Icefall (23 page)

The sun is fully up, and the fog has been swept away. The water flowing out of the glacier weakens from a flood to a river. We wait until the ice has sloughed off all it can, until the strength of the falling stream is right with the season. Then we descend, slowly, until we stand before the glacier’s empty belly.

Where once stood a monumental face now yawns a crystal cave to which there seems to be no end. Water-sounds fill the vaulted space, sigh-drips and gurgle-whispers. Spears and columns of ice the size of trees jut in all directions, while openings in the ceiling let in rays of sunlight.

“What a hall this would make,” Raudi says. “Fit for giants and gods.”

“We must see if the boats have survived,” Hake says.

I nod. “And our own hall.” And we must try to find Per and Asa. I hope they were out of the water’s path as it fell.

We turn away from the ice cave to the ravine. The way down is even more difficult than the way up. The water has left the rocks wet and scraped bare. Hake slips more often, but we all help support him. Before long, we come to where we can look down on the field and the hall.

But there is no field. Only a shallow, black lake scattered with islands of ice. And beyond it, we see the path of the serpent, the long, wide swath of snow-stripped ground stretching to the ocean.

“Let’s keep moving,” Hake says.

We reach the base of the ravine, the edge of the lake-field, where ragged stumps are all that is left of the trees. But the woods up against the mountains to either side have been spared. It seems that as the water spread out over the open ground, it lost some of its strength.

Harald takes my hand. I look down at him and find him staring at the water. I follow his gaze.

There ahead of us, amidst the branches, mud, and ice, floats the ruined body of a man. And then I see another. And another. They are every where, tangled and broken, eyes open. This is where the torrent left some of its cargo of flesh. I turn Harald into me, and I avert my eyes. I do not want to see the faces.

We decide without speaking to avoid the field, the bodies, and the water. Instead we choose the long way around and head toward the standing woods, our procession hushed with reverence as we traverse a drowned world.

In the forest we find higher, dry ground, and before long we come to the clearing with the old larder. I cannot help leaving the others to go lift the trapdoor and call down for Asa. Or Per. But there is no answer.

“We’ll find them,” Bera says. “I’m sure they are alive.”

They might be alive, but that does not mean we will find them. I do not think they would want to be found, even by us.

We reach the hall, which still stands, though sodden and damaged. The whole structure leans to one side as though favoring an injured leg. It might be livable, if necessary. For
now, we continue over the corpse-strewn, puddled yard, past the charred remains of the other buildings, and through the broken steading gate. We follow the path down through the woods. The water-swept grass and underbrush lie flat, pointing toward the sea. I try to ignore the few bodies tucked and snagged in the tree roots. And then we reach the shore.

The ships are in decent condition, though sitting a little low in the water. They will need to be bailed out. But there are only two. The boat that first brought me and my siblings here, the smallest of the vessels, is gone. I wonder if perhaps the water ripped it free of its anchor, but if that was the case, I think we would see it floating out in the fjord. Unless someone sailed away with it before the flood.

“Could it … could it have sunk?” I ask.

Hake shakes his head.

“Could the three of them have sailed it alone?” Bera asks.

“No,” the berserker says. “Ole and Per must have persuaded or bribed some of Gunnlaug’s men.”

Raudi grits his teeth. “The bodies were on that boat. Our men.”

Hake closes his eyes. His arms drop to his sides, and his head hangs. His warrior-brothers, our fallen ones, have died a second death, for now we cannot bury them. Asa and Per have robbed us even of our chance to mourn. It is unthinkable, and yet the boat is gone. I listen to the waves lapping the rocks, the wind through the trees.

“What will they do with them?” Raudi asks.

Bera whispers, a catch in her voice, “Probably throw them overboard.”

Hake lifts his head. “We must see to the hall. Bera, take stock of our provisions. We cannot sail these war vessels by ourselves, and we do not know how long until the king comes for us. Hopefully, it shall be soon. Go, now.”

“Let us help you back up the path,” Raudi says.

Hake looks up into the trees. “I’ll be along on my own. I just need to rest a moment.”

Bera and Raudi look doubtful, but they nod and lead Harald back up the path. I wonder if I should go with them or stay here. Hake lingers at the water’s edge, his back to me. I don’t know whether he wants to be left alone, or if he would let me try to comfort him, but a moment later he starts to wobble on his leg. I rush to his side before he falls. He tries to smile as I lead him over to a large rock, and he sits down with a grunt. I take the spot next to him. Together, we stare down the length of the fjord.

A moment later, he clears his throat. “I hope they at least said a prayer before they gave their bodies to the sea.”

“I’m so sorry, Hake.”

“As am I.”

I slide my arm through his, and then I straighten up and lay my head on his shoulder. We sit that way for a long time, without saying anything more, and then we slowly make our way back up to the steading.

E
verything in the hall is wet. We leave the doors open to let in the breeze and the sunlight until the hearth is dry enough to hold a fire. We hang out our blankets over the tables and rafters. The stores in the larder burned up, but the food Gunnlaug had brought into the hall survived. There isn’t much, but with just the five of us to feed, it should last us a short time.

And we can fish. Ole left his net piled in the corner of the room where he used to sit and mend it.

Hake limps around inspecting the hall, every post and beam. In spite of its slant, he proclaims the building safe. So we go about the business of settling in. The blankets and floor dry throughout the day, and by the time the sun sets, we are
gathered around a small fire in the hearth. I sit in shock, unable to hold all of what has happened in my mind. We eat together, but none of us speaks. What is there to say when nothing beyond the food and the fire makes sense?

I look at our little household and consider telling a tale. But I decide against it. I can’t begin my story yet.

Alric’s isn’t finished, even though I know he is gone. And yet he isn’t. How can he be gone when his voice is still in my ears, and his stories still hang in the air? Even if he were standing right next to me, it would feel no different than it does now, for he is still here with me. How can the others not feel it?

The next few days bring a lashing of winter back to the fjord, a chill in the air though the ground is warming beneath our feet. We’re crossing that unstable battlefield of seasons where neither side holds its position for long. Hake’s leg is back to mending, in spite of what we put it through climbing up the ravine and down again.

The hall seems so empty with just the five of us, and none of us ventures much outside. The ravens and other scavengers have begun to bring in their harvest, and death is every where. The hall has become a place for me to hide from it. When we speak now, it is in whispers. But I think the others are just wary around me. Sometimes I hear them in hushed conversation, Bera, Raudi, and Hake. And sometimes I catch Alric’s
name. But when they realize I’m listening, they go stiff and fall silent.

They think I haven’t accepted Alric’s death. But they don’t understand, and I can’t explain it to them. I am only starting to understand myself.

So I pretend not to hear them.

I wake the next morning, and Hake is gone. Harald and I sit at the table with Raudi, watching Bera serve up our day meal of porridge.

“Where is he?” I ask.

Bera sets a bowl before me. “Eat your food, now.”

“Where is Hake?”

She doesn’t answer.

Raudi hands me a spoon. “He said he needed to stretch his leg.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me that?”

Bera points her ladle at me. “Eat.”

So I force myself to finish the food she has served me. And then I wait. And I pace the hall. Harald stays close to me, his hand never far from mine.

At least once a day he asks about Per and Asa. Where do I think they are? Do I think they are safe? When will Asa come back? Why did they leave? The weak answers I mutter do not appease him. There are no answers, and even if there were, they would not change a thing.

It is afternoon before Hake returns. He staggers through the door, and we all rush to help him. But he waves us off and takes a seat, his leg outstretched, breathing hard. His clothes are soaked to the waist.

I fold my arms. “Where have you been?” He tips his head back. “I need to keep my strength up.”

“You need to heal.”

“I can’t wait for this leg to heal before I use it.” I shake my head. “You’re as stubborn as Hilda was.” And I walk away in exasperation.

The berserker is gone again the next morning.

I march toward the door. “I’m going out there to get him and bring him back.”

“Leave him be,” Bera says.

“He needs to rest.”

“He knows best what he needs. He knows what we all need.”

“Well, I need him, and he doesn’t seem to know that.”

Bera rubs her eyes. “He knows that better than you think. Just be patient, Solveig. He’ll return soon.”

And she is right. A short while later, Hake enters the hall, and once again his legs are wet. But they are also black with mud, as are his sleeves, and dirt outlines his fingernails.

“Everyone please come with me,” he says. Then he pivots and leaves the hall.

We all file through the doors after him.

I squint in the sunlight and hold my hand to my brow to shield my eyes. The world is so sharp and vibrant, the blue of the sky, the deep green of the pine trees, the gray stone mountains. The sight of it is almost painful.

It takes a moment to notice that the bodies are gone from the yard. Is that what Hake has been doing? He leads us through the steading gate and down the forest path. The corpses have been removed from the trees as well. We reach the shore, and from there, the berserker leads us into the wood, toward the runestone.

I’m not sure why he would want us all to go there, but as we reach the clearing, and I see the monument rising from the ground, I understand.

There at the foot of the stone, next to a freshly dug hole in the earth, lies Alric’s body. I look away.

Somehow, Hake found him in the wreckage left behind by the flood. He brought him here and dug him a grave. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. Hake stands near the body, his hands behind his back, his head bowed. But his eyes are watching me, and I see the worry in his face.

“Solveig.” His voice sounds so gentle. “We must honor him. His story is ended.”

When I hear those words, it feels as though my insides are wrenched sideways. How can it be ended? I start to tremble.

Hake holds out his hand. “Come here.”

I step away from him.

“Solveig, he must be laid to rest.”

“Only Alric can end his story,” I say. “Only him. Not me.”

Hake touches his chin to his chest, frowning. A moment later, he looks up. “Did he not finish your tales for you?”

“What?”

“When you were first learning, did he not finish the tales you started?”

“He did.”

“Well, now it is your turn to repay him. He cannot finish his story, so you must do it for him.”

“I can’t.” And I am afraid that if I do, his voice will fade.

“If not you, then who?”

My throat feels as though it is collapsing. He is right. There is no one else. I hug myself and cross the few steps between Hake and me. I take a deep breath and I look down at Alric’s body. I force myself to notice all the signs of death. I make myself aware of his shrunken eyes. I acquaint myself with the paleness of his skin. I memorize the features of his empty expression. And then I begin to weep.

I fall to my knees, and cover my face. He is gone. He, of all of us, seemed able to pass through any storm, to find purchase and thrive wherever the wind and waves carried him. But this time, he did not allow himself to be carried. This time, he fought against the current. And so I kneel before his lifeless body.

Alric. Skald. My teacher, whom I only really knew by the act that took him from me. And yet he knew me, somehow.

He saw what I was, and who I was, though I was too afraid. But he found me and led me to myself. He showed me what a story is and can be.

Hake and the others let me weep and mourn undisturbed for some time.

But eventually, the grief retreats to a place where I can contain it, at least temporarily. I lift my face and take a surface-breaking breath. Then I rise and watch as Hake lays Alric’s body into its grave. I bend and help cover him with icy half-winter soil. This hole must have been very difficult for Hake to dig.

Bera was right. He knew what I needed.

Nearly a week later, a mighty longship enters the fjord. And even from the cliff, I know it is my father.

We gather at the waterline to greet him. And as his vessel plows toward us, it seems that even the waves bow down before him. Harald bounces next to me, and I try to hold my head high, though my heart is beating fast. The longship touches land, and the men on deck extend a gangplank to the shore.

My father appears then, broad and tall, and makes his way down toward us. He wears a cape of fur over his gilded armor, and a golden helmet that shines like a captive sun. When he reaches us, he removes the helmet and reveals his mane of thick black hair. If he is surprised by what he sees, our ragged little group of survivors, he does not show it.

All of us bow.

Then Harald rushes to him “Father!”

“My son,” our father says, and places a hand on my brother’s head. He looks down at me. “My daughter.”

I cannot help but drop my eyes. “Father, it is wonderful to see you. I thank the gods that you are well.”

“And I thank them for your safety. Where is your sister?”

I look up. Of course he would ask about her, before he has even embraced me. He waits for my answer, his face a guarded battlement, and I don’t know what to say to him. I do not want to be the one to tell him.

“Solveig,” he says. “Where is Asa?”

Hake clears his throat. “My king, there is much you and I must speak of.”

Bera is busy cooking the night meal for our father and the boatload of warriors he brought with him. When the messengers he had sent failed to return, he assumed the worst and set sail immediately, expecting to find Gunnlaug waiting for him. But instead he finds a drowned fjord, a broken steading, and only a handful of us remaining.

He and Hake speak at one end of the hearth, where they have been for much of the day. My father listens without showing any emotion, and I wonder if Hake has mentioned my desire to become a skald. I hope not. That I want to tell him, myself.

I think I may have an opportunity when my father approaches me later in the day.

“Solveig, I would speak with you.”

“Gladly, Father.”

He leads me out of the hall, out into the yard. Muninn is on my shoulder, and my father stares at him as we walk.

“Are you not worried your raven will fly away?” he asks.

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because he did leave me once. And then he came back.”

My father nods. “I see.”

We walk around to the back of the hall, to the woodpile, and he gestures for me to sit on the stump there.

“I am troubled,” he says. “Hake has told me much. Per’s treachery weighs heavy on my mind, as do the deaths of so many good men. But Asa’s betrayal is a dagger to my heart.”

“She disappointed us all.”

“She did. But for now, I do not wish to speak of her any further. I want to talk about you.”

I wait.

“Hake has told me a great deal about what transpired in this place. I realize now that I am not as wise as I believed myself to be, and that is a hard thing.”

I brace myself.

“I misjudged the people closest to me.” He kneels down next to me. “And I have overlooked you, my daughter. Hake
tells me that you are the reason he, the servants, and your brother are still alive. You have made me proud.”

I repeat his words in my head, turn them over and over to make sure they are what they seem to be. I have waited so long to hear them. For a single, beautiful moment, I relish his approval. But then I start to wonder why I have wanted it so desperately.

My father rubs his dark beard. “He also tells me that you have something you wish to ask me, and that I should listen to you.”

“I do have something to ask you,” I say. And he
should
listen to me. Before coming here, I didn’t think I had anything worth listening to, and maybe that is what has changed. Now that I know some of the strength I have inside me, perhaps I no longer need my father to tell me that I have it.

He smiles, and it lifts the shields from his eyes for a moment. “Ask me.”

I take a deep breath of spring air, the cleanest I have ever tasted. All winter long, I dreaded this moment, but now that it is here, I feel only joy and pride. “I would like to be a skald.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That I did not anticipate.”

“I trained all through the winter with Alric.”

“I would hear of him. Hake tells me he showed great courage in the end, but that you are the one who should tell me about that, also.”

For a moment, I wonder why Hake would leave Alric’s
bravery for me to speak of, but then I realize why. Hake has thought of a way for me to show my father my abilities, while paying honor to Alric.

“Let me tell you a story, Father. Let me be your skald tonight, and then you will see.”