by Suzie Wilde
‘My father is at home,’ she said. It was a child’s lie.
‘He is not. I see him go, early.’ He had an accent she could not place and his forked tongue made him lisp. ‘You go early, too.’
‘Oh?’
‘I see you at smithy. I wait for you.’
‘Oh.’ A muscle flickered above her mouth.
The man slapped the hanging carcass without taking his unblinking, cold snake eyes off her. ‘I bring you reindeer.’
‘Thank you.’ She tried to make it sound normal, as if politeness could make it so.
He grinned. She could see now that he had grooves cut across the teeth, stained green and black, making it look like four rows. He gave her the armpit flash again. It was revolting – and the fear of what may come was making it hard to breathe.
‘You like my tattoos, yes? I know this. All women like.’
He turned his back, to show her the full effect. Bera went for her knife but he was taking no chances and quickly faced her again.
‘What are tattoos? Do they hurt?’ she asked, delaying.
‘Hurt? Of course. We cut the skin, rub in ash from wood fire. Take many, many years to be full dragon-body. Only I, Serpent King, like such pain. Grow strong.’
He flexed his muscles and made the serpents dance. It was sickening.
‘And your beard. It’s as yellow as our colour-grasses.’
‘Beech ash and goat fat.’
Bera was trying to keep him talking until Ottar might arrive but his smile was like a madman’s. It was unnerving seeing him look at home here, relaxed. Her muscle twitch was so bad she wanted to hold it still with a hand but she feared to make a move. She made herself keep up the pretence that this was a formal call.
‘The whole household will be back soon for the day meal. Why don’t you come into the longhouse and eat with us? You must be cold, with your chest...’
‘Reindeer is best meat. You must leave to hang here for seven nights. Or more. I can kill with one dagger. Look.’
He slipped the dagger from his belt, spun round and threw it at the door. It quivered slightly in a panel. His showing off was childish yet frightening.
‘Why are you here?’
‘At feast I first saw you.’
‘What?’
He spat, a bubble of white froth in the dark blood. ‘You were maid, virgin. I come to see you before marriage for special reason.’
There was a troubling memory from that night. A black hood...
‘What reason?’
He tapped his nose. ‘Is business with Hefnir.’
Business? Yet Hefnir had gone over to him and Thorvald.
He swung on the beams to land right in front of her.
‘Now you are wife. You like it very much, I can smell.’ He reeked of musk and moss and resin. His hand went straight where he wanted it and clutched her tight. ‘I think you like me very much.’
Outrage scorched through her. How dare he dishonour her? She pulled out her knife but he was ready for her attack. He banged her hand down onto the bench, sending the knife flying, and leaned on it while he began to undo his belt. His breathing was heavy and her resistance was obviously arousing him, so Bera stopped struggling and tried to think.
Bjorn’s advice: ‘Let a man think he’s winning then clutch and twist.’
Bjorn, thank you. She relaxed.
‘Yes. We like this.’ His voice was a low rumble.
Bera was close enough to see that his eyes were as black and empty as a Drorgher’s. She kept her wits sharp. As soon as he was exposed she grabbed his high, tight balls and twisted.
It was an immediate success. He screamed and doubled up. There was a ringing crash and he slumped onto the floor, out cold. Behind him, Sigrid stood like a square block of granite. She kept the iron skillet raised to hit him again if he stirred.
‘I was dealing with it,’ Bera said.
‘What did he do?’
‘Nothing.’
Bera used his belt to tie his hands. She had time to do a proper boat knot.
Sigrid was staring at his back. ‘What’s all the black lines?’
‘Tattoos. You make them with wood ash, he said.’
They looked at each other and started to giggle. Relief made Bera weep with laughter. It was to be over and forgotten, as quickly as possible, before she felt any shame. She found the pantry knife behind a churn.
He stirred. Bera sat on his back, pulled his braided hair and pressed the blade under his raised jaw as though he was a fish about to have its gills off.
‘Don’t like this so much, do you?’ she said, close to his ear. ‘Now listen. You have dishonoured my husband by insulting me. But I want no bloodshed. Whatever your business has been with Hefnir, it is at an end. Do you understand?’
He made a strangled noise that she took for assent.
‘You clearly don’t know that I am a Valla. I can snip the thread of your Fate as easily as slitting your throat. So be warned, trole-spit.’
‘You’re never going to let him go?’ asked Sigrid.
‘Watch him – and hit him with the skillet if he makes one false move.’
Sigrid stood at his head. Bera kept her knife at his throat as he got to his feet. He could not straighten up and swayed, looking blank.
‘I never want to see your ugly face in Seabost again. There is nothing for you here except death. Now walk very slowly towards the door.’
It was all he could do. His thighs turned inwards as he clutched his groin with bound hands. Finally, he reached the door and gestured at it with his chin.
‘Dagger,’ he said.
‘Forfeit.’
He stumbled outside.
The fresh air restored his voice. ‘War band in mountains. I promise gold, owed by Hefnir. Blood money.’
Bera prodded him with her knife. ‘I don’t care what you think you’re owed. Your dishonour has cost you your right to it.’
He gestured at Sigrid, who pulled his dagger out of the wood. ‘Crazy woman nearly kill me!’
‘But she didn’t. There is no debt to pay. Go now and go quickly.’
‘Need hands to ride.’
His horse was outside the byre with many furs strapped to it. When they reached it, Bera untied his hands and stepped quickly away. He clumsily swung himself onto its back and nearly fell off the other side. Sigrid sniggered. Bera glared at her. If he lost too much pride he would return and kill to restore it.
She took his dagger from Sigrid and slid it into her belt. At last she had a real weapon!
They made sure he kept heading towards the treeline and then kept a watch for his war band. The whole episode puzzled Bera. He could have killed Heggi before she got home. What was his business? Why had he brought the reindeer? He was wild and vile and yet these were not the actions of an enemy. Bera wanted certainty.
‘I hope the wolves get him,’ she said.
Sigrid threw a cloak round her. ‘What will you tell Hefnir?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You must!’
‘This is a dishonour, Sigrid. Hefnir might think I encouraged it. I don’t want him to know I wasn’t here, protecting his home. His son was in the next room, alone! Ottar’s made him doubt I have any Valla skills and I should have done better. You’re to say nothing about this, Sigrid, not to anyone, not ever.’
‘You and your secrets. As bad as your mother.’ Sigrid shivered. ‘So why do you think he agreed to go?’
‘His cock finally stopped making all the decisions.’
Sigrid laughed and went back inside as a flurry of may blossom fell. Bera let the pure white petals cleanse her. Then the welcome heat of her skern.
‘Why did he come?’ she asked.
Past.
‘Is he a King?’
Of savages.
‘Will he return?’
Oh, he won’t be thinking clearly for days yet. They’ll be halfway home by then so they won’t turn back. Not that he’s a genius at the best of times. Dead wood till the sap
rises.
‘Will he come when he does get his mind working?’
Revenge is a dish best eaten cold.
‘You said that before and it wasn’t very comforting then.’
I’m perished. Go on, in you go before you catch your death.
Bera stopped by the door. ‘I’ve seen him before. But did I dream about him as well?’
Only you can say.
‘I did. But I’m missing something... It’s about Heggi. Did he kill Heggi’s mother?’
Stop asking about the past, ducky. It’s beginning to grate.
Heggi arrived soon afterwards. He blithely announced that Ottar was trying out a new sort of boat and would be along later.
‘Did you say it was urgent?’
He shrugged.
‘Did you speak to him at all?’
‘He’s on sea trials. I thought about waiting but I’m really hungry.’ He gave a small gasp and looked over to the food store. ‘I forgot. What was in there?’
‘A reindeer. It’s a gift.’
‘Who from?’
Sigrid bustled over to him. ‘It’s all laid. The thralls are waiting at the table. Outdoor shoes off. Now.’
He scuffed at the pile of spruce as he went off to eat. There was a glorious smell of resin that cleansed the air.
‘That’s a fine dagger of that serpent creature,’ Sigrid said. ‘Why don’t you give it to Heggi?’
‘What did you say?’
‘I asked if you were going to give his knife to Heggi.’
‘No, the other bit. Hearing you say serpent was the way Ottar said it once, when you first arrived.’ But what did he say exactly? Important sayings unravelled. If only she could clutch a thread and follow it.
Sigrid poked her. ‘So will you give it to him?’
When the dagger was found in Thorvald’s back it would be the Serpent who was suspected. Perfect. ‘I’ll keep it. A knife doesn’t choose its master.’
‘As Ottar would say. You can’t let Hefnir see it.’
‘Then how can I give it to Heggi? You can be so stupid, Sigrid!’
‘I can.’
Sigrid pointlessly took some boughs from the pile and put them near the door. Her back had a hurt look. Bera sank down onto a platform and put her head in her hands. She didn’t mean to be unkind but her tongue got the better of her too often.
Sigrid sat and put an arm around her, rocking her gently. ‘Go on and cry. Stupid old Sigrid’s here.’
The door burst open and Ottar swept in, bringing a north wind with him. The day was deteriorating. He punched the new hanging good-naturedly, stamped his feet and rubbed his hands.
Sigrid made herself scarce.
Ottar beamed. ‘I did the sea trials myself and the boat’s a success!’
Bera smoothed her garments, brushing away the dishonour. ‘A new boat?’
Her father strode over and kissed her with icy lips and beard. It was a day for surprises. ‘You didn’t know, did you? She can be sailed short-handed but lose none of her speed. She sails in light airs, too. I designed her specially.’
What had made him kind again? Bera was too grateful to speak. Father and daughter shared a love of the sea and Ottar was giving her a way to get out there. Even Hefnir could not deny her the use of a father’s gift. She could promise not to go fishing...
Ottar was bellowing. ‘Heggi? Where is the boy? Get your arse over here, lad. I heard you were at the boatyard. Trying to find out what your surprise was, were you? After we’ve eaten we’ll go down and I’ll show you her proper.’ He took Heggi’s arm. ‘She’s a beauty, lad, and she’s all yours.’
‘I shall call her Wave-Worm.’
‘You like horses. How about Steed of the Sea?’
Ottar didn’t glance at her. She was such a speck he had no idea she might care.
‘You bastard,’ Bera said. ‘I wish you’d died with the sickness.’
6
Bera had the weapon snug in her wedding chest, the plan formed and anger made her keen – but her target stayed away. She worried that her moment of jealousy when she wished Ottar dead might rebound on someone she cared for, like Sigrid, so she willed Thorvald to return to take Fate’s weapon. There was no sign.
To spite everyone, she went out fishing a few times but no one cared. One day she mixed up a poultice for one of Hefnir’s tenant farmers. It was a small gash from a farm tool but she took it herself. The farm was near the forge and when there was no glimpse of Dellingr, there was no hiding her disappointment. Visiting the forge would start tongues wagging so she had to rely on a chance meeting. Bera stayed a polite amount of time, then left, walking slowly. She longed to see the smith.
At home she shivered as she ran through the dark passage. The lurking ancestors were especially vicious.
‘Perfidy and violation! Abomination!’
The new word sounded the worst. Bera nearly retreated but she would go to Hel before she lost face before the thralls.
‘We’ll have our meal now,’ she said, steadily.
A man bowed his head and went off to the back.
‘Come and help me,’ Sigrid called. She was busy at the loom.
Bera had told her nothing about the ancestors; Sigrid had enough terrors of her own invention.
‘I ought to check the pigs.’
Sigrid clucked. ‘You and your animals.’
Bera took her place at Sigrid’s right-hand side. They worked in silence until Sigrid changed wools.
‘You care more for animals than you do people.’
Bera fiddled with some green wool.
Sigrid took it from her. ‘Where is Heggi now?’
‘Off with Rakki. Or at the boatyard. You know him.’
‘He doesn’t have many friends in the village.’
‘He likes the dog. And Ottar.’
‘Better for him to have friends his own age.’
Bera got back to weaving, crossly. Sigrid had a way of getting under her skin.
‘I hope you’re saying some words over this,’ said Sigrid.
‘Why?’
‘It’s a blanket for Asa’s new baby.’
‘Asa?’
‘You know, Dellingr’s wife. They fell in love as children.’
The pain stabbed like an unclasping. How stupid of her to think he was free.
It was usually soothing to have Sigrid beside her, working rhythmically. Today, it was agony. Trust Sigrid to find out Dellingr was married and then not tell her. No – the pain was jealousy, at the point when such feelings were hopeless.
‘You look better, mind,’ Sigrid said. ‘Seemed heavy, last month. Lost a baby, maybe?’
This was the final insult. ‘I hate everyone waiting for me to spawn! How can I possibly get a baby when Hefnir’s away so long!’
‘Heggi’s cloak needs patching again,’ Sigrid said in her ‘patient’ voice.
Bera wanted to slap her. ‘I’ll do it later!’
‘I was only saying. No one expects you to do it.’
‘Then why bring it up? So we know that good old Sigrid does all the chores as usual?’
‘Look, you’ve pulled that thread too tight. Talk or work.’
‘I can do both.’
You can’t when you’re in one of your moods.’
Bera marched off and sat on the raised hearth, glaring at the sullen flames.
Sigrid followed. ‘You take too much on yourself, always have. I remember when you were little, you’d—’
Bera threw a log onto the fire.
‘You’ll use them all up at this rate.’
Bera shrugged. It would not be her job to cut more.
Sigrid studied her. ‘You’ve changed,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You used to be kind.’
Bera searched for that old self in her friend’s eyes. But it was Thorvald making her hard; and she could never tell Sigrid he killed her son.
Some thralls set the table and laid it with bread and ale.
Sigrid packed away a gaming board. ‘Heggi won’t miss his meal.’
They sat at the table but no one else came to join them. Perhaps the brat had drowned. She quickly crossed her fingers to stop Fate obliging. Sigrid slurped the hot stew and sucked the small rabbit bones. Bera wanted to hit her.
‘He’s been out of the house for ages and it’ll be my fault if anything happens to him!’
Sigrid sighed. ‘That’s what I was saying.’
Bera’s anger exploded. She picked up the stew dish and wanted to pour it over Sigrid’s head but had just enough control to throw it to the ground instead. She strode through to the byre. A thrall coming in to milk the cows took one look at her and quickly went outside.
Bera leaned on the rail, fuming. Heggi always caused trouble. It wasn’t fair that she should have to be in charge of such a wilful boy. As for Sigrid... Always pointing out what was wrong, never helping get it right. Bera tried a quiet scream but it didn’t help. She couldn’t even scream in her own home because there were thralls skulking all over it.
Anyway, she would hate to upset the animals.
A bird was delicately picking its way between the hooves and noses of the woolly cattle as they pushed into the hay and straw. Scavenging. Steam rose and Bera breathed in the familiar sweet yeastiness of sweat and dung. It calmed her. The nearest animal shook its head at her, rolling a sea anemone eye. It was Feima, the best natured, Heggi’s pet cow. She blew softly and stamped. Bera offered her a handful of hay, which she took gently with a rasping tongue. It was endearing. Bera patted the animal’s strong neck, liking the feel of the thick pelt and muscle. She much preferred the cow to Heggi, to be honest.
‘You ought to milk those animals, not fuss at them,’ said her father behind her.
She was cross again. ‘Are you my skern suddenly? Creeping about like that.’
‘I do not creep.’
‘Why are you not at the boatyard?’
‘Can’t I eat?’
‘If you turn up on time.’
They glared at each other.
‘So are you Hefnir’s spy? Making sure I’m doing my duty?’
Ottar rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I came to ask how many barrels of mead are left.’
‘I kept some back,’ she said, ‘but that’s the finish until Hefnir brings more. But you’re not here to supply the mead hall. You’re checking up on me. The only time I have any peace is when I’m in a boat. Oh – I forgot, I don’t have one, do I?’
