by Susan Wright
“I’ve spoken to several men already, but they claim the season is wrong for them to leave, even if they wanted to. Lexander thinks it’s hopeless, but he is loath to tell me that.”
“You can’t give up,” I replied. “The olfs . . . your people are depending on you.”
“Nothing I do is ever enough.” Silveta dropped to the bench again, burying her face in her hands. After a moment, I realized she was crying. “Every time he . . . caught me was worse than before. His foul words, his brutality, his love of pain . . .”
I drew my breath. “Birgir? He raped you? I thought the first time was the day he killed Ejegod.”
“No, to my everlasting shame, no . . . He took me several times since you saved me last midsummer. Once he broke through the ceiling of my closet to do it. Perus knew he would be forced to fight Birgir one day. I prayed the good man would not be slain, but he paid even that price for me. Oh, it is too terrible! In that hell, my only hope was that Birgir would get me with child.” Her expression was bleak. “It seemed unlikely that Ejegod could ever become a father.”
“Are you with child?” I had to ask.
“I pray not! If I am, then there are enough witnesses that night who saw Birgir take me to the loft. I was able to hide what he had done before, and he could not reveal his conquest or I would cry rape. But now a child would simply confirm Birgir’s claim on me.”
I felt very sorry for her, but she did not seem to want my sympathy.
Tears streaked her face, yet there was still an uncanny determination in her eyes. “I could slay Birgir with my own hand for what he’s done! His men I could pardon, if they have not done rape themselves. If they have, then death for them, as well.”
I thought of Deidre, struck down by Birgir’s warriors because she had refused them. Her fate would have been mine if Jens had not saved us in the bastion. My homeland’s fate was the same. The evil in Birgir would infest the land, as surely as the sun spread light.
Silveta looked up at me. “I could slay my father, as well, if he stood before me now. Yes, my own father, who sold me to that butcher’s son! He is no father to me now. I am alone. Completely alone.”
I went to her, sitting down next to her on the bench. She let me take her hand. My own fingers were dirty, of course, from picking up rocks and climbing the steep hillsides. But for a wonder, Silveta didn’t flinch away from me. She clung tighter to my hand.
“I won’t abandon you,” I swore. “I’ll help you destroy Birgir.”
The olf began spinning around the room. Soon others appeared as well. They were happy with my pledge. I felt much better knowing I was serving them as I should. They had clearly been waiting for me to declare my intention to help Silveta oust Birgir from my homeland.
Then Lexander returned, ducking his head to get through the low doorway. “Silveta, it’s no use trying to get men here in Gronland. But the knaar leaves for Issland tomorrow. There may be warriors there.”
Her fingers tightened on mine. “I thought the ship would return to Viinland.”
“They can’t get their price for the spars, so it’s onward for them.”
“Issland!” Silveta’s expression was suddenly rapt. “Birgir was turned away from there. They’re a civilized people. And I have distant cousins in Issland. I can appeal to them.” She held out her other hand to Lexander, still holding on to mine. “Will you help me, Lexander of Vidaris? I will reward you handsomely—”
He held up his hand to stop her. “That is not my concern. I’ve abandoned a fine estate and all that I could want. No, this is Marja’s decision to make.”
“Me?” I asked in surprise.
“Yes.” He glanced down briefly. “If you want to return to Gudren and Alga, I will take you there myself. But I refuse to sell you to them. You’ll go to them as a freewoman or not at all.”
“You would send me away?” A bolt of pain shot through me.
“I saw how it saddened you to leave them,” Lexander replied, his mouth set firmly. “If you want to return, I will take you there myself.”
Silveta turned to me. “No, Marja, you promised you would help me. You’ll come with me to Issland. You and Lexander both. You can always go to the Sigurdssons after our return.”
The olfs wanted me to help Silveta, so I simply agreed. “I shall help you, Silveta, as I pledged.”
Seventeen
When we reached the harbor, Lexander prepared to pay our passage. The shipmaster refused, saying, “I was ordered to take this woman”—he pointed at me—“anywhere she chooses, along with any friends of hers.”
My eyes widened at the news. I was pleased and touched by Gudren’s gesture.
“The Sigurdssons are generous, indeed,” Lexander replied quietly, his trust in them confirmed. I knew Lexander was trying to protect me from himself when he offered to take me back to them.
The sea spirits assured me as soon as I boarded the knaar that they would watch over us on the way to Issland. Silveta was apprehensive, I could tell. Indeed the voyage called for close reckoning to cross a vast stretch of ocean to reach the tiny island. The oarsmen were dejected at the news that their spars would not fetch what they needed in Gronland. The shipmaster was also in a nasty temper when we set out, and a glum spirit permeated the voyage.
Lexander continued to shun me. But I still had dreams of us joining together, floating in the air cushioned by the clouds or deep underwater mingling with the sea spirits. It seemed that whenever I closed my eyes, we were together. And he was always watching me as I came out of my trances, as much as I used to watch him.
One evening, the sun finally sank below the horizon for the first time in ages as we sailed ever southward. I was thankful for night’s familiar cloak. Perhaps Lexander thought I could not see him, but the olf showed me everything. There was naked desire in his eyes. Despite my rebuff, he wanted me still. But he would not come to me. He would not seduce me. I would have to surrender willingly to him. But if I did that, I would lose everything. My whole life I had managed my relations with the otherworldly creatures carefully, ensuring my safety. There was much more I wanted to see. I faced a terrible choice with Lexander.
I wanted his love, but I could not make myself reach out to him. He stood tall despite the rocking of the ship, with the golden tone of his skin grown brighter from the constant sun. His shoulders were broader even than the oarsmen. I think if he had summoned me then, I would have rushed into his arms. But the few times he spoke, it was to Silveta, who gazed at him as if he were her last hope for salvation.
I grew jealous, I admit, to see their rapport. Silveta was so elegant, even subsisting on the deck of a ship in the middle of the ocean. The way she gestured, decisive yet graceful, and the carriage of her head, so proud despite her anguish, was beguiling. How could Lexander resist her? He had been so fascinated with Qamaniq, the noble Skraeling, and had enjoyed teasing out her submissive response, overcoming her intuitive sense of authority. I saw him do the same with Silveta. She, who had not bent her head to anyone, began to serve Lexander in small ways—filling his cup with water, attentive and agreeable when he spoke, touching his arm in quiet emphasis to her words. Lexander seemed to call it from her naturally, as if he would always be a slave master despite his abandonment of Vidaris and his people.
So I existed side by side with them, jealousy flaming in my chest, while fear kept me from kneeling at his feet and begging for his touch. Only when I slept did I release my desire, giving it wings to fly to Lexander. There seemed no end to the ways we made love, sometimes only kissing as if we were drowning in each other, everlasting caressing of my lips and face until I trembled in joy. He had trained me to climax with a touch, and now it took only a dream to make me shudder over and over again. I woke with a heated body, flushed and gleaming from our phantom love. Even the oarsmen eyed me like a plump peach dangling before them, ripe and juicy. Only the threat of Lexander kept them at bay.
After too many days, we sighted the glacier-capped island by
the towering plumes of ash and smoke that rose from a fiery volcano. I did not think we could have found the tiny island without the smoke, but the oarsmen took it as a matter of course, having made this journey many times before.
There was talk of how favorable the winds were for summer. I attributed it to the olf onboard, and to the cooperation of the sea spirits who slipped us into the southward currents. It seemed the Otherworld conspired to help Silveta, confirming I had done well to join her quest.
As we neared the shore, I was intrigued by the broad plains leading to woods at the base of distant mountains. But I felt an odd emptiness. Only in Vidaris had I sensed such a lack of welcome from the land. The olf onboard was also subdued, crouching on the mast.
The wind suddenly died. The shipmaster blamed it on the lowering sun. But I knew it was something more. The sea spirits were already pulling away from me, though we weren’t yet close to the shore.
With the knaar stalled, the oarsmen began to row to take us into a narrow bay. There were some stands of trees—unlike on Gronland—and the emerald-green mantle was grass and moss instead of lichen. Everywhere on the plains were hundreds of sheep, horses, and cattle grazing on the bounty. The mountains in the distance were dark and foreboding, a sharp contrast to the rich plains close to the ocean. Even in full summer, clouds gathered around the summits that were capped with ice and snow. I couldn’t tell exactly where the ash and smoke emerged, but the plume stained a huge swath of the sky.
Our knaar set down anchor within the sheltered bay among dozens of other ships. Rowboats were busy plying the waters, and the shipmaster soon hailed one to take us to shore. I had been expecting a great city, much like the bastion, or even a seaport like Brianda. But instead there were only a few dozen houses and outbuildings dotting the flat coastline. More buildings were sprinkled in the distance among the meadows and hills. Most were sod houses, more square than long. Some were made of porous stone blocks with perfectly straight sides.
There was a well-trodden road that cut through the emerald meadows, leading inland. The shipmaster arranged with a wagon master for the four of us to travel to Pingvellr. Our bedrolls were loaded into the back of an open wagon. The oarsmen would wait near the ship to prevent the valuable spars from being taken.
My last sight of our ship out in the bay revealed the olf still crouching on the mast. In Gronland, it had rushed out to enjoy the new sights along with me. Its behavior now was exceedingly odd.
Silveta asked the wagon master about finding the lawspeaker, the man who ran the proceedings of the assembly. He promised to set us down within reach of the man. I had heard Silveta and Lexander discussing their plans on the journey but had not been able to contribute. I certainly did not know we would travel for half the day in a wagon that jolted through the ruts, heading toward the base of the mountains.
I chose to walk most of the way rather than endure the rough ride. As I lifted my face to the breeze, I kept reaching out, wanting to feel the dazzling, crystal awareness that I had enjoyed in Gronland. But there was no response from any olfs, only a faint glimmer in the distance of an otherworldly presence. Even the spirits of the place felt weak and diffused, as if they had not rested there long.
I was not tempted to stray as I had in Gronland. I stayed near the wagon as it traveled ever higher inland, up successive levels of plateaus, passing sparse strands of trees along the watercourses. We met few people on the road, which made the place seem even more deserted.
Then we topped the final plain stretching between three mountain ranges. A black, craggy outcropping formed the upper end of the plain. A waterfall fell in churning white foam to a short river along the base of the cliffs. The river spilled onto the plain as if the ground had cracked open and water rushed to fill it up.
There were no olfs within reach, so I was unable to consult with them. It reminded me of my first sight of Vidaris, and I shuddered to think that Issland could be as empty. “What is this place?” I asked.
“Pingvellr,” Silveta replied. “The chieftains assemble here every year.”
The land near the lake was occupied by temporary camps, with sod lean-tos and shelters to protect the travelers. There were almost as many horses as people on this edge of the plains.
Beside the river, between the waterfall and the lake, there were several low buildings. The cliffs that towered over everything were rough and blacker than any rock I had ever seen.
When I went forward and thrust my hands into the river, the water spirits showed me a boiling heat within the earth and red-hot rocks moving in a molten flow, dazzling my mind’s eye. I saw how the island had been built from this liquid rock, spreading to form the plain I stood on now.
When I withdrew my hand, I once again saw what my eyes showed me. Truly only the water and molten rock were alive in Issland.
I caught up to Lexander and Silveta near a low sod building. Despite the covering of green, there was a sterile echo inside. I recognized it as another sanctuary of Kristna. I lingered to try to sense the god’s spirit, but even without the distracting call of the olfs in Gronland, I felt nothing.
Silveta stood with a rail-thin man who never met her eyes. “But we must be able to do something,” Silveta was pleading. “We’ve traveled all the way from Viinland to appeal to the assembly.”
“The chieftains have closed the session,” the man explained. “Nothing can be done.”
“Where are the chieftains now?” Silveta asked.
The thin man gestured to the camps along the lake. “Most will leave on the morrow.” He departed without a glance, as if strangers were a common occurrence in these parts.
Silveta put her hand on Lexander’s arm as if in need of support. “I must speak to the chieftains now. Perhaps I can bargain for warriors and boats.”
Lexander nodded, frowning slightly. Silveta turned and started back to the camps, the great cloak wrapped around her and her yellow skirts lifted high above the muddy road.
“You are disturbed,” I said quietly as I took my bedroll from him. He carried Silveta’s as well as his own slung across his shoulder. The shipmaster of the knaar was nowhere in sight.
“It’s not likely any chieftain will risk crossing the ocean to fight on foreign soils,” Lexander explained. “There is a law here against making war on other countries, and only the assembly can vote to put that law aside. With the assembly over, there is no hope.”
“But Silveta is asking for their help. They won’t be making war on us.”
“Why should they believe us? The fortunes of the western lands matter little here, I assure you. All they know is that a warband makes war wherever it goes.”
“But Silveta must get help. Markland depends on her.”
Lexander started after Silveta’s retreating form. “Markland may well have to manage with Birgir instead.”
Nearly a thousand Isslandirs were gathered on the plains under the lowering sun. I had never seen so many people in one place at a time. Many milled around the merchant stalls, taking heaping platters back to their camps. They feasted through the long evening on smoked and salted lamb, singed sheep heads, and pickled salmon and shark. One man fried bread in a vat of oil, producing wafer-thin rounds. Ale makers brewed potent drinks for the chieftains, while farmers and craftsmen displayed their wares for sale. I heard the loud voices of entertainers telling stories and saw jugglers performing miraculous feats. There were itinerant farmhands looking for work and vagrants begging everywhere. Pingvellr reminded me of a carcass lying under the sun, being picked clean by scavengers.
There was no central figure, no place of honor for their leader. I soon realized that the lawspeaker held only ceremonial functions. Everyone here was equal, and even servants sat down to eat with the families they waited on.
I would have enjoyed myself mightily, but for one thing. There was not an olf to be seen despite the free-flowing food.
Throughout the evening, Silveta searched the crowd to find the chieftains. They were usuall
y surrounded by a retinue that included bondsmen, women, servants, and children who screamed and chased each other in circles. Everyone discussed the cases that had been brought this year to the assembly, including the petitioners who still argued their sides with their friends and foes.
After listening to Silveta make her plea to a handful of chieftains, I feared for my homeland. They listened courteously, as if they were accustomed to receiving petitioners. But their faces were closed. None was willing to risk a single man on her distant blood feud.
Even Ketil Grimsson, the chieftain who was related to Silveta through common ancestors, was barely interested. Ketil was a giant man, with masses of black hair and a long, bushy beard. “My advice to you, little coz, is to go to your family in Hop,” Ketil declared flatly.
Silveta didn’t try to explain that her own father had abandoned her. “ ’Tis impossible to bargain with Viinland when the overlord would annex my land.”
“But you yourself are of Viinland,” the chieftain retorted.
“I pledged myself to Markland when I married. And I will not rest until Birgir Barfoot is dead. It is a great prize he has sought, for my land is prosperous enough to reward you as you deserve.”
Ketil waved a meaty hand at that, returning to his meal. Silveta watched him carefully, gauging her next words. I could feel that she was desperate, but her distant expression, honed under Birgir’s constant assaults, served to hide her distress.
While Silveta cajoled her cousin, Lexander surprised me by taking my hand and drawing me away. I went quiescent under his touch, unsure of what he intended. The moon was rising, lighting our way through the thick grass.
Finally, he turned to face me. “You realize that Silveta doesn’t have a chance.”
“But she must get help,” I insisted.
“The risk of returning to Markland is too great, Marja. Think of what Birgir would do to you! I would fain keep you far away from that benighted land forever.”
I wrung my hands at this terrible impasse. I could not help feeling that it was my own fault. “If only I had killed Birgir when he discovered me.”
