Icefall

by Matthew J. Kirby

  CHAPTER 3

  HILDA

  Alric was wrong. The berserkers do not like their food raw, and I am the one who has been helping Bera cook these last weeks, while Raudi splits the hearth-logs. And even though there is little time and so much work, Bera still insists on making the meals we prepare respectable.

  “Your father knows my cooking,” she says to me. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

  Most days since the warriors came, Asa has rarely left her bedcloset, let alone the hall. She peeks out for meals, and to wash her face, but otherwise hides herself away. Without even knowing what it is, her secret pain has become my pain, and I find I am more patient with her. I only wish that I could reach into that bedcloset to pull her out and help her.

  Tonight we’ve made a thick gravy with turnips and peas and glistening pork fat to pour over dry barley bread. The smells set my stomach talking.

  When it is suppertime, the men pile in from wherever they’ve been. There is a restlessness about them, growing by the day. They do not like being penned in. Arguments break out between them more readily, and they complain about every thing. Hake controls it when he is present, but when he is elsewhere, I fear what the berserkers might do. Back home, some berserkers have been known to sack their own villages if they go too long without raiding or war. And I have heard stories of the berserkergang, the battle fury, coming upon them without warning, and when it does, neither friend nor foe is safe.

  Even Hilda seems to know they are not to be readily trusted. She stays close to me most of the time, and when she gets nervous, she rubs her horns up against my leg, asking me to scratch her ears and reassure her.

  We serve the berserkers from the steaming cauldron. They grunt their thank-yous and belch their approval as they dig into their bowls. Bera nods to me, then toward them, satisfied. Per is next in line, and I give him an extra large helping, for which I get a smile and a compliment, the same one every evening that causes me to blush.

  “You bring grace to this place, Solveig.”

  “Thank you, Per.”

  “Move along now,” Bera says. “There’s mouths waiting.”

  “Solveig?”

  I jump. Asa has appeared behind me.

  “Oh, sister. I didn’t hear you.” But I am pleased to see her out of the bedcloset.

  “I am sorry,” she says.

  “Would you like some supper tonight?”

  She nods, and I serve her. She then takes a seat by herself in a corner, and the men nearby stare at her. Openly. It grits my teeth with anger. Were my father here, they would not dare lift an eye in her direction. But in this frozen place, so far from their king, with ale so strong and walls so close, they forget themselves.

  One of them says something to her — I can’t hear what — and Asa’s gaze drops to her lap. Her neck flushes, and I set my ladle down.

  “What is it?” Raudi asks.

  “Trouble,” Bera says.

  The man says something else, and I hear the leer in his tone, but Asa doesn’t look up. I know that I should do something to help my sister, but in fear of the berserkers I look away. Then I hear Per’s voice.

  “You will apologize to the king’s daughter,” he says. He stands between Asa and the berserker, and his voice is iron-cold. “Now.”

  The berserker gets to his feet. His hair and beard are long and braided. “I take no orders from you.”

  Per strikes him, a full blow on the mouth that knocks the berserker backward over the bench and sprawls him on the floor. He feels his lip and then looks at the blood on his hand.

  The berserker gets to his feet and is about to draw his sword.

  “Halt!” comes a shout that causes me to flinch. Hake steps out of the crowd now gathered around the two men. “Leave that sword where it rests, or I’ll take the arm that pulls it free.”

  The berserker bows his head and drops his arms to his side.

  Per stands defiant. “He owes Asa an apology.”

  Hake looks at Asa. “She deserves one from me. I am sorry, daughter of my king, that I have allowed my men to become so familiar with you. It shall not happen again.”

  Asa gives a bare nod of her head. “Thank you, Captain.”

  “You.” Hake turns to the berserker. “Outside. I will deliver your punishment personally.”

  The warrior bows and retreats, followed by Hake. Over the heads of the other berserkers, I see the hall doors open and shut.

  Per turns to Asa. “I am sorry as well. I will never leave you alone —”

  “I’m all right, Per. They are only words.”

  “They are words you should never have to hear.” He looks at me. “Nor you, Solveig. If any of these men ever show you disrespect, tell me or Hake.”

  I’m comforted by his desire to protect me. He is different from the others. “Thank you, Per.”

  I return to the cauldron and pick up my ladle. The gravy is beginning to form a skin.

  The next day, the warrior with the braids has a gashed lip, a bruised cheek and eye, and he walks with a slight limp. I should be angry at him and see it as his due, but I feel a little sorry for his pain.

  As I watch him cross the yard, Harald comes up beside me.

  “I’m bored, Solveig.”

  “Have you practiced with your sword?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m already good with it.”

  “You could watch the berserkers sparring.”

  “No. I don’t like them very much.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to suggest to you, Harald. Perhaps some chores?”

  He kicks the ground. “I knew you were going to say that.”

  I laugh at him and rustle his hair. “Have you seen the drekar?”

  “Of course I have.”

  I put my hand on his back. “Well, let’s go look at it again.”

  We move toward the gate, and I notice someone following us. It is Hake.

  “We’re just going down to look at your ship,” I say.

  He nods and continues to follow us.

  Harald looks back. “He’s always there, every where I look.”

  “He’s protecting you.”

  “I don’t need protection.”

  We drop through the pine trees to the rocky shore, and there is the ship. A layer of frost has formed over the wood, turning the boat into a pale ghost. The dragon prow snarls down at us, and Harald smiles up at it in admiration. I lead him over to the log, and we sit. Hake stands a distance off. I could no more forget he is there than if a giant were standing over my shoulder.

  I remember what Alric said to me down here by the water, about being a skald. “Shall I tell you of Sigurd’s battle with the dragon Fafnir?” I say to Harald.

  “Oh, yes,” he says.

  So I begin. “Once, Sigurd went to the swordsmith Regin and asked him to fashion a blade. Sigurd needed a sword of legend to carry into battle. Regin made a sword, but Sigurd decided to test it.”

  Harald sighs and settles against my side.

  “Sigurd set a shield on an anvil and struck it with the new sword. The blade shattered in his hands, and he told Regin to make him another and to make it stronger. Regin made another sword, and this time as he worked the forge, he whispered runes into the metal to strengthen it. During this time, Sigurd dreamt of the dragon Fafnir sleeping under the mountain.”

  “Tell me about Fafnir,” Harald says.

  “Fafnir crawled through his cave, his scales glittering like mail, his body as long as a company of men marching to war.”

  Harald tugs on my sleeve. “And his treasure. Tell me about his treasure.”

  “It was a great hoard of gold and silver and all manner of gems. It was treasure enough to turn a man into a god, and Sigurd dreamt of it piled under the dragon’s body and scorching breath, and he coveted its wealth. So Sigurd returned for the second sword, and this time when he smote the shield, the shield broke in two, but the sword bent when it struck the anvil. When Sigurd saw this, he went to his mot
her and told her of his design.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She gave to him the pieces of Gram, the sword that Odin had given to Sigurd’s father, and which had broken in battle upon his father’s death. Sigurd took the pieces of Gram to Regin and bade him make a third sword out of them. Regin labored for days at his forge, until the sword was complete. It gleamed brightly, and when Sigurd held it, a flame ran along its edge.”

  “Then he tested it,” Harald said.

  “He did,” I say. “And what happened next?”

  “He smote the shield, and it broke in half, and it cut through the anvil as well.”

  “It did. And Sigurd took the sword to the lair of the dragon Fafnir. The heath was black and blasted all about the entrance to the great worm’s cave. Sigurd entered with his sword, and he battled with Fafnir. The dragon struck with his talons and his teeth and his venom. But the sword forged from Gram cut through the dragon’s scales to his heart and killed him.”

  “And the treasure belonged to Sigurd.” Harald strikes the air with his fist.

  “Well, that is another story.”

  “Tell me another.”

  “Shall I tell you the story of when Sigurd avenged his father’s death?”

  The eagerness fades from Harald’s face. His wide eyes dim, and his shoulders sag a little. “Not that one.”

  “It’s a good story.”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” he says, and stands. “And now I’ve seen the ship. I’m going back up to the hall.”

  “What is the matter?” I ask.

  But he leaves me sitting on the log and starts up the path. Hake looks at me and then follows after Harald.

  When I think about it, I should have known that story would upset my brother. He wants to be Sigurd fighting the dragon, not Sigurd grieving the death of his father on the field of battle. Not when our real father is at war. I think Alric was wrong about me. I would not make a good skald, after all.

  I stay down by the drekar for a while to be alone. On my way back up to the steading, I find a miraculous, frozen stalk of yarrow poking out of the snow. It’s one of Hilda’s favorite things to eat, so I dig it out of the snow and bring it up to the steading for her. But I can’t find her. I ask a few of the berserkers, Ole, and the others, but no one has seen her. I am concerned, and later that night when she does not come into the hall to sleep, I begin to panic. I call for her out in the yard, the yellow light spilling over my shoulder from the hall. I spend a long time doing this, until I have no choice but to go back inside. But I don’t sleep well, and first thing the next morning, I go looking for her.

  I search every shed and outbuilding and find no sign of her. I worry that she wandered out of the steading during the day, and tears come to my eyes when I think that she may have been lost in the forest, frozen or devoured by wolves during the night.

  But the guards at the gate swear they never saw her leave. And they would have noticed a goat, they say.

  The only place remaining to check is the larder, but I don’t see how she could have gotten in there. We keep the door locked and secured to protect against scavengers, even wolves or bears who might find their way into the steading if hungry enough. Bera gives me the key hanging from her brooch, and I go to the storehouse.

  At first, every thing inside is dark and indistinct. But then my eyes adjust, and I jump when I see a figure in front of me. Then I realize it isn’t a man, but something hanging from the ceiling. I reach out my hand to touch it. The thing feels cold and slightly sticky. An animal skinned and hung to age before Bera carves it. But the berserkers brought none with them but cuts of pork, and it is too small to be a deer. Then I see the face and the horns.

  “No,” I whisper and cover my mouth.

  I fly from the larder into the center of the yard. I look around at all these men, these berserkers. I want to scream. Who did it? Who butchered her? But I am helpless. My chest aches. I remember Hilda looking to me from across the darkened hall as she searched for a safe place to settle among these strangers. I remember her bleating.

  I slide to the ground and sob, and then I start to pound the frozen earth around me. I tear at the ice and pummel it. I feel nothing inside. I am only my anger and my fists.

  There are several people gathered around me now. A moment later, I hear Bera’s voice, but not what she says.

  Then one of the berserkers clears his throat. “She just started having a fit.”

  “Something must have happened,” Bera says.

  I look up at her. “They killed her!”

  She drops to my side and puts an arm over my shoulders. “Killed who?”

  “Hilda!” I say, and start weeping again.

  Bera whips her head up at the berserkers. “You killed the goat?”

  Uncertain glances pass among them. “I thought she was dried up,” one of them says.

  “The girl had grown fond of it,” Bera says. “The only piece of home she had here.”

  No. She was not a piece of home. She was my friend, and I was hers.

  “Go on, all of you,” Bera says. “Give us some privacy.” And I hear feet shuffling away.

  “I hate them,” I say.

  “Solveig, child, they didn’t know.”

  I look up at Bera, sputtering. “You didn’t stop them!”

  “I didn’t know of it, or I would have.” She shakes her head. “She was a fine goat.”

  “She was …,” I start, but in my mind I see that red thing hanging in the larder, that carcass, and a gag doubles me over.

  “Come now,” Bera says, and pats my back.

  I cough a bit until the nausea subsides. Then I sit up and look around. Everyone in the yard is staring at me. I glare at them all, each and every one. Hake is the only one who doesn’t meet my gaze.

  “Here, dry your eyes,” Bera says, and lifts the hem of her apron. She wipes my face and makes a sh-sh-sh sound. “Enough of this, now.”

  She doesn’t understand. “Where is Per?” I ask.

  “Per?”

  Per. He told me to come to him if the warriors ever showed me disrespect or hurt me.

  “He’s out back, splitting wood with Raudi,” Bera says.

  I pull away from her and stumble down the side of the hall. Per will make it right. I don’t know how, but he will. I round the corner and he and Raudi are there, halved logs spread out around them. Per looks up, sees me, and drops his axe.

  “Solveig?”

  I rush to him and throw my arms around him, and then I’m sobbing all over again.

  He puts one of his hands against my head, the other on my back, and holds me.

  “What is it, girl?”

  “Hilda,” I start, but I stammer and can’t get it out. Raudi stands nearby, looking confused.

  Per sighs. “Oh. That.”

  It takes a moment for me to understand the meaning of what he has said. When I do, I shake his hands off and pull away. “You knew?”

  He looks away from me, at the ground. “Not before it was done.”

  “But afterward? And you didn’t tell me?”

  “Solveig, I didn’t want to upset you.”

  I whisper, “I thought you …”

  “You thought I what?”

  But I don’t know what I thought. I can only stare at him, the cold anchor of disappointment in him dragging me even lower into my grief.

  “Solveig?” he says, and when I don’t respond, he throws up his hands. “For pity’s sake, it was just a goat.”

  When he says this, Raudi steps forward, and my stomach freezes over. Per doesn’t understand at all. Hilda was mine to care for, and she needed me. Without her … “You aren’t any different from them,” I say, and then I run, a sparrow’s flight.

  I don’t know where I’m going, I just race away from the hall, across the field, into the ravine, up the mountains. I have to get away from everyone, even from Bera, Asa, and Harald. From the berserkers, those foul, violent, cruel men. And from Per.


  The snow is deep but I press on, higher and farther, and the steading grows small behind me. When I finally stop, I am standing under the glacier. It rises up white and blue, as if it has frozen some of the sky within it, and from somewhere deep inside, it groans. Water runs out over the rocks underneath, and I stoop to drink from the stream. It is so cold it hurts my teeth, and then I splash some on my face to wash away the tears.

  I sit down. I don’t want to cry anymore, so I keep my thoughts away from Hilda and listen to the ice. It speaks to me of scouring winds, of cloudless nights, of endless cold. It measures its loneliness by the weight of its layers, the years and years of snow falling unobserved. I’ve been told its lament is loudest at the beginning of winter and the coming of summer, as if it knows that is the closest it will ever come to warmth and thaw. As if it yearns for its own demise. But it can and will only be what it is, bleak and alone, until the breaking of the world.

  In the depth of winter, when the frost giants gathered and the storms raged outside the hall, Father’s men sat drinking. The ale and mead flowed freely, and stronger than usual. More than one fight had broken out, and had threatened to mount into brawls if not for the control Father exerted over them.

  I had fallen asleep outside my bedcloset, on a bench among them, unnoticed.

  When a loud curse woke me, I startled from the bench and fell to the ground. All the men around me saw it, and they stifled their laughter. My cheeks flushed red as I knelt there, embarrassed and scared. I didn’t want to get up.

  But then you were beside me, Per. You bent and offered me your hand.

  “There, there,” you said. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

  You smiled at me, but not like the others did. There was no mockery in your eyes. And I let you help me to my feet.

  “Are you all right?” you asked.

  I could only nod.

  “Good,” you said, and then you turned your face away from me, toward the mealfire, and called to Bera.

  Bera, then you came and brushed the straw from my woolen skirt, and picked it from my hair. “Why aren’t you in bed?” you asked. “Let’s get you to sleep, eh? Asa is already there.”

  “Good night, Solveig,” I heard you say, Per, as Bera led me away.