Icefall

  I catch Bera’s eye as I return to my bench, and she seems pleased at what I have done. From across the room I watch Ole and Raudi enjoy the skyr. Moments later, Ole licks his lips and lifts the empty bowl in salute to me.

  After the day meal, Bera sends me to milk the cows. I do so, missing Hilda, but as I haul the sloshing bucket across the yard, there is a sudden break in the gray sky above, as though a giant has pulled away a fistful of clouds, and I am awash in sunshine. True sunshine. Not warm, but bright, and I smile.

  After handing the milk off to Bera, I pick up Muninn’s cage and carry it outside. I set it on a snowbank and sit down next to it, my arm draped over the top. Muninn grows still, looking around, the sun threading his feathers with glints of silver shine. I close my eyes and tilt my face up toward the light, and we sit together enjoying it for some time.

  Then a shadow falls across me, and at first I think it’s a cloud, but when I open my eyes I see Hake standing over me.

  “May I sit next to you?” he asks.

  His request startles me, but I am not as uneasy in his presence as I used to be. “Of course.”

  He lowers himself onto the snowbank beside me, emitting a low grunt. He looks around me at Muninn, smiles, and squints up at the sun. Moments pass. The silence between us feels awkward to me, but I don’t think it bothers him at all.

  “Thank you again for my raven,” I say.

  “You’re welcome.”

  More silence, and thoughts from his conversation with Harald come to my mind.

  “Hake?” I say, feeling bold.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you ever wish you had a family?”

  He doesn’t answer, and I fear I may have angered him. But then he sighs. “If I had a daughter, I think she would be about your age.”

  He says it plainly, but I think I hear the same hint of pain and regret underneath it. I mourn for him, though it’s for the loss of something he never had.

  That evening, Alric pulls me aside. We sit on two stools facing each other. He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at me, sometimes tipping his head as if trying to see me from every angle, and I feel exposed and uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny.

  “I’m convinced,” he finally says.

  “Of what?” I ask.

  “You could be a skald. If you wanted to.”

  “Whether I want to doesn’t matter. I doubt my father would allow it.”

  He waves that off with his hand, like clearing smoke. “Don’t worry about that yet.” He leans forward. “First, suppose your father did allow it. Is that something you would want?”

  I pause before answering. “I think so.”

  “Then let’s give it a try, shall we?”

  “Give what a try?”

  “I am going to teach you. Perhaps if you learn well, we could demonstrate your skill for your father when we return to his hall. To help convince him.”

  “I would hate to waste your time,” I say.

  “It’s not a waste.”

  “And I doubt I have the skill,” I say.

  “That remains to be seen.”

  I say nothing.

  “Good.” Alric slaps his thigh. “We’ll begin tomorrow.”

  I open my mouth before I’ve found any words to say and close it. Then the hall doors open, and a flurry of snow rushes in ahead of a wide-eyed warrior. He scans the hall and then hurries to Hake. They speak with each other in low voices, heads leaned together, and then Hake rises. He motions for Per, and the two of them follow the warrior outside.

  Everyone has noticed their departure, and when they’re gone, the conversation in the room begins to boil like a kettle over the coals. Alric and I are still sitting together, and my expression must appear to be asking a question because the skald shrugs as though he doesn’t know the answer. We wait for several minutes. Long minutes.

  Then Hake returns and stands in the doorway. “There is nothing to worry about,” he says. He turns to my brother. “Harald, come and see.”

  My brother jumps up and follows the berserker out of the hall. My curiosity lures me to my feet and out into the night after them. I hear Alric following me. We cross the yard, large flakes of snow floating all around us, the moon a silver brooch peering out between folds in the velvet clouds. Several guards stand at the top of the earthen wall with torches, looking into the woods. We climb up to join them.

  Hake points Harald’s gaze into the forest, and I lean forward.

  At first I see nothing. Just the black trees and the dark spaces between them. Then I catch movement. Something gray, low to the ground, and fast. A blur. A ghost. I see another, and another, and I hear a panted breath. They are every where, flying through the forest.

  “A large pack,” Alric says beside me.

  Wolves. Odin’s bane, shadow made flesh.

  “They’re just passing through,” Hake says. “South to find prey.”

  For a moment, I imagine myself out there in the woods, cold and defenseless. A shiver takes me, and I turn to go inside. But then I notice two glowing eyes, two pinpricks of reflected torchlight. I stare back at them, and a wolf emerges from the trees.

  He is the most magnificent creature I have ever seen, enormous, of a bearing I have only met in the powerful chieftains that come to my father’s hall. The wolf’s coat shimmers with frost, his neck is thick, and his long legs plant him in the snow like a monument to all that is free and untamed in the world. He is not afraid of us at all.

  At the sight of him, the berserkers go quiet.

  “Now there’s a trophy,” one of them whispers.

  But I doubt that he or any man would have the strength to bring down this wolf-king.

  “We’re not here to hunt,” Hake says, with a note of regret in his voice. “Everyone stays inside these walls.”

  “Perhaps,” Alric says, “this will be an opportunity for your men to learn that there are other ways of appreciating an impressive creature than killing it.”

  “Or perhaps a time for you to be of use,” Hake says. “When we go back inside, why don’t you tell us of Fenrir? Satisfy our thirst in other ways.”

  “I’d be honored,” Alric says.

  I haven’t taken my eyes from the wolf. And he doesn’t seem to have taken his eyes from me. His gaze is intense, full of confidence, without any hostility. He is not the wolf of my dream. He knows his place in the world and where he belongs. I wish I could know the same.

  Eventually, and for no other reason than his own, the wolf turns away from us and vanishes into the woods.

  After that, no one speaks. We file down from the wall and back into the hall. There is some discussion between the men who saw the wolf-king and those who didn’t. Boasting by those who claim to have killed one larger. I am cold from being outside and take a place near the fire, rubbing my hands together over the coals.

  Before long, Alric rises up, extinguishing the noises of the hall. He looks up into the rafters and begins.

  “Far to the east, deep in the Ironwood, a giantess bore children by the god Loki. One of them was the giant wolf, Fenrir, who prowled astride the mountains, chasing the moon, feared even by the gods. For they knew that when he was fully grown, he would be too powerful for them to defeat. So they devised a plan, and had a fetter fashioned by the dwarves in their underground realm, a chain as soft as silk but strong enough to muzzle Fenrir until the breaking of the world.”

  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 look
s 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.

  At the far edge of winter, when the ground was black and sodden with melted snow, you, Raudi, must have decided that my hair looked much too clean. For without any preamble, and apparently without any thought, you scooped up a handful of mud and flung it at me. The cold muck caught me right at the base of my neck.

  But I could throw almost as well as you back then, if not as far, at least as accurately, and I took aim with the same armament. Before long, we were both of us laughing, smeared and brown as dwarves.

  It was then that you, Asa, came upon us.

  “Solveig!” you shouted. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I held up my fist. “A mud war! Join my army, Asa!”

  “I’m not a child anymore,” you said. “And you should not behave so, either.”

  I folded my arms then. “Why?”

  “Because Father will be angry.”

  “No, he won’t,” I said. “He doesn’t care what I do.”

  “You are still a young lady.”

  Then you spoke, Raudi, and said, “I’m not a young lady. Does that mean I can throw mud?”

  I laughed at that, and then I started to think that Asa’s hair looked much too clean.

  “I care not what you do, Raudi,” Asa said. “But my sister knows better.”

  But, Raudi, my friend, you stood up for me. “Don’t be angry with her. It was my fault for starting it.”

  Asa shook her head at me. “Such a disappointment.”

  CHAPTER 8

  HUNGER

  The 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.