Daughter of Fire and Ice (28 page)

I thanked her, and wondered whether, like Thrang, Bera had guessed my feelings for Bjorn. If she had, she’d never let me know she suspected.

Bjorn helped me into the saddle and we turned the horses’ heads south. We each rode one horse and led a second so that we could swap when they grew weary. The sun hadn’t yet risen as we rode away from Helgafell.

‘Are you happy with this?’ Bjorn asked me as soon as we were out of earshot. ‘It’s not too late to change your mind.’

‘I’d look pretty stupid riding back now,’ I said, with a laugh. I was light hearted, almost giddy, at the thought of days alone with Bjorn. I wouldn’t have turned back now for a fortune. ‘I need medicinal plants,’ I said demurely. Now it was Bjorn’s turn to chuckle. There had been very little laughter through the long hard winter, and I guessed he felt as excited as I did at the prospect of this escape from Ragna’s dark presence. Whether he attached the same importance to the two of us being alone, I couldn’t say. He concealed his feelings almost as well as I did, his aura a steady, almost constant blue. Last summer I could have sworn he loved me. Now I had no idea of his feelings. And in any case, none of that mattered. He was married. We could still enjoy each other’s company. Away from the house, we could still be friends.

The sun rose in a cloudless blue sky, shining its blessing down upon us, bathing us in warmth. We needed it as we climbed from the coast into high, rough meadowland. There were bogs here and there, marked by the cotton grass waving its tufty white heads at us. But the bogs became more scarce and the ground stonier as we climbed.

‘It doesn’t look as though there’s a real pass,’ Bjorn said at last, breaking our long, contented silence. ‘Just a high saddle between the mountains. You could graze animals here in the summer.’

‘It’s very coarse grass,’ I said doubtfully. ‘And even fewer varieties of plants than on the coast.’

‘The cattle wouldn’t mind that. Nor the sheep,’ said Bjorn confidently.

‘Are you thinking of expanding your farm?’ I asked him with a smile.

‘Why not?’ he replied seriously. ‘There will be more settlers arriving soon enough. We must take what we can use now.’

I hesitated. ‘What about Svanson’s kin?’ I asked. ‘Do you think they will come looking for us? Do you think anyone in Norway knows it was not the real Svanson who sailed away with the ships?’

‘That, my dear Thora, I can’t guess,’ Bjorn said. ‘It’s in the hands of the gods.’

He sounded unconcerned.

‘And yet you’ve been training the men to fight,’ I pointed out.

‘The gods help those who help themselves,’ he responded with a grin. ‘Now, for the next few days we are only allowed to discuss cheerful subjects.’

And so we talked and laughed as we rode. We admired the landscape, discussed the possibilities this new land offered us. For a few hours I forgot that I owned nothing and had lost everything to Ragna.

As we began to descend the far side of the saddle of land, a breathtaking view unveiled itself before us. The air was clear and we could see a vast tract of rugged land before us, a silver ribbon snaking its way across it, sparkling in the sun.

‘It might be challenging to cross that river,’ said Bjorn doubtfully.

‘I promised Bera we would do nothing rash,’ I told him.

‘Then we shall have to find a safe crossing place. Do you think human eyes have ever seen this place, Thora? Or are we the very first?’

I caught my breath. That was truly an incredible thought.

Apart from a few birds, the land seemed completely empty. Untouched. The only movement was the wind in the grass and the shadows of the clouds as they chased one another across the landscape. There were few trees, just endless grassy slopes full of flowers. And in the distance, rising starkly black in the bright morning light, more mountains.

I looked at Bjorn.

‘Is it what you expected?’ I asked him.

‘I didn’t know what to expect,’ he said in a hushed voice. I sensed he was feeling the same awe that had struck me.

As we rode slowly down from the high ground towards the river, the air grew warmer. The land became steadily less rocky and more fertile. There was an abundance of flowers and several times I pulled my horse up to look at a plant or shrub. We zigzagged across rough ground, and the horses wove through small trees and avoided boggy patches.

We could hear the river long before we reached it. The sound of rushing water filled our ears. We paused when we reached the bank and looked down at the churning torrent. It was so clear we could see every stone on the bottom. Brightly-coloured male ducks swam busily in and out of eddies of water looking for food. I reached out and tugged Bjorn’s sleeve lightly, drawing his attention to the brown mother duck that was hovering near the bank guarding her fluffy ducklings. Bjorn reached for his bow, but at the sight of my face he let be.

‘We’re going to have to eat,’ he called over the noise of the river.

‘Not now,’ I told him.

Bjorn called the dogs off. They had been poised at the river’s edge ready to retrieve a duck if he shot it, but at his whistle they set off along the bank instead.

As we followed the river upstream the thunder of water grew louder and soon we could see a great cloud of spray rising up into the air.

‘A waterfall,’ guessed Bjorn.

Sure enough, as we rounded the next corner we came upon a vast fall; a snow-white cascade of water. The sunlight caught the myriad drops of spray and turned them into glittering rainbows. It was a place of power and beauty.

I dismounted and stood on the high river bank, arms upraised, and prayed. I thanked Eir for sending me on this expedition. For showing me such sights. And I prayed that she would lead me to places where healing plants grew.

When I was finished, I turned and saw that Bjorn was looking, not at the waterfall, but at me. He was smiling, but it was a kind smile, not a mocking one.

‘Doesn’t it make you want to pray to the gods too?’ I asked him.

‘Your gods are not my gods,’ Bjorn reminded me.

‘Who or what are your gods?’ I asked him curiously.

Bjorn just shook his head.

‘I know you want to forget your past and be Bjorn Svanson,’ I said. ‘I try to support you. But I can’t help but be curious. If you don’t want to be asked, you shouldn’t drop mysterious hints like that.’

Bjorn laughed.

‘Let’s save a few tales for our evening campfires,’ he suggested. ‘We may need words if you won’t let me hunt.’

We continued upstream but we didn’t find a place to cross the river. When the sun was low in the sky, Bjorn shot a duck that flew overhead. One of the dogs brought it triumphantly back in his jaws, and Bjorn decided we had gone far enough for one day.

We made camp beside the river. Bjorn collected twigs and sticks from the scrubby little trees around us and lit a fire. I plucked and cleaned the duck. We spitted it on sticks and I sat down to watch and turn it as it cooked. The dogs found their own meal, probably of ground-nesting birds, and returned smeared in blood and feathers. They edged close to the warmth of the fire, their eyes on the roasting duck, until Bjorn ordered them to lie further off.

A slight awkwardness fell between us. During the day, occupied with riding and seeing new sights, I had felt deeply content to be alone with Bjorn. Now we were sitting quietly, close together in the quiet and muted light of the evening, it felt less comfortable to sit in silence. All topics of conversation that occurred to me were painful. Bjorn must have felt it too, because he remarked: ‘Now we miss Helgi to cheer us up with his jokes, don’t we?’

‘You could tell a story,’ I suggested. ‘You are so gifted, and yet you so rarely agree to do so.’

Bjorn looked into the fire.

‘My stories are all so full of pain,’ he said softly. ‘The stories of my homeland that I was so cruelly snatched away from are haunted with sad memories. And the stories I learned in captivity, I told to earn my keep. So they remind me of that time. Now that I’m no longer a slave, forced to do any master’s will, it’s my pleasure to be silent.’

I’d never heard Bjorn speak of himself in this way. He was usually so careful to have no past but that of the man he was impersonating.

‘Won’t you tell me a tale of your choice, just because I ask you to?’ I said. ‘As a favour?’

‘No, but I’ll tell you a tale of your choice,’ he replied, and he looked directly at me as he spoke, his eyes dark in the evening light. A puff of smoke blew between us and I looked away, suddenly shy. I prodded the duck with a stick.

‘Tell me of your childhood home,’ I said. ‘I’d like to hear as much as you’ll tell me about yourself.’

Bjorn began to speak. He told me he was from Ireland, a land much greener and more fertile than either Norway or Iceland. The winters were light, wet, and mild. It was warm enough to bathe in the sea in summer, he told me. I thought of the sea here and shivered.

Bjorn talked while the duck sizzled and dripped fat into the fire, and I listened. He told me of his capture and his life in slavery. His family had stayed together and that had been their solace. His sister had been his last surviving family member, and she had been killed by Svanson.

His face still darkened with pain and anger as he remembered this. I wanted to reach out and lay my hand on his to soothe him, but I knew it wouldn’t be wise. I kept my hands firmly folded in my lap instead.

‘You avenged her,’ I said softly.

‘Slaves are not entitled to vengeance,’ Bjorn reminded me. ‘What I did was a crime. I committed murder and theft.’

‘We are no longer subject to the laws of Norway here,’ I said.

Bjorn smiled, banishing the shadow that had darkened his brow. ‘No, indeed, and I count my blessings daily. Though I am sorry that we … ’

His voice trailed off. I suspected what he wanted to say and was afraid to hear it. A part of me longed to know what he felt for me. But it was neither wise nor prudent to encourage him.

‘The duck is done,’ I announced, breaking the tension that had been created by his unspoken words.

After we had eaten and thrown the scraps and bones to the dogs, we each laid out our sleeping furs on opposite sides of the fire. I felt self-conscious as I did so, wondering if he had the same thoughts as me; that there was nothing and no one to keep us apart tonight, only the promises he had been forced to make to Ragna on the islands all those months ago.

The temperature had dropped rapidly once the sun had gone behind the mountains and it was bitterly cold. We were glad to wrap ourselves in furs. One of the dogs came, flopped down beside me with a sigh and laid his head across my feet.

‘You’ll be warm enough,’ said Bjorn with a laugh.

I lay back with a sigh looking up at the clear, deep blue sky.

‘It’s almost a year since we slept in the open,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ Bjorn agreed. ‘It seems much longer. Do you remember all those nights on the ship?’

I did remember. I remembered the night it was so cold that Bjorn held me in his arms. I had thought it meant we would always be together. But the gods had had something else in store for us. I wondered if Bjorn was remembering that night too, or whether it had meant less to him. When he spoke, it was of something different.

‘When Thrang left us, I was afraid you were going to go with him.’ Bjorn spoke so softly that I could only just hear him over the crackle of the fire and the roar of the nearby river. ‘He asked you, didn’t he?’

‘He did,’ I admitted.

Smoke blew across me, making me cough. I could tell Bjorn was watching me, but I didn’t choose to look back.

‘And did you consider going?’ he asked.

‘I considered it.’

‘So what made you decide to stay?’

I wished Bjorn wouldn’t ask me. What could I say? That I stayed for love of him? That I still felt certain that our futures were inextricably bound up in one another? Neither my pride nor my good sense would let me say either of these things.

‘I didn’t love him enough,’ I said at last. ‘And I think, at the end, it was the same for him. I think he was afraid I might be the poisoner.’

‘Then he’s a great fool,’ said Bjorn impatiently. ‘How could anyone who knows you believe you capable of such a thing?’

His words were balm to my troubled soul.

We lay silent a while. The brightness faded from the sky, but it wouldn’t get any darker tonight. I could feel the temperature dropping further. After a long pause, Bjorn spoke again.

‘I have no right to ask this. No right at all. But if you left, Thora, my life would be empty. All the joy of my freedom and my farm would be gone. I hope you’ll continue to make my house your home. I hope you’ll stay.’

I took a long time to think about how to reply. You have no right to ask that of me, I thought to myself. But I understand that you gave up a great deal to rescue me from those people on the island. In some ways, your bargain was as hard as mine.

‘I can promise nothing,’ I said at last. ‘Except that I will consult you before I take a decision.’

We eventually found a place where the horses could swim across the river with relatively little danger and we went on inland. We rode for a full day across open, hilly land and came to sights I’ll never forget.

We saw a fire mountain. I’d heard tell of such things, but never met anyone who had seen one for themselves.

The whole area around the mountain was blackened and barren. It was a poisonous, stinking wasteland. Even the water ran hot and foul, evaporating into rotten-smelling steam. The very ground was hot and smoking. As we rode closer, for Bjorn’s curiosity was strong, we could see deep cracks in the rock oozing dull, red, liquid fire.

‘What is it?’ I asked Bjorn astonished. We could go no closer, the heat seared our faces and hands. The dogs had stopped following us some time ago and waited anxiously on cooler ground. The horses too were fretting now and tugging at the bits, wanting to be away from this unnatural place.

‘I think the rocks themselves have melted,’ said Bjorn uncertainly.

‘But rocks don’t melt,’ I objected. ‘You can put them in the hottest part of the fire. They glow, but they never melt.’