Icefall

by Matthew J. Kirby

  “This wound is too deep,” she says, packing the poultice into the hole in Hake’s shoulder. “It needs to stay open and weep.”

  I’m holding my weight on Hake’s leg, the fabric in my hand soaked with his blood. I find it hard to control my panic and keep my mind present. I don’t know how Bera does it. She takes another rag and uses it to pull the sword from the hearth, the tip of the blade a deep and angry red.

  “Step back, all of you.” She swings the weapon closer. “Come away now, S — Siv.”

  I step clear, and as soon as I do, the bleeding goes from a leak to a stream. Bera lays the flat of the sword tip right in the wound and presses down. The skin sizzles and smokes, and I gag on the smell of cooking meat. Bera holds the blade there for a moment longer and then pulls it away. The torn edges of skin are charred, but the bleeding has nearly stopped. She packs some more of the poultice in the wound and then wraps the leg. After this, dressing the arm seems a small thing and goes quickly.

  “He might live,” Bera says to Gunnlaug, wiping the blood from her hands. “The night will bear it out.”

  Gunnlaug nods. Then he holds out his hand. “I believe that’s the larder key hanging from your brooch.”

  Bera’s glare would cause me to fear sharing a bedcloset with her, but Gunnlaug doesn’t flinch. She takes the key from its chain and slaps it in his hand.

  “Thank you,” he says. “And now, my men are hungry.”

  “Then I hope you brought some food with you, and someone to cook it.”

  “We brought food, and you will prepare it.”

  Bera frowns hard enough to turn her lips white.

  “And I will have someone watching you,” Gunnlaug says. “We wouldn’t want any poison to slip in now, would we?”

  For a moment, confusion replaces some of the fierceness in Bera’s face. But then it seems she comes to the same realization I do. Gunnlaug knew about the poisoning, and very likely ordered it done.

  “My men are bringing up provisions as we speak,” Gunnlaug says.

  Bera looks down and turns away.

  “You, skald.” Gunnlaug puts his gloves back on. “You will sing my praises tonight.”

  Alric bows to Gunnlaug as deeply as he has ever bowed to my father, and the sight of it infuriates me. “Of course,” he says.

  “And you.” Gunnlaug looks at me. “Girl-skald. You will sing as well. I would hear your … talent.” The edge of menace in his voice tells me that he is not yet convinced of who I am.

  I nod without bowing to him.

  “Come,” Gunnlaug says to his honor guard. “Per is still out there. We go man-hunting.” They march from the hall, and my worry for Per follows them. I hope he is safe, wherever he is hiding.

  A few warriors remain behind to guard us, so we can’t talk freely. Bera returns to Hake’s side and feels his forehead. He has begun to shake, and there is so much blood in the straw beneath the table where they laid him. Fear and doubt over whether anyone could survive such a loss force me to look away. “What we need are our blankets from the ship,” she says. “Here, give me your cloaks. A wound-fever is setting in. If he lives through the night, I’ll be amazed.”

  “He’ll live,” Harald says. “He’s the strongest man in all of Father’s lands.”

  Bera half smiles and piles our cloaks on Hake. But none are long enough to cover him completely, so she lays them piecemeal, a patchwork over his chest and his heavy legs. We all find benches and settle near him, watching his teeth chatter. Our last berserker. And if Per falls, our last warrior. If Per falls, who will be left to protect us?

  I whirl around on Alric. “How could you bow to him?”

  “Pardon me?”

  My anger rises. “How could you even think of honoring him?”

  “Siv,” he says. “A story knows no honor. A story knows no allegiance. A story simply is.”

  I fold my arms. “And what of the storyteller? You can show honor and allegiance in the stories you tell.”

  “Ah, but whose stories? If the dragon had killed Sigurd, whose legend would we sing? What stories will be told after the breaking of the world? Stories of dead gods? I think not. After a battle, it does not matter who was good and who was evil. As a skald, you will tell the story of the victor, and in the telling you make the victor into the hero.”

  I glower at him. “Sir, it sounds as if you’re saying that my … our king, your king has already lost.”

  Alric looks around the room. “Does it not appear that way to you?”

  I am so furious with him I can’t even think of the words to say. And the guards are still watching us. So the burning stays inside me, in my ears and my eyes.

  I lower my voice. “Thank you for this lesson. I have learned more of what it means to be a skald.”

  Alric sighs. “It is a hard lesson to learn.” He touches my arm, and I keep myself from pulling it away. “I have served many kings.” He looks at Gunnlaug’s warriors. “And I will yet serve many more.”

  “Are you never tempted to take a side?” I swipe at the tears in my eyes.

  “It is a temptation I resist.” He looks at me directly. “As must you.”

  I have no intention of resisting it, and no desire to talk to him about it anymore. I leave him and go to Hake’s side. The berserker’s face is pale, a last smear of dried blood on one of his cheeks. I take a wet rag and dab it against his skin, gently wiping it clean. His eyelids flutter, and I wonder what fever dreams, if any, might be passing through his mind. I hope they are free of pain.

  “Oh, Hake,” I whisper. “Please come back to us. We are weak without you.”

  He shows no sign that my words have reached him, wherever he is.

  Asa comes up beside me. “I think you are the bravest of us.”

  “I’m not,” I say.

  “No one else would have entered that shield-ring with him.” She looks askance at Hake, as if she is still afraid of him.

  I pluck at the rag in my hands. “Bravery is nothing without strength.”

  “But you have that, too.”

  I say nothing.

  “You are stronger than me,” Asa says. “And in bravery and strength, there is a kind of beauty.”

  “Not like your beauty.”

  “No. No, not like mine. Your beauty won’t ever fade.” And then my sister draws away from me, leaving behind the sweet echo of her words. No one has ever described me as beautiful before.

  Several of Gunnlaug’s men enter the room carrying barrels and sacks. Food, and much of it. The enemy came prepared. This was all planned, and I am amazed at how the sight of something I have so wanted can fill me now with such hatred. I decide then not to eat a single bite of it, though my mouth is already watering. The men deposit their load with Bera, and with a sigh, she begins to assess the contents. Raudi is at her side, and she sets about the practiced work of preparing a meal.

  “How many of you are there?” Bera asks one of the men.

  “We came nearly one hundred strong. There remain sixty-four.”

  Even though I am amazed at the damage wrought by our berserkers on Gunnlaug’s forces, I quail at the number of enemies left. But I remind myself that Per is free, and he will find a way to save us. Though he has disappointed me, and the sting of those failings still lingers, I know he will never allow Gunnlaug to marry Asa.

  “This is a small hall,” Bera says. “You’ll be crowded in here tonight.”

  “We’ll make do.”

  Bera shrugs, waves him off, and returns to her hearth-business. A reputation to uphold.

  I notice Harald sitting by himself. He still watches Hake, and I go to him.

  “You are right,” I say. “He is strong.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He sits up. “If Hake dies. If they kill Per. Then I will be the last warrior.”

  I want to smooth his hair and kiss his forehead. But I can’t. “That is true.”

  T
ears fill his eyes. “I’m not ready. I thought I was, but I’m not.”

  “You are more ready than you know. Gunnlaug already fears you, because you are your father’s son.”

  He nods and we sit together in silence. In the quiet, I hear the glacier groaning a lament for us. I feel its deep voice swelling under my feet. The sound is pained, as though on the edge of breaking into something terrible.

  CHAPTER 18

  BIRD OF ODIN

  Gunnlaug returns from his manhunt angry. He storms into the hall, stops to survey Hake for a moment, and then goes to brood over the fire. Inwardly, I smile. The chieftain has not yet found Per. I take relief and a small, secret delight at this burr in Gunnlaug’s beard.

  He throws a log on the fire. “When will the food be ready?”

  Bera stirs her cauldron. “Soon.”

  “How soon?”

  She looks up. “Soon.”

  The cook-smells filling the hall are setting my stomach growling. Bera’s cauldron simmers with meat, onions, turnips, and carrots. Flatbreads brown and puff up on a griddle over the fire. There is smoked fish, cheese, dried berries, and honey. My appetite is already proving stronger than my resolve, my body betraying me.

  Ole stands at Gunnlaug’s shoulder. “We’ll find him. He can’t have left the fjord.”

  “Hmph,” Gunnlaug says. “The longer it takes, the harder it will go with him.”

  “He must have realized that he was lied to,” Ole says.

  “That matters not to me. His part in this is ended.” A log in the hearth collapses. “Though I would see it ended in my own way.”

  I stand near them, listening, though I don’t understand what they’re saying. What part did Per play? Did he know of Ole’s treachery? The thought that Per might also be a traitor slices into me with the weight of an axe, and is almost beyond my ability to bear right now. Asa also leans toward Ole and Gunnlaug, her face white, and I wonder. If Per had a part, did she?

  Before long, the food is ready, and the hall is crowded. But Gunnlaug keeps his men ordered, held firmly by the chain. They line up with their plates before the mealfire, waiting for Gunnlaug to be served first. But before the chieftain takes his seat, he calls to Harald and Asa.

  “Come. You will share my table with me.”

  Harald and Asa slide toward him.

  “What I have is yours,” Gunnlaug says, gesturing to the bench opposite his as though it has always been his to offer.

  Harald and Asa sit. Gunnlaug then goes to Bera and takes the ladle from her. And he begins to dish out the food himself, something I have never seen a king or chieftain do. He carries the first steaming plate and sets it in front of Harald.

  “There. A nice big helping for a growing young man. Does that suit you?”

  My brother accepts his bowl with a little nod.

  “Good.” Gunnlaug returns to the cauldron. “And Asa. Let me find a choice cut of meat for you. Something tender and rich.”

  The chieftain appears to take great care in spooning out her food, and then he sets it before her. Asa forces a smile and accepts her plate.

  Gunnlaug sits down and watches them. “Eat, eat,” he says.

  Harald and Asa look at one another, and both of them take a bite.

  “Is it acceptable to you?” Gunnlaug asks.

  My siblings both nod.

  Gunnlaug leans back, beaming. “Good.” He calls to Bera. “Serve me, woman. My men are waiting and they are hungry.”

  After Gunnlaug, Alric is served next, followed by Ole and the rest of Gunnlaug’s warriors. Bera, Raudi, and I are last, though I am still refusing to eat. Bera scoops up three bowls from what remains in the pot, mostly tough little bits of meat and burned vegetables she has to scrape from the bottom of the cauldron. She attempts to force some of it on me.

  “You must eat.”

  “No.”

  “But nothing is gained by starving,” she says.

  I push the bowl away.

  “You refuse my food?” Gunnlaug asks from across the room, and the hall goes quiet. Somehow, through the crowd, he has noticed me. Or perhaps he never stopped watching me.

  I shake my head. “I meant no offense.”

  “And yet you have given it,” Gunnlaug says. “I have been generous, have I not? I do not have to feed you from my mealfire. I could force you to pick my scraps from the straw on the floor.”

  I keep my eyes downward, focused on the stains in the table, and the words come out before I can stop them. “I would not eat a thing that has come from your plate.”

  The room feels frozen around me.

  “Well, well,” Gunnlaug says. “Such pride from a skald’s apprentice.”

  I notice that Ole and Alric are both staring at me, their eyes desperate, pleading, and I realize that I have made a terrible mistake. I swallow and reach for the bowl to eat.

  “Stop!” Gunnlaug shouts. “It’s too late for that.” The chieftain rises to his feet and stalks across the room. He comes to stand behind me. I do not turn to look at him, but keep my head down, listening to his heavy breath. I hear a sudden movement and I flinch, expecting a blow. But instead, the chieftain reaches over me, grabs the bowl of food, and flips it off the table. It clatters to the floor, and its contents splash on the ground.

  “Now,” Gunnlaug says. “You may eat it.”

  I stare at the splattered stew.

  “And after you eat it, you will sing for me. And then we shall know the truth of your ability.”

  I slowly force myself to rise, to step away from the table, to drop to my knees. I look up. Gunnlaug looms over me, his men a snowfield of cold eyes around me. Harald and Asa both appear shocked, helpless. Raudi’s face is red with anger, and I notice Bera holding him in his seat. Alric’s eyes are closed, he shakes his head. And is that pity on Ole’s face? Behind the others, as though forgotten, Hake lies unaware of me.

  I reach for the closest bite of turnip, scoop it from the ground, and do not even allow myself to pick away the straw before I put it in my mouth and chew. But the straw and the dirt are not what make it difficult to swallow. Gunnlaug waits until I have eaten another two bites before he nods and moves away.

  After he has been gone for several moments, Bera reaches down and pulls me up. “On your feet. I think it’s safe for you to come up here now and share with us. He got what he wanted.”

  I slump next to them, shame turning the food in my stomach sour. “I’ve ruined every thing. I forgot myself.”

  “No,” Bera whispers. “You remembered who you are. And it isn’t ruined. You can still save yourself with the story you tell.”

  I allow myself to eat just enough to satisfy Bera’s concern for me, and then I seek out Alric among the warriors. He scowls as I stand before him, and his eyes land every where but on my face.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, but the contempt I still feel toward him robs some of its sincerity.

  “So am I.” His tone is sharp. “But now, let us decide on a story for you to tell.”

  My shoulders droop. “I don’t know what the point of that would be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think it will matter. I’ll never convince —”

  Alric slaps me. My head whips to the side and my cheek burns. A few of the warriors nearby glance up at us from their food. Is Alric putting on a show for them? The master disciplining his apprentice? I can’t tell.

  “Enough of that,” Alric says. “I want no more doubt. I want no more fear. From this moment forward. Do you understand me?”

  I nod, my hand cupping the side of my face.

  “Let go of the fetters. You are not some Fenrir, tricked and chained by the gods. You bind yourself. Let loose the strength you have inside.” Alric looks over his shoulder. “I will try to get you out of this tonight. But you must be prepared for tomorrow.”

  “I will be,” I say.

  He looks at my cheek and frowns. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I wish that I could say I only
did that to give the appearance of an angry master.”

  “It’s all right,” I say. After what I did tonight, I deserve to be slapped.

  Alric pauses a moment longer. Then a change comes over his face, his usual smile rises, and he saunters off toward Gunnlaug. He approaches the chieftain in a bow and is summoned closer. Alric speaks, Gunnlaug listens, considers, and waves Alric off with a nod. The skald returns.

  “We will perform tomorrow.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him that we are composing a new tale in his honor, and that we need another day to finish it if we are to do it justice.”

  The delay seems too easily accomplished. I look back at Gunnlaug and find the chieftain staring at me. When he sees that I’m looking back at him, he smiles the same wicked smile he showed to Asa, the confident look of a predator who has trapped his prey and can now take his time with the kill.

  After everyone has finished eating, Gunnlaug stands. “Tonight, I honor you, my warriors. It humbles me to lead and fight beside such men. When we return, I will break rings and reward each of you your due in gold and silver. We lost many good and strong warriors this day, but we have captured Hake, whose name is known and feared. And we have righted a grievous wrong done to our people, who will soon have their queen, a queen whose beauty will be sung through the ages.”

  Gunnlaug’s men clap and cheer and begin to chant my sister’s name. Asa sits ice-still.

  The chieftain continues. “We are honored by the presence of Harald, a noble young man destined for greatness. We will safeguard him until such a time as his father shall claim him with gifts of land and treasure. Lands that once belonged to my father, and which shall be restored to our people.”

  More cheers and applause.

  Gunnlaug lifts his cup. “We drink to those that live and those that have fallen. May all of us find a favorable wind at our backs, a calm sea ahead, and a hearthfire waiting at home.”

  The warriors all drink and switch their chant from Asa’s name to Gunnlaug’s. The chieftain sits, and soon his men begin to seek out benches and spots on the floor to bed down for the night. Blankets have been brought up from the ships. Bera and Raudi come over to join Alric and me. I watch to see where Harald and Asa will go, and see that Ole shepherds my brother over toward us.