The Book of Bera

by Suzie Wilde

  ‘I’m not right, still,’ said Sigrid. She was taking an age to lift her bundle of skirts and get down to business. ‘I need a remedy.’

  ‘You’ll have to give me more of a clue than that,’ said Bera.

  ‘That’s my affair.’

  Bera finished and arranged her clothes. ‘Then I’m no use to you.’

  Sigrid hitched herself up on the rail and gave a sigh. ‘That’s better. Been bursting all night but I was that busy...’

  ‘That’s likely to be the problem.’

  ‘No. It’s … er … the other side.’

  ‘Your bottom?’

  ‘Sh!’

  ‘There’s no one to hear, Sigrid. Spit it out.’

  The older woman jumped off the rail and bristled, like a hen shaking dusty feathers. ‘Worse at night. Itching. Have to scratch.’

  ‘Chicken mite.’

  ‘Get on with you!’

  ‘Pinworms, then.’

  ‘I’m too old for them.’

  ‘You probably caught them from Heggi. It would be like him to have them. I’ll treat both of you.’

  ‘You needn’t sound so pleased about it. Come on, let’s get out of here. I can hardly breathe.’

  The men staggered to bed much later. Bera pretended to be asleep but Hefnir did not trouble to check and was soon snoring, flat on his back with an arm flung across her.

  She carefully rolled away, took the Serpent King’s dagger from underneath her bedroll, tiptoed away from the billet into the byre, then ran up to the latrines. Now all she had to do was wait.

  The longer she waited, the more flaws she could see in her plan; it would help to be reassured. If only she had someone she could trust. Instead of which, her skern gleefully pinched her cheek.

  He won’t come out, you know. He’s like a felled ox.

  ‘Exactly. He’s been drinking. So he’ll visit the latrine.’

  So he’ll use the piss-pot like everyone else.

  ‘I need him to be alone! During the day he’s always got folk round him and so have I. This place is fit for danger.’

  Which is precisely why he won’t come alone, silly.

  Her plan was useless. In a way she had known it all along but she had refused to see it. She pulled her shawl round her for some warmth and trudged home, miserable and ashamed.

  Look out!

  Her scalp crawled with the threat of evil and she could smell rot, centred on an old food store. It was not food that was turning her stomach, it was a Drorgher. Not Flat-Nose, who was a novice and had run away. This was a more assured malevolence.

  ‘Why didn’t you warn me?’

  I just did.

  Her skern flounced off to the byre, leaving Bera dithering. She would have to pass the store to get to the next torch. Fool! Coward! The touch of her black bead gave her clarity. She forced herself to go back to the latrine and fetch the torch from there. Holding it high, she raced all the way home, tore past the store and into the byre. She thrust the torch into its socket, banged the door behind her and leaned against it, panting, soaking up the byre’s wholesomeness.

  It was all too much. Why drive herself, anyway? Hefnir had paid the blood debt. She might not like it, especially the fact she was the add-on, but in a way that meant she was part of avenging Bjorn’s death.

  She slapped her cheeks. ‘Cowardice.’

  Some might say it’s good sense at last. Now that Drorghers are come.

  He was balancing on an upturned bucket.

  ‘I have to kill Thorvald. Not doing it has made me weak.’

  You make these rules for yourself.

  It was the last act she could do for her best friend. It was only the means of doing it that was causing her to waver. If she was lucky, Thorvald would be too drunk to have a woman in his bed and too drunk to defend himself. It was a pity he would fail to acknowledge the blood debt but this way his death would be silent too. Bera took a straw and rested the dagger on it. It split in two.

  She calmed her breathing, then softly passed through to Thorvald’s billet. She paused by the curtain for only a moment and then slipped inside.

  The air was sweet with meady sleep-breath and Bera gagged. One guttering taper peeled dark off dark until the sleeping form of Thorvald was apparent. He was alone. She had to kill him with one strike. The trouble was, she had no clue how to kill anyone, let alone silently. Earlier, when she had imagined it, she always had Thorvald at her mercy and after that it was a bit blank.

  His breath was rattling and bubbling through his cloven mouth. She pushed away pity for his damaged face. Heart or throat? Surely the throat would be best as he was struggling to breathe anyway.

  She wavered, faced with a living being. Killing someone in his sleep was monstrous. It went against everything brave and true; it abandoned duty, care and hospitality. This was her house now. There was something defenceless and childlike about him in his sleep; the way he had his covers up to his chin was strangely moving.

  Bera batted the thoughts away again. He had killed Bjorn in an instant! To Hel with pity. She steeled herself for the kill, tiptoed towards his bed and raised her dagger. The point wobbled. She gripped it with both hands, trying to get it steady.

  Thorvald was up, armed and had her by the hair.

  ‘Did you think it would be that easy?’ His spit wet her ear. ‘I’d be dead a thousand times over by now.’

  He dragged her across to the tapers and lit them. Bera was weak with shame. He twisted her wrist until it burned, making her drop the dagger, then heeled it to himself and picked it up, never loosening his grip.

  ‘I’ll have you one day, Thorvald.’

  ‘Where did you get this?’ His voice had a new edge.

  She shrugged.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I found it.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘I bought it from Dellingr.’

  He wrenched her arm up behind her back.

  ‘All right,’ she gasped. ‘That man. Covered in tattoos.’

  He released her arm and held the taper up to her face. ‘Little fool. Keep away from him, understand?’

  ‘You needn’t sound so worried. I dealt with him myself, with no one to help, so be sure that I can take you any time I like.’ She longed to rub her sore arm.

  ‘Get back to your husband’s bed and be the wife you should be. He’s had a poor bargain so far.’

  ‘What will you tell him?’

  ‘Nothing if you promise to behave.’

  ‘I’m not a child!’

  ‘Then stop acting like one. It’s like playing bully-bully. But a man doesn’t want to be watching his back the whole time. Agree to this truce or by Hel’s teeth my patience will wear out and I’ll make you suffer so much you’ll beg me for death!’

  ‘Give me back my dagger.’

  ‘Do I look a fool? Agree to the truce.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I don’t want to kill you, Bera. But I swear I will if you come near me again.’

  She had to get away. Was the promise so bad if it prevented her father and husband knowing she had tried to kill a man in his own bed? And worse: failed.

  ‘All right! I will not seek revenge in this house.’

  Now she would have to find another weapon and think of some way to kill him away from home. It would not be easy – because for a married woman, home was her whole world.

  7

  They woke late to a kindly sun. Bera dreaded meeting Thorvald but he and Hefnir had gone off early. She worried it was business with the Serpent King. Would Thorvald tell them how she used his dagger? To her surprise she thought he would stay quiet – but that meant she must keep her side of the bargain here at home.

  She dutifully mixed up some bitter herbs for Heggi and Sigrid to take for pinworm and then took some food to a poor tenant. Folk were busy, grimly pretending their heads were not splitting. Many had black eyes or thick lips but no serious damage had been done and one woman thanked Bera for stopping the fight.

/>   Bera was tempted to go on up to the forge but Ottar’s warnings made her careful about her movements. She had enough to worry about without rumours spreading about unfaithfulness. Yet she came across Dellingr leaving the jetties. Her reward for all her acts of duty that morning, perhaps.

  ‘Haven’t seen you in an age,’ she said, then bit her lip.

  Today his eyes were the blue-grey of his cloak and his face was washed. He looked younger when he smiled.

  ‘I meant, alone. I meant, the feast seems an age ago. Of course, it was only last night.’ Her babble gave her away.

  ‘Don’t be sad, small one,’ he said. ‘You were brave to stop the fight.’

  Bera liked to think of being wrapped under his heavy cloak and kept safe forever. In a fatherly way.

  It was time to go. She didn’t move. Only because she needed a weapon.

  ‘That sword you told me about...’

  ‘I’ll have it ready for you as quick as I can.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hefnir saw me about it early this morning.’

  Bera’s bowels froze. ‘Did you tell him I wanted it?’

  ‘He wasn’t in a mood for conversation. Never is.’ The smith rubbed his chin.

  ‘He must have said something?’

  ‘Just that I was to put a smaller hilt on it ready for a woman’s hand.’

  It was what she wanted – but was Hefnir planning a trap?

  The ancestors pounced on her return to the longhouse, blowing freezing poison on any frailty.

  ‘Perfidy! Violation! Abomination! Maleficence!’

  Words were power. She had heard the first two many times and tried to remember them.

  ‘One day I’ll return them threefold,’ she hissed.

  Hefnir was waiting for her. He took off her cloak, threw it for a thrall to take and then held her shoulders. It was all right – he was smiling.

  ‘I’ve made a decision,’ he said. ‘You say you’re lonely. So, wife, what do you say to coming north with me? I’ll get walrus ivory and you get out to sea again. A good idea?’

  It was a better idea than he knew. It would get Thorvald away from home to where she could kill him. She kissed Hefnir and managed to avoid mentioning the sword, or else he would know she had seen Dellingr.

  During their meal Hefnir and Thorvald talked of nothing but the virtue of baleen strakes and ash masts. Afterwards, Sigrid did some mending, making use of the sunlight. While the men played dice, Heggi sat on a stool in front of Bera and she went through his hair with a lice comb.

  ‘Ouch! You’re pulling!’

  Rakki made sure his boy was all right and settled down again. The only sound was the fire crackle and the squeak of Sigrid’s stitching.

  ‘When are you going to tell me where the reindeer came from?’ asked Hefnir.

  Sigrid glanced up at Bera.

  ‘I said. Someone left it for you.’ Bera’s heart beat fast.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Heggi twisted round. ‘Yes, you do. You sent me off to get Ottar.’

  Bera’s face burned. ‘I mean, I don’t know his name. He said you do business with him, Hefnir.’

  ‘Did he have tattoos?’ asked Thorvald innocently.

  ‘I’ve seen you talking to him, Thorvald. You told Sigrid the reindeer was a tribute. So what dealings do you have with him?’

  Thorvald looked at Hefnir, who shrugged.

  It enraged Bera. ‘For how long, Hefnir?’

  He prodded the fire with one of the spit-skewers. ‘Oh. Less than a year, I’d say.’

  ‘So you both have business with him?’

  ‘Look. When you start out you have to have high-quality goods to trade, to set up a demand. He has given us good walrus and white bear skins.’

  ‘The Serpent King!’ Thorvald said, in a boggelman voice.

  Sigrid sniggered. Had she broken her promise and told him about the assault? Bera had a sudden urge to hurt her and tell her it was Thorvald who had killed her son but then Sigrid winked at her and carried on with her stitching. It was still their secret.

  ‘He doesn’t scare me,’ said Heggi. ‘He has a silly beard and a nice horse.’

  Hefnir yanked the boy off his stool. ‘I don’t want you near him, do you understand?’

  Heggi started to wail. ‘I wasn’t near him! I just saw him!’

  ‘He said he won’t be back,’ Bera said, trying to tease out the truth.

  ‘He talked of going to the Great City before,’ said Thorvald.

  ‘What’s that?’ Heggi forgot his tears. Did he feel anything deeply? Did she? It worried her that the skern helped her to look, not to feel.

  Bera got Heggi back on the stool and began the vicious delousing again.

  ‘The Great City is a long way away. It’s made of gold, every building.’

  ‘Ow! Bera! That hurt! Have you been there, Papa?’

  ‘It’s too far. We nearly got there one year but we trade for goods from the Great City.’

  ‘Can you get those spices there?’ Bera asked.

  ‘That’s not all,’ Thorvald leered and disgusted Bera.

  ‘That really hurt!’ cried Heggi. He rubbed his head and went over to his father.

  Hefnir let his son plait his hair while he talked. ‘There are over a hundred towers full of soldiers to protect the gold. One side has the sea all round it, with a huge iron chain across the harbour, called the Golden Horn.’

  ‘Do they blow it?’ Heggi asked.

  Hefnir laughed. ‘We shall use this fine weather and hunt just for us.’

  ‘When will we set off?’ Thorvald asked.

  ‘You’re staying here.’

  Bera needed to get him away from home. ‘Surely Thorvald—’

  ‘Stays here.’

  She was furious. ‘You two are joined at the hip! Why leave him behind?’

  Thorvald chuckled, a wet sound. ‘Didn’t know you cared.’

  Hefnir held up a hand. ‘Heggi needs Thorvald’s protection. Here.’

  ‘I’m to come!’ Heggi shouted. ‘It’s not fair. It’s my boat, anyway. I want to hunt walrus. I’m better than her.’

  ‘Enough!’ Hefnir shook him.

  ‘But I am better. So’s Rakki!’

  ‘Sigrid, give him some chores. And if you say another word, Heggi, you know where you’ll go.’

  The boy’s lips turned white. Once again, Bera wondered where it was that Hefnir threatened to send him that had such a strong effect. Ottar’s sharp clips were better than this terrorising. Sigrid’s glance showed she shared Bera’s sympathy but she led him out, the dog following. His sobs and her low voice grew more distant.

  Something rustled in the strewn floor. Thorvald struck like an owl and silenced it.

  Bera’s thoughts teemed. She had lied about the Serpent, who had hidden himself at the feast. But if she started to tell Hefnir the truth the whole episode would come out and there would be bloodshed. So she began to see that Thorvald needed to stay behind and protect Heggi from him. Though that left Sigrid with him... but Thorvald would never own up to killing her son. He would protect the household, if only for Hefnir’s sake. There would be another chance – where she wouldn’t be the obvious suspect, as she would on the trip. And Bera longed to be away from stifling Seabost, wild and free, far from having to think like this.

  ‘So that’s settled,’ said Hefnir. ‘It will be a honeymoon, Bera, I promise you.’

  Thorvald did not look happy about it – but that riven face was always hard to read.

  They went about their own duties. Bera took some household silver coins, told Sigrid she was going to check the livestock, and set off for the forge.

  Heggi was in the yard, leaning on a broom and sulking. He gave her a dark look and farted loudly as she passed.

  ‘That’ll be the pinworms,’ Bera said breezily. ‘I’ll mix up more witchbane when I get back.’

  ‘Cow.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, sinc
e you love Feima so much.’

  Bera was nearly at the waymark when she heard a scatter of stones behind. She turned to find Sigrid puffing after her, wrapped in so many layers that she looked like a walrus. She waited for her to catch up. When she did, Sigrid tried to speak but was breathless. She bent over, put her hands roughly where her knees might be and gently steamed in the cold air.

  ‘What is it?’

  Sigrid wafted a mittened hand for more time.

  ‘Come on, Sigrid, I haven’t got all day. What’s the rush?’

  ‘Present. I made it.’

  Bera supposed it was the blanket for Asa’s baby but hid her jealousy. ‘How did you know I was seeing Dellingr?’

  ‘Obvious.’

  ‘Is it?’

  Sigrid looked at her.

  Bera sighed. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. You’d better come with me.’

  ‘As long as we walk slowly.’

  Bera shifted from foot to foot while Sigrid and Dellingr discussed each hair on the baby’s head, but when she finally saw the sword, it was worth the wait. It gleamed like white fire in the darkness of the forge.

  ‘It’s magnificent,’ she said.

  ‘It will be when I’ve finished.’

  She handed over the coins, which shone in the smith’s black hand.

  Dellingr frowned. ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘Is the sword called anything?’

  ‘What, like Leg-Biter?’ he teased. ‘That’s only for cowards.’

  ‘I want you to mark some runes. It’s not a name. It’s ALU.’

  He nodded. ‘From the rune stone?’

  And in that moment of connection it became clear to Bera that this was why she felt powerful here in the forge, near iron, with a man who respected runes.

  ‘Do you know what it means?’

  ‘Smiths sense the power. Best get to work and get this hilt changed first. Can I feel your grip?’ Dellingr held his hand out flat.

  Bera felt hot as she clasped it. He took a finger away until she was left holding only two, hard as iron. There was a moment when the known world tilted and Bera saw the promise of some other love.

  He studied her hand. ‘Tiny.’