Then she glanced down at the floor of her imaginary storeroom. At her feet lay a brown rag, stained with dark red dots. She felt the rough texture with her thumb, then lifted it to her nose. Blood: dots of blood, some large, some small. She rolled the rag up and placed it gently on Jorunn’s shelf. Eldest brother: absolute bastard. Insults her, challenges her husband, elbows her in the face. What would that be like? Enough to cut him with a well-placed insult or two – possibly even to put enough rotten berries in his porridge to send his stomach into a twist – but to kill? The smile on Jorunn’s lips as she waited for her brothers at the finishing line came back to Helga. Karl had been ahead of her for inheritance, and Jorunn Unnthorsdottir did not like to lose.
Behind her, the storeroom door creaked and Helga’s heart beat faster. She could smell him, feel the heat of him behind her. And what about me? Aslak whispered in her ear. Do I go on the shelf?
Yes, she whispered. You’ve been acting strange around your wife. Something happened, and now you’re being different.
The imaginary brother sauntered past her, turned and leaned against the shelf. Am I?
The light warped around him, casting his face half in shadow and carving his fine features more deeply. She wondered how she hadn’t seen it before: underneath the beautiful skin, the youngest brother was an intriguing mix of his mother’s edge and his father’s fury. Helga’s eye twitched, she sneezed, and the flash of embarrassment was enough to break the spell. The storeroom faded, taking the imaginary Aslak with it. The packed earth under her feet remained the same, though—
Barn. She was in the new barn.
‘—and we need to turn the new hay as well, so it dries out properly,’ Hildigunnur finished. Turning, she cast a critical look at Helga and her eyes narrowed. ‘What did I just say?’
‘The new hay,’ Helga said as confidently as she could. ‘We need to turn it.’ She threw in a sage, agreeing nod for good measure.
Hildigunnur was not fooled for an instant. ‘And what do we need to do before we turn the hay, my darling daughter?’ She smiled like a wolf might.
‘Um . . .’ No further words came to her rescue.
‘You were miles away,’ Hildigunnur said. ‘What’s on your mind?’
‘I don’t know,’ Helga said, registering her shock at the speed of her lie. ‘The . . . what happened to Karl, I guess.’
A moment’s pause. ‘You are allowed to be afraid,’ Hildigunnur said, her voice soft. ‘Just because I’m an old witch and her brothers beat it out of Jorunn a long time ago, doesn’t mean you have to hide your fear. In fact, it should tell you that you are smart. Not that you needed telling, mind.’
‘Thank you,’ Helga mumbled, looking at her feet to hide the panic in her eyes. ‘I did need to hear that.’
The next thing she felt was a dry, warm fingertip gently touching her chin and raising her head. Even though she was a good half a hand taller than her mother, Helga still felt small in front of her.
Hard blue eyes surrounded by laughter wrinkles stared straight at her. ‘You’re safe here, my girl. I promise you.’
Despite herself, despite lying to her mother’s face, Helga felt a wash of relief. She had been scared, even if she had tried to avoid admitting it to herself, and all too aware that she was sleeping under the same roof as a murderer. And even though her mother couldn’t make that promise in any sort of faith because she couldn’t know whose hand had wielded the knife, Helga did suddenly feel a lot safer. It was really easy to do what her mother told her, and if the order was not to worry, then that was what she would do. She reminded herself to figure out later – after the new hay had been turned – why she hadn’t wanted to share her thoughts.
*
The summer breeze set the grass to swishing at Sigmar’s feet. Up here it grew longer and thinner, but come the depths of winter the animals wouldn’t care too much where their feed was from. They’d care greatly, however, if it wasn’t there. He swept the scythe in smooth, even strokes, watching as the long stalks fell to the ground with a quiet whisper. Walking slowly about ten steps behind him, Jorunn busied herself stuffing the fourth sack of the morning. Even though they were a good quarter of a day’s walk away from the farm, he still scouted around quickly before he spoke. ‘Who do you think did it?’
The set of Jorunn’s shoulders changed ever so slightly, but the answer took a while. ‘Does it matter?’ she said finally.
‘To us?’ The scythe started moving again, swishing through the green. ‘Probably not. We’ve marked our course—’
‘—and we’re not changing it.’ Jorunn’s voice was firm. ‘We proceed as we planned.’
Sigmar smiled as he swept the blade across the grass, watching as the green yielded before him. ‘As you wish, Wife.’
‘Shut up and keep working,’ came the reply behind him, but there was a smile in the voice. ‘Wielding a scythe does wonderful things for your arse.’
The rays of the morning sun caught on the thin, sharp blade sweeping rhythmically through the stalks.
*
‘Can you see them up there?’ Einar peered through the trees as he knelt by the post, holding on to the base.
‘Who?’ his father grunted, hefting the sledgehammer.
‘Jorunn and Sigmar. Where did they go?’
‘Hold it steady. Unnthor sent them’ – Grunt. Heave. Sound of wood smashing down on wood – ‘to make hay up by the ridge.’
‘Huh.’ Einar moved over to the next fence post. A line of them, evenly spaced, stretched back at least a quarter of a mile. ‘Not much to be had up there, though.’
‘There’s enough,’ Jaki said. ‘Steady, now.’ Einar lifted the post and placed the point in the ground just as the sledgehammer rose and fell. ‘And you should keep your mind on the work,’ he added. ‘Don’t you be worrying about where the family may or may not be going, or what they’ll do when they get there. Mind where the hammer goes.’
Einar grunted again, kneeling in the soft grass. ‘I don’t care what they do,’ he said, lifting the fence post and placing it point-down.
‘Good,’ his father replied. ‘Not yours to worry about. Unnthor needs our help. Steady, now.’ The sledgehammer smashed into the fence post and sent it spinning out of Einar’s hands, smashing into his side as it fell.
‘Ow! What did you do that for?’ He jumped to his feet and glared at his father.
‘I did nothing,’ Jaki growled. ‘You weren’t watching what you were doing. There’s a stone in the ground and you put the point right on it. If you’d been paying any sort of attention to your work you’d have felt it.’
‘Do you want to hold the next one, then?’
‘Go home, boy,’ Jaki said. ‘Go and whittle or something. Carve out a love poem. You’re no use to me.’
Einar scowled. ‘But you’ll be slow without me.’
‘I’ve put up a fence or two before your time.’
‘Fine,’ Einar said. ‘I’ll go and fix some of the tools you old farts keep breaking.’ But his father had already turned his back on him and gone to wedge the fence post in the ground. ‘Stubborn old bull,’ Einar muttered under his breath, only just resisting the urge to kick one of the newly erected posts on his way back to the farm. He glared towards the hill. ‘Fucking stupid, going up there to cut hay.’ He snorted. ‘Maybe she went with him to make sure he didn’t get carried away with the sheep.’
He marched along the row of fence posts, shoulders hunched and hands knotted into fists. He didn’t notice the shape in the distance until the distance wasn’t all that much. ‘Oh, the gods are cruel!’ he swore. ‘What did I do to deserve this?’
There was nowhere to hide.
When Gytha looked up, she didn’t wave or react in any way; she simply stopped and waited. There was no way around her.
‘Morning.’
‘And to you,’ Einar rep
lied. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Somewhere else.’
‘Fair enough,’ Einar said.
‘And you?’
‘Father sent me away. He can be a grumpy old, uh . . .’ Einar’s voice trailed off and he swallowed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t—’
Gytha raised her hand, palm up. ‘Shh.’ She looked at him, then smirked. ‘What? Did you think I was going to burst into tears?’
‘Uh . . .’
‘You know who my father was, right? What kind of man he was?’
‘Er . . . yes?’
‘If he’d caught me keening like a bitch over his death he’d have made it a point to come back to haunt me.’
Einar blinked. ‘I . . . um . . . Fair enough, I suppose.’
‘I mean, I didn’t want him to die, but he is dead now, and all the tears in the world won’t change that.’
Something in the way she blinked . . . He made the decision before he could think about it or scream at himself. Two quick steps and he was close enough, then his wiry but strong arms were wrapped around the girl.
‘What are you doing? Let go!’ she said, but the stiffness in her body melted away almost instantly. Her cheek rested up against his chest and a sigh escaped her lips.
They stood close like that for a long time.
Einar finally broke the silence. ‘We should go.’
‘Yes,’ she mumbled.
He dropped his arms slowly and stepped back, uncomfortably aware of the sudden absence of her heat.
‘I’ll . . . uh, see you,’ he said.
Gytha looked down, suddenly shy. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Lost for words, Einar nodded in reply. ‘Tonight,’ he added awkwardly. Then he turned around and walked back home towards the farm, feeling her eyes on him as he moved.
*
The shadow of the longhouse roof drew a black line across the yard and Helga smiled involuntarily as she crossed out into the sunlight again. Summer, she sighed. The linen sack felt rough against her hands, but the spreading warmth on her bare forearms made up for it. The air felt honey-sweet with it. Summer. The moment in the new barn had passed as quickly as it had come on, and she’d worked in pleasant silence with Hildigunnur. Sometime later, when the gentle creaking of the wood around them suggested that the sun had started heating the barn, she wondered whether her mother hadn’t dragged her out and up here just as much for her own benefit. It didn’t matter much; things were as they were.
‘Need a hand?’
Helga blinked. She hadn’t heard Aslak, nor seen him. He was just suddenly there, standing by the corner of the hen fence. ‘No,’ she said, adding, ‘thank you!’ and kicking herself for how awkward it sounded.
‘Suit yourself.’ Those were his words, but his voice said something different. I’m staying here, it said. And she might be imagining it, but she thought it said, I like to look at you.
‘Fine,’ she blurted, ‘if you could get the gate for me.’
He walked across to the fence and opened the gate for her with a smile and a look that said, Will this do? She nodded at him. Inside the shack she could hear scrabbling feet and the first clucks.
‘Coming,’ she said, trying to ignore the rising colour in her cheeks. The gate clicked closed behind her. The scrabbling in the small shack intensified, and when she opened the door the hens all but burst out.
‘Hungry little things, aren’t they?’ Aslak said from the fence.
Helga reached into the sack and spread out the feed, trying to get the birds from underfoot. ‘They are. They don’t like to be cooped up.’
‘I can’t blame them,’ Aslak said. ‘No one likes that.’
She was stuck for words. ‘I guess not,’ she finally managed.
‘You can do better than guess,’ Aslak said. ‘Guessing is weak.’
Helga choked down a rising dread that she couldn’t quite explain. ‘No one likes to be shut in,’ she said with as much conviction as she could muster, scattering the final handful of feed and turning to the gate. Aslak was leaning on it, one hand on the latch.
She took two steps towards the gate.
He made no move to shift out of the way.
Another two steps.
Her eyes met his.
There was a spark to him, a crackle. ‘No one likes to be forced into things,’ he said.
Another two steps and Helga was standing by the gate, close enough to feel the heat of his body. ‘No,’ she said, putting her hand on the gate. She pushed – and he pushed back.
‘You guess?’
Another flare, this time of annoyance. ‘I know,’ she said.
He did not break eye contact, but she felt the pressure on the gate disappear. He shifted to the side – not by much, but so that she could squeeze past him. Cheeks crimson, she pushed past and away. Completely unbidden, the image of the storeroom came to her. In her mind, she doubled the size of Aslak’s shelf.
*
The scythe was balanced easily on Sigmar’s left shoulder. Over her right Jorunn carried a stuffed sack of hay. They walked in comfortable silence, enjoying the sunshine sweeping across the hill. Below, the river sparkled.
‘Precious stones on Khazar cloth,’ Sigmar said.
‘Ever the poet. But I will agree, if forced: it’s a pretty place.’
‘It has done them well. I think – hang on – who’s that?’
Far below them, just at the foot of the hill, someone waited. Jorunn groaned. ‘It’s Runa.’
‘This will be . . . interesting.’
‘She’s not coming to talk to you.’
‘I know. Just . . . keep your head, will you?’
‘When do I not?’
Five steps turned to twenty and they could both make out Runa’s features now. She was turned towards them, hands clasped in front.
‘Go.’ Jorunn’s voice was firm.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t look back at his wife; instead, he gripped the handle of the scythe harder and lengthened his stride. As the distance between them grew, he drew a deep breath. ‘You have it your way, Wife,’ he shouted, coating the word with contempt. ‘We’ll see who is right.’ Moments later he passed Runa without so much as glancing at her concerned face.
When Jorunn reached Runa’s spot she uncoiled visibly. ‘Jorunn,’ she said, her voice trembling, ‘I – I have to talk to you.’
‘Why me?’ Jorunn snapped, slowing down as she passed but not by much, forcing Runa to turn on her heel and stride beside her to catch up.
‘I—’ There was a sniffle, then a clearing of the throat. ‘I have something I have to tell someone, and I think I can tell you.’
The path led straight to the west fence at Riverside, but Jorunn didn’t slow down. In the distance, Sigmar had rounded a corner and disappeared out of sight.
A few more long strides, then, ‘Out with it, Sister. What is it?’
‘It’s about Aslak.’
‘What now? You just saw how my husband really feels – and you want advice from me? I thought you were much better at all of that than I was.’
Hurrying in her wake, Runa tried to catch her breath. ‘No! That’s not what I meant – never!’
‘And I didn’t mean to be so cruel,’ Jorunn said, her voice softening as she reached the gate.
‘Wait!’ Runa hissed. ‘Please, slow down!’
Jorunn slipped inside the gate, held it open for Runa and smiled. ‘Sorry. When Sigmar puts me in a mood I sometimes find it’s best to walk it off.’ She looked at the shorter woman. ‘Now, Sister, tell me what’s on your mind.’
Huffing, Runa looked up. A tear glistened in her eye. ‘I’m . . . scared.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I think – I think Aslak murdered Karl.’<
br />
Runa’s head whipped to the side with the force of the blow. Eyes wide open in shock, she stared at Jorunn, who was squeezing the knuckles on her right hand.
‘You are not part of this family,’ Jorunn snarled, ‘and you do not get to accuse my brother.’
‘Why?’ Runa’s face had twisted into a sneer. ‘Is that because you killed Karl?’
*
The first scream came from behind the longhouse. When the second followed, Helga realised that she was already running towards it. Heart pounding, she could see Einar out of the corner of her eye, along with Bjorn and Sigmar. When she rounded the corner, she couldn’t quite believe her eyes.
‘Hey!’ she yelled, grabbing a water bucket – the thing nearest to hand – and sprinting towards the two forms wrestling on the ground. ‘Stop!’ She twisted her body and swung, throwing the water over the fighters. She recognised Jorunn and Runa in one blink of an eye before she realised that the water was somewhat more slop-coloured than she’d expected.
The two shrieks came in unison and for a moment the women on the ground froze, catching their breath and blinking at the unexpected assault on the senses. Jorunn was first to recover; she used the opportunity to roll over, pin the shorter woman to the ground and deliver a straight right to her nose.
‘Jorunn – stop!’ Bjorn roared as he rushed past Helga, but his sister’s fists were rising and falling, pummelling Runa’s forearms as the smaller woman desperately tried to cover her face. When he swept Jorunn off she kicked out, flailing at the whimpering Runa and trying her best to stamp on Bjorn’s foot, though with little luck.
‘What is the matter with you?’ The big man held his sister half a foot off the ground easily.
‘She’s a bitch!’ Jorunn snarled.
‘I know that,’ Bjorn said, ‘but so are you, and we’re not busy punching you in the face, are we? What happened?’
But Jorunn refused to offer any answer; instead, she just wriggled in his arms. ‘Let go of me, you bastard,’ she snarled.
Helga watched as Bjorn came to a decision and turned towards the river.
‘Let go of me!’ Jorunn shrieked. ‘Let go!’
Silent as winter, Bjorn just kept walking.
Kin (Helga Finnsdottir) Page 16
