, already almost vanished in the sky. Instead there were fields and sheep and goats and thralls cutting the grass for hay with long sweeps of their scythes.
Snarf lifted up his nose to bark, to announce that they’d arrived. But Hekja put a hand on his head.
‘Ssh,’ she whispered. ‘Not yet.’ She turned around and walked back down the hill the way they’d come and sat and waited. Soon she heard the thud of footsteps and there was Hikki, loping through the remnants of the fog, not even puffed.
He stopped when he saw her. ‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded. ‘Are you hurt?’
Hekja stood up. She had worked out exactl
y what she was going to say. It would have been better as a song, but there wasn’t time to make one. ‘Call it runner’s honour, even if our masters never understand,’ she said formally. ‘We may be slaves, but we have both run well. Let us end the race together, so no one wins, or else we both do.’
Hikki looked at her for a moment, then he nodded.
And so the race ended with the two runners striding down the hill, hand in hand, to deliver the message to Thorstein Eriksson, with Snarf running at their side.
Chapter 23
A FEAST AND A CHALLENGE
They returned to Brattahlid in Thorstein’s boat, along with his bales of hides to sell to the traders, a keg of mead25 for the feast and Thorstein’s neighbours, who wished to join the celebrations.
Someone must have seen the ship as it travelled down the coast, as there was a crowd waiting for them at the pier—Freydis and Thorvard, Leif and Erik and their men, Snorri the Skald and the other traders, and Bright Eyes too, gazing down disdainfully at Snarf as he yapped in the prow of the boat. The news of Freydis’ and Leif’s bet had spread.
‘Well, younger brother?’ demanded Freydis, looking from Thorstein to Hikki and to Hekja as Snarf bounded up to greet Snorri the Skald, to see if he had any dried meat in his pouch again. ‘Who won?’
Thorstein shook his head. ‘Both of them!’ he exclaimed. ‘I have never seen the like! They came running down the hill together, hand in hand.’
‘Hand in hand!’ cried Freydis. ‘Is this true?’
Hekja lifted her chin. ‘Yes,’ she said.
Freydis’ eyes narrowed. ‘I ordered you to win,’ she said. ‘Not play handies with my brother’s thrall.’
‘You told me I would be beaten if I lost,’ said Hekja. ‘I didn’t lose. I promised I would run my best, and so I did.’
Beside her Snorri gave a shout of laughter. ‘She’s got you there!’ he cried.
Freydis looked from him to Hikki, to Hekja then to Leif. And then she grinned. ‘So! I get to keep my cow!’
‘And I keep mine,’ agreed Leif. He too was grinning.
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