Icefall (8 page)

Alric pauses. He looks around the room, and we wait. His eyes find me, and he motions with his hand for me to stand. I do so, confused, my eyes darting in embarrassment.

“Solveig,” Alric says. “Will you tell us what the dwarves made the chain out of?”

Every head turns silently in my direction. I swallow. I know the story. Every child grows up hearing it. But I’m unsure of the rhythm necessary to tell it, the devices and techniques. All eyes are on me, bringing heat to my cheeks. And then I see Harald on a bench nearby. I have told him this story many times before, and he looks at me as if wondering what I’m waiting for. Then I look at Raudi, and he offers an encouraging smile. I realize that if I am to be a skald, I will need to get used to people watching me. And if I am to be a skald, I will need to speak. So I begin.

“The dwarves made the chain from the sound of a cat’s footfall.” My voice is quiet at first. And I feel silly, just a girl telling a story. “The strands of a woman’s beard, the roots of a mountain, the sinew from a bear.”

But as I speak, I find the story emerges from my memory, and the words come easier. I gain a little confidence, and so I attempt to embellish the lines. “The breath of a silver fish
swimming in the pool. And the spittle from the beak of a blackbird soaring in the sky. And because the dwarves used each of these, now none of them are found upon the earth.”

Several of the berserkers gently applaud. Harald is smiling, and Alric nods, seeming pleased. At their demonstrations of approval, I feel a surge of heat in my veins, a rush of flame and excitement that lifts my chest.

Alric rolls his hand toward me, asking me to continue with the story. But I shake my head. I am afraid I will ruin this small moment. It is enough for now.

Alric nods and finishes the tale of Fenrir. I sit down and listen to him intently, watching how he does what he does with a new awareness. I notice when he raises and lowers his voice, and the effect that has on the audience. He makes eye contact and looks away, to mark certain moments in the story. And each of his words seems like a perfect piece of fruit, plucked from the tree at the exact moment of its ripeness.

He tells of how the gods taunted the giant wolf, dared him to try his strength against the chain. How Fenrir did not trust them, and so the god Tyr inserted his hand into Fenrir’s mouth as a gesture of the gods’ sincerity. A hand that Tyr lost to Fenrir’s teeth once the chain was around the wolf’s neck, and he realized he had been tricked.

Later that night, in the bedcloset, I lie on my back with my hands behind my head. I sigh and relish the lingering warmth
from my skaldic moment. I am startled when Asa reaches out and takes my hand. Then she squeezes it.

“You did well tonight,” she whispers.

Normally, I would want to say,
No, I didn’t
. I’d try to diminish it. But tonight I want to simply accept what she has offered. I want to believe it is true, and that my sister, the one who is loved by all, has seen something in me she admires.

“Thank you,” I say.

T
he next morning, Raudi is sent to milk the cows. He leaves the hall and is only gone a few moments before returning with an empty bucket. He stands in the doorway, looks back over his shoulder toward the shed, and wrinkles his brow.

“Well?” Bera asks. “What is it?”

Raudi looks over his shoulder again. “The cows are gone.”

“What do you mean?” Bera asks.

“They’re not in the shed.”

Per stands and moves toward Raudi.

Bera still looks confused. “Well, where else would they be?”

“I’ll go and see what this is about,” Per says.

But we all follow him out into the yard and across to the cowshed. The door is open, and the shed is empty, just as Raudi said.

“Where could they have got to?” Bera asks.

A quick search of the steading tells us that the cows are not anywhere within the walls. Cows can’t really hide, and can’t really be hidden. Which only leaves the possibility that they somehow got outside the walls. A heavy snow fell most of the night, and would have covered any tracks the cows left behind.

“We’ll organize parties to go into the woods,” Per says. “We’ll need everyone.”

Per doesn’t say it, but we’re all thinking the same thing. If the cows managed to slip out into the woods last night, they’re dead and frozen. The search is not for the cows but for their meat. Meat we can’t afford to lose.

I am assigned to a group with Ole, Egill, and Gunnarr. Harald goes with Hake and several berserkers. Even Asa has come out to help, in a group with Per, Bera, and Raudi. We strap on our snowshoes, leave the steading walls, and each group takes a different direction.

“Spread out,” Per says as we separate. “But stay within sight of those next to you.”

My party widens the distance between us to ten yards or so, and we march into the trees. The snow is soft and deep. Even with snowshoes, my legs begin to burn and the cloud of my breath is a drift of its own in front of me. I look to both sides
now and again, to check for Egill on my left and Ole on my right. The woods are silent as we pass through them, any noise swallowed by the snow. I focus my eyes on the ground, searching for a sign of the cows, but I don’t see anything. Not even the tracks of smaller, wild things.

“I must thank you,” Ole says, coming closer to me.

“For what?” I ask.

“For sharing your skyr. I hadn’t eaten any for a while, and it tasted good.”

“You’re welcome,” I say.

He nods and we continue walking. “I worry that the wolves may have found the cows last night,” he says.

“I hope not.”

“If they did, they won’t have left any meat for us. And now they’ve found some food here, they may not be so ready to move on.”

“How do you think the cows got out?” I ask.

Ole looks up into the branches overhead. “The only way I can figure it, someone put them out.”

I stop walking. “What? You mean, on purpose?”

He nods.

“But why? Why would someone do that?”

“To weaken us. You’ve heard these rumors about a stranger out here in the woods. If anyone wants to take this steading and capture you children, they’ll need to get through the berserkers, which is no easy thing. Unless you weaken them first.”

I remember my dream, the berserkers dead on the ground. From starvation? Is there a traitor in the steading, some enemy sleeping at our own hearth who deliberately put the cows out in the wolf-wood? I shudder. If so, if that person wishes us harm, then what is to stop their knife in the dark of the bedcloset? I worry for Harald, who sleeps with the men.

“But don’t worry,” Ole says. “Per and Hake won’t let any harm come to you.” He starts to walk away. “I better get back over there so we don’t miss anything.”

“Ole,” I call, and he turns back. I hesitate. “Have I offended you?”

He looks away. “I took you for a royal fool. And a selfish one to go running off like you did that night. Who knows what could have happened to you, or to those of us searching for you. There’s worse than wolves in these mountains.” He looks at me and smiles. “But you proved me wrong yesterday morning. You may still be a fool, but you’re not selfish.”

Then he walks away.

We continue our search, but in stopping and talking with Ole, I’ve lost sight of Egill, and I assume he of me. I grow nervous at the thought of an enemy lurking out here somewhere. Perhaps watching us even now. But I can still see Ole among the trees, and I turn my attention back to the forest and our purpose for being there. I’m looking for a carcass now, for blood in the snow, not the bulk of a frozen cow.

We keep searching for an hour or more, and I find nothing. I am getting cold, snow clinging to the fur of my leggings and
boots in clumps. My woolen skirt is pale and stiff with ice. I come to a shallow wash, a frozen creek bed I need to cross. I climb down into it, and as I do, Ole disappears from my view. It takes me a few moments to scramble back up on the other side, and when I do, he is gone. I try not to panic. I keep to my course, pressing through the winter-wood alone. I’m sure to catch up with him if I hurry.

But I don’t catch up with him, and my fear rises in spite of my attempts to calm it. Then a figure moves in the trees ahead of me. It isn’t Ole, and at first I think it may be Egill. But as I draw closer, I realize it isn’t him, either, and there are two of them.

It is Per and Asa.

They are facing each other, standing close enough to embrace. Asa’s hands are clasped at her stomach, and Per’s are behind his back as though he is restraining himself. Per says something I can’t hear. Asa looks down at the ground and wipes her cheeks. She is crying. Per reaches out and lifts her chin so that they are looking in each other’s eyes, and he whispers to her. They stay that way for several moments, close enough that I can’t tell their breath-clouds apart. Then, gently, Per lowers his hand and steps away from her. They turn as one and I watch their backs, the way they lean toward each other as they walk. And for the first time, I see it. My heart and chest are colder than my legs or my hands, ice cracking at the core of me.

Per and Asa are in love. Ole was right. I am a fool.

How could I have not known? I roll back against a tree and look up at its bony branches, a hundred fingers wagging at me. And I remember things. Things I should have seen from the beginning, ever since we came here. How Per treated Asa, and Asa watched Per. Things I took no note of at the time.

Per, so kind and handsome, and my beautiful sister, with whom I share a bed. I stamp my foot in the snow, furious at myself, embarrassed. Tears come to my eyes and blur the sky, the woods around me. I don’t know why I’m crying; I don’t know why it hurts to see them together.

I want to be angry at the two of them, but I can’t bring myself to that. They haven’t done anything wrong, not really. I’m angry at myself for not seeing it, for being such a child.

A sudden call breaks my thoughts apart. Someone has found the cows.

Ole was right about something else. There isn’t much left of them. The wolves ate or carried away all but the largest bones and some shreds of tough hide. The carcasses are opened up and spread out over the slushy red snow, and I only hope the poor cows had already frozen to death before the wolves started in with their teeth. Several of us stand in a silent circle, studying what’s left.

Asa and Per are on opposite sides of the bodies. I watch the two of them for a moment and then force my eyes away. I don’t want to see them look at each other.

“Gather all of this up,” Hake says to his men. “There’s still a little meat on some of those bones, and there’s the cartilage and marrow. Some fat still hangs on the skin as well.”

His men comply, and the rest of us head back toward the steading. We make a somber procession through the forest, and I know the question on each of our minds, the question I asked earlier. Who is the enemy in our midst?

I have other questions, too. Without the cows, can we survive? We’ll have to cut back on rations, but even then, will there be enough? We’re deep in winter as it is, with deeper yet to slide. I have seen no sign of real game to hunt. Will Ole be able to drill the ice and catch any fish? One thing is certain. We will all be hungry, and the thought of hungry berserkers worries me.

As soon as we reach the steading, Bera goes to take stock of the larder, to refigure how she’ll feed us all for the rest of winter. Per wanders off in discussion with Hake, and Asa goes back into the hall. She doesn’t even glance toward him. But I saw their meeting in the woods. That was the truth. This is a lie.

Alric walks up to me, shaking his head. “Do you regret sharing your skyr now that you know it may have been your last taste of it for a while?”

“No. I don’t regret it.” I say this as emphatically as I can. I would do it again, or at least I hope I would. But the question has annoyed me, and I move to leave him.

“I think I would regret it.” Alric follows me into the hall. “But I admire your generosity. As I admired your portion of the story last night.”

That stops me. “It was only a few lines.”

“You did quite well, as I thought you would.”

“I was scared.”

“Have you seen children afraid of water? All the patience in the world won’t get them wet. You just have to throw them in where it’s shallow enough that they won’t drown.”

He guessed one thing right about me. I would never have willingly stood to recite for the hall. But in the end, I managed to stay afloat.

“Would you like to have your first formal instruction?” Alric asks.

I’m about to say yes, when it occurs to me that Alric could be the one who sent our cows out to be slaughtered. I don’t have any reason to suspect him, except that he’s here in the steading, and right now anyone in the steading could be the enemy. It could be Alric. It could be Hake, or any of the berserkers, or Ole, although it was he who started me thinking such things. And Per? No, not when he’s in love with Asa, and I don’t think it could be Bera, either. She’s known me and my siblings from the time we were nursing. But there
is someone among us who means us harm, and that thought unnerves me.

So what am I to do? Hide away from everyone in my bedcloset the way Asa does? No, I won’t do that. That would just be a prison within a prison. But it would be prudent to keep myself to the busier places, with others around, and not go off alone with anyone.

“Can you teach me by the fire?” I ask. “I’m quite cold.”

“Well, that’s often crowded, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

We cross to the hearth and sit facing each other, straddling a bench. There are a few berserkers here, and Bera is close by. If I can’t trust Alric, at least I have them around me for safety.

“One thing I noticed,” Alric says, “was your repetition of sound. ‘The breath of a silver fish swimming in the pool.’ A fine line and a fine use of alliteration. How did you know to do it?”

“It just sounded right, how it was supposed to be.”

“That’s good. It means you have already perceived the patterns, even if you weren’t aware of them. How could the line have been improved?”

I stop and think about it, and then I say, “The breath of a silver fish swimming in the
sea
.”

“Yes, excellent.”

“It’s difficult to think of it in the moment, though, isn’t it? When everyone is staring at you.”

“But you’ll remember that line now. And you’ll get better at improvisation as well, with practice.”

I don’t like to think of practice, because that means I’ll have to perform in front of others again and again, while making mistakes.

“Now, let’s talk about some of your other lines….”

But I don’t hear the rest. Per has walked into the hall. He stops just inside the doors and looks around the room. Before today, I would have thought he was looking for one of his men, or perhaps just seeing who was present. Now I can’t help but think he’s looking for Asa, a thought that makes me feel a little jealous of his attention.

He sees me, smiles, and walks over to us.

“I’m sorry about the cows, Solveig,” he says. “I’m sorry you had to see it.”

He’s worried that I was attached to the cows as I was to Hilda. “Thank you,” I say, feeling embarrassed. “But I’m fine.”

“Hake and I will address the steading this evening,” Per says. “It will be a dark speech. I hope you will cheer us with another of your wonderful stories.”

“I’d be honored,” I say, just as Alric did.

“She’ll be ready,” Alric says.

Per takes his leave, and Alric and I spend the rest of the afternoon and evening practicing, rehearsing lines and tone of voice. Alric has chosen the tale of how the earth was formed, and how the first god came into it. It began with Audumbla,
the ancient ice cow, and Alric spends some time making sure that I remember the details of the story.