“ ‘You are a mighty man,’ the berserker said. ‘But you could be mightier still if you overcome your fear.’
“ ‘I fear nothing!’ your father shouted.
“ ‘You fear the beast that is inside you,’ the berserker said. ‘You are afraid that if you challenge it, you will fail. So you fight with me instead.’
“Your father spat. ‘Stop talking and finish this!’
“ ‘I’m not going to kill you,’ the berserker said. ‘Though that might be the easier road. But no, I am going to train you.’
“ ‘I’ve no wish to be a berserker,’ your father said.
“ ‘Do you wish to be a king?’ the berserker asked. ‘Because you have it in you to become one, and I can lead you there.’ He offered your father his hand, and after a long moment, your father took it. They traveled together for several years, and your father passed through three trials, each a tale in its own right.”
I am rapt by Alric’s story. The image of my father shifts in my mind like a cloud with each of Alric’s wind-words. My feelings for my father have been unseated, and I do not yet know where they will settle.
Alric continues. “First, your father fought the fearsome haugbui of a fallen champion that had been tormenting its own village, sending the bloated corpse back into its grave.
“Then, he hunted a great bear, a man-killer, deep into its cave. Their battle shook the mountain by its roots, and the bear’s pelt was large enough to cover four benches in the meadhall.
“And finally, your father fell in love with your mother, and served her father for years to prove his worth and earn the right to marry her.
“Along the way, he learned the berserker ways. He learned the prayers that quiet the beast inside. He learned the chants that rouse the beast to a frenzy before going to war. And in those years, your father fought the hardest battle of his life, but mastered himself in the end. The rest of the story, I think you know.”
The tale has left me breathless. “And what about the old berserker?”
“Berserkers are not so honored in other kingdoms and chiefdoms. In many places, they are exiles, reviled and feared. But your father gave them a place of honor. He appointed them as his elite guard in tribute to the man he had met, fought, and learned from.”
It is a wonderful tale, and I know that Alric has already gilded it with myth-metal. Beneath the firelight reflected in the ornamentation, I can almost see the ordinary truth. I wonder why Alric would go to the effort now for me, his only audience. And then I know. It’s about fear. My father has always seemed immune to fear, but now I know that it is something to be mastered, not denied.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say. “Whatever do you mean?” he asks, his eyebrows up. “In my fear, you ask me to tell a tale about overcoming fear.”
He laughs. “I didn’t think to fool you. Only to surprise you.”
I nod. “It is a good tale, and I will tell it.”
“It is a good tale.”
“And my father will enjoy it?”
Alric nods. “I trust that he will.”
So long as he even lets me tell it.
Several days later, I stand at the cliff, staring at the widening gaps in the ice, willing them to narrow and close. A ship could enter now, something Harald reminds us of daily as he shoots about the hall, flying like an ember popped from the hearthfire. He wishes we were leaving this place today.
But we are not.
Though I wish we were as well, even with the dread I feel when I think about returning home. Each day we remain in this place is another opportunity for my dream to emerge from the bedcloset into daylight.
Below me, down by the water, Ole fishes, alone. Hake wanted to go with him, but the old man insisted he could take care of himself, and that no enemy would be interested in an old worthless thrall, anyway. So he casts his lines and his net by himself. I’m too far away to know if he’s having any luck, but my mouth waters at the thought of eating fresh fish tonight.
Later that evening, Ole brings in a line of glistening fish. Some of us gasp and others laugh. Bera, Raudi, and I clean them, saving the offal to fertilize the garden plot in back. Then we slap them down on flat cooking rocks among the embers. First, the fish release their briny steam, and then their eyes shrivel above their open mouths, and then their skins begin to crackle and brown, and I don’t remember ever getting so much plea sure from watching something cook.
Soon, we are all peeling and eating the crispy skin, and flaking off chunks of moist meat with our hands. I feed some to Muninn, and he snatches the morsels from my fingers as though he is as tired of oats as I am. Harald and I smile at each other, greasy-fingered, and suck on the bones. We add them to the offal for the soil, and Bera plops down on a bench with a sigh.
“Tomorrow,” she says, “I think that I shall begin to pack up our things.”
Per turns to her. “Pack up?”
“To go home,” she says.
“We’re not leaving,” Per says. “We’re staying here.”
And with that, joy, our brief guest, leaves us.
“Why would we stay here?” Bera asks.
“Per is right,” Hake says. “We have had no news of the war. And even when a messenger arrives, they might not bring welcome tidings.”
“This is ridiculous,” Bera says. “I see no reason to stay in this place any longer. The fjord is open, the sea is calm. It is the perfect time.”
“And what if the king’s children are still in danger?” Hake asks. “You would risk their safety for your own sake?”
“Of course not,” Bera says. “But do you really think they’re safe here? Perhaps you need to go take another look in the cowshed.”
Hake explodes, “Don’t you dare speak of my men in such a way!”
“Why are you so keen to keep us here?” Ole asks Hake.
The berserker looks at the thrall, and then away. “Stick to fishing, slave.”
“It would seem to me,” Ole says, “that you must have a reason. Are you leaving some work here unfinished, perhaps?”
Hake laughs. “Such as?”
But Ole does not need to say it. He is accusing Hake of being the traitor. I look at the berserker, and I remember his night-prayer. I know he didn’t do it, for I have seen his heart. But the others haven’t, and by the wariness on their faces I can see that Ole’s words have trailed doubt into the hall after them like a cold breeze.
“I agree with Hake,” Per says.
“Of course you do,” Ole says, and then he looks at Asa. “Why would you want to go back to your king’s hall?”
Per lunges. “You forget yourself!” And he backhands Ole. The old man tumbles over his bench. I cover my mouth, shocked.
Ole struggles up, rubbing the side of his face.
“Ole speaks the truth!” Bera says. “It could have been you, Per.”
“Me?” Per looks like he is about to strike her as well. “You accuse me? You’re the one who cooked that cursed goat!”
That brings Raudi to his feet. “How dare you!”
Per’s hand goes to the hilt of his sword, and Bera gasps.
Harald starts to cry. And the shouting rises to a roar, accusations filling the air like arrows.
It is finally too much. We have fractured under the strain and are undone. It wasn’t the hunger that broke us. It wasn’t the meat from my Hilda, nor the death that ravaged us. Suspicion is a different kind of poison. A potent toxin of whispers and air. We’re all infected, and it will be our end.
In the next moment, I know someone will be hurt. I cannot allow it. I must do something. And so I rise to my feet.
“Listen to me!” I cry. “For I have many stories to tell.”
The hall falls silent. Everyone stares.
“All of you! We cannot let this enemy divide us. We cannot let our suspicions and our doubts run wild, or else we will destroy ourselves. Brave and honorable men have died, and it is true that there may yet be a traitor among us. But i
f there is, we hasten his purpose if we turn on one another.”
I look around the room, at the faces of the people I love.
“We cannot forget who we are,” I say. “Who we were. If ever you listened to me, hearken to me now. For I would remind you …”
Have you listened?
Do you still wonder at the meaning of these stories, and my reasons for telling them?
One of us is a traitor. One of you. I accept that possibility only because the signs all say I must. But it rends my heart.
And that is why I cannot bring myself to accuse any of you. After all that I know of you, after all I have seen and loved in each of you, how can I? Who shall I name murderer among you? Per? Bera or Raudi? Ole? Hake? My own brother or sister? To believe it is possible about any one of you is to believe the stars will die. To accuse any one of you is to slay the stars, myself.
And so I ask you, which of us can you accuse without bringing down the walls of this household? Who can you suspect without poisoning your heart toward the rest? To suspect one is to suspect all. Stop this now.
I know that evil hides here, but I cannot be the one to uncover it. Neither can any of you. Time will do that for us.
And how I fear that day, for I know that when I look into my betrayer’s face, I will see someone I thought I knew. And I will still love them.
CHAPTER 15
MESSENGERS
I do not bow my head. I want to look each of them in their eyes, to hold their gaze, till one by one they turn away from me.
At last, Hake clears his throat. “We would be wise to listen to Solveig.”
No one responds to him. But I can nevertheless feel the room emptying of anger and hate. I feel the tension in my own body recede before a wave of relief.
“We will have no more of this talk,” Hake says. “We stay until the king sends for us. Not because it is what I want. Nor because it is what Per wants. But because that is what the king ordered us to do.” The berserker looks around. “Are we agreed?”
Heads hang low around the room, and still no one responds.
“I think we are agreed, Captain,” Alric says.
The skald sits away from the rest of us in a corner, and it occurs to me then that he never said a word during the entire outbreak. He sat there and watched, and now he watches me. But the expression on his face is pained.
When he approaches me later, I find out the reason.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he says. “Nor what to say. But you did. Once more, I see you are a better skald than I.”
“But I was not acting as a skald,” I say. “In that moment, I was only Solveig.”
And I realize that, for once, being myself was enough.
Six days later, Ole comes back to the hall without any fish. He stands in the doorway, a silhouette against the white of the snow and the light of the sun.
“A ship,” he says.
We all race from the hall, through the gate, to the cliff. I am already planning ahead, to the attack I dreamt about, and how I will take Harald and Asa and Raudi and lead them up the ravine to the cave. My eyes look for a drekar, and my ears strain for battle cries over the sound of my heart beating. But I find neither. Instead, I see a small boat coming quickly up the fjord as though aloft on its white bird wing of a sail.
“Who is it?” Harald asks.
“Messengers,” Hake says.
Hake and Per remain by the water to greet the boat. The rest of us return to the hall. I try to sit quietly, feeding Muninn in his cage beside me. Bera frets over the meager food we have to offer our guests. Ole pokes at the fire, and Harald races back and forth between me and the open doors. “I don’t see them yet,” he reports each time he reaches me, and each time I say, “They’ll be here soon.”
But eventually, Harald rushes back to the door and stays there. He points out into the yard. “They’re here!”
We all stand.
“There’s two of them,” Harald says.
And then Hake and Per lead the messengers inside.
They are men I recognize but cannot name. Their cheeks are wind-whipped above their beards, and their shoulders sag. One has dark hair, and the other, gray. Their clothes are wet with ocean spray, and they appear exhausted.
“Come to the fire,” Bera says. “Eat.”
She guides the men to a bench by the hearth. They sit and accept their plates from her with bowed heads.
“Our stores are down to oats, I’m afraid,” she says.
They thank her and eat as though it doesn’t matter what is on their plates, or where it came from. We all settle in around them.
“How was the voyage?” Bera asks.
While the younger of the messengers replies, I notice Per and Hake talking in whispers at a distance. It seems they have already learned something about why these men are here, and perhaps the message they carry.
When they have finished eating, the older of the two messengers stands.
“Thank you for your hospitality. We made our journey quickly, and have had little food or sleep. We bring a message and a call for you to return to the king’s hall.”
Bera claps and Harald leaps into the air. I wait for the rest of the message.
The man continues. “The gods have smiled on the king and led him to a victory in battle. Gunnlaug retreated before him, and very few of our warriors fell or were taken. The war is ended, and our lands are safe once more.”
My father is victorious. Our hall is safe. Asa is safe. We can go home. And it seems my dream was just a dream after all. Now I sit back as relief and gratitude bathe me, though after a moment, a hint of dread edges in.
“Gunnlaug retreated?” Hake says. “Where is he now?”
“His armies are scattered,” the messenger says.
Harald grabs me in a hug, and then he runs to Asa. Bera wipes a tear from her eye with her finger, and Alric pumps his clasped hands before his chest. Hake is the only one of us who doesn’t celebrate. The berserker captain frowns and sits by the fire. He leans forward, his chin resting on one of his fists, and stares into the flames.
“Now,” Bera says, “I will pack.”
“Make haste,” the gray-haired messenger says.
I notice that Per is also silent, and Asa is watching him. Knowing that the two most seasoned warriors in our steading are uneasy makes me uneasy as well. Later that evening, I approach Hake where he towers over the hearth.
“How are you?” I ask.
He looks down at me. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem troubled.”
“Nothing escapes your notice, does it? I am troubled, but you shouldn’t worry.”
“Why not, if it worries you?”
“Because I am a restless warrior too accustomed to the battlefield, and you are the daughter of my king.”
“It’s something about Gunnlaug, isn’t it?”
He stares at me, and I see the fire flickering in his eyes. “Yes.”
“But he retreated. He gave up.”
“Did he?”
I want to say yes, but Hake’s question causes a moment of doubt.
The berserker fills that moment with a chuckle. “These thoughts are not for you. Go now and leave them here with me, all right?” He places a paternal hand on my back and gently pushes me toward Alric. “Go and practice with the skald.”
“All right,” I say, because I’m left without a choice.
We spend the next few days preparing. Bera and Raudi pack up what food we have left, along with some of Ole’s fish that they’ve salted and smoked. Asa and I tie up the blankets and gather all the other gear together, while Hake and Per ready the ship.
During all of this I keep Muninn locked in his cage, and I think he resents it. He flaps around inside, cawing, and I feel guilty. But with all the commotion in and out of the hall, I can’t take any chances letting him loose.
The fresh fish have done the surviving berserkers good, and they are able to walk about now and help. Mostly, the
y just try to keep Harald out of our way, but we did need their backs to get our ship down into the water. We don’t have men enough to crew the berserkers’ drekar, so we’re taking the smaller boat in which my siblings and I came here those months ago.
The return voyage will be slow. Without men to row, we’ll be traveling entirely by sail. I don’t think I will mind that at all, so long as we are moving.
Something must be done about the bodies in the cowshed. We don’t have time to dig their graves, but we can’t leave them. When summer comes, they will rot and bring scavengers, and we will face the wrath of their unsettled spirits. So we must bring them home with us where they can be honored properly.
When every thing else is loaded and stowed, Hake and Per go to the shed and open the doors. The rest of us stand in the yard, solemn as runestones, as the two of them emerge bearing one of the bodies.
They cross the yard and leave through the gates, and we follow them down through the stirring woods. The dry silence of winter is gone, and all around us the trees stretch out of their wet snow-furs. We go down to the water’s edge, where the waves are waking up, slapping their cheeks against the rocky shore. Hake and Per carry the body onto the ship and lay it into the tomb-like cargo hold.
They disembark, and without looking at any of us, climb back up through the forest to the steading. And we follow them. They reenter the cowshed and come out again with the body of another fallen warrior. Out of reverence, no one speaks.
We go with them back down to the ship, where they lay the body with the first, and then they climb again, and then again. And each time, we go also. Each of the men deserves his own procession. Each of them deserves our honor and love.
As we make the trip for the fourth time, I begin to breathe more heavily in the brisk air. As we make the trip for the sixth time, the muscles in my legs begin to burn. As we make the trip for the tenth time, my legs begin to tremble, and I do not know if it is because of the strain on my body or my soul.
This grim task, and the grave-ship that waits for us, have made plain what we have lost, what was stolen from us by treachery. These men did not have to die, and I find that as I make the trip for the final time, my grief has turned to anger. Then fury, as we pack in snow and ice around the bodies for the return journey, burying them in the boat. My earlier pain retreats before the storm inside me. But it’s a storm without an eye, without an enemy on which to center all my rage. And now the fact that one of us could have caused this is more than I can stand.
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