Daughter of Fire and Ice (2 page)

‘You’ll pay for that,’ he snarled. ‘When you’re mine. And you will be mine, make no mistake.’ He gave an ugly laugh and released me.

I fell back against the wall, fighting to breathe through my bruised throat. Svanson walked towards the door, and then paused and turned back.

‘But it’s good you’ve got some spirit,’ he added. ‘You’re going to need it where we’re going.’

And then he was gone.

It was evening when my parents returned. The summer sun was in the west, lighting up the landscape with a golden glow. They walked towards the house looking weary and anxious, and we both ran to meet them with relief.

‘Mother, father! Where’ve you been?’ cried Sigurd running to hug them. ‘Svanson came!’

He’d been frightened and restless all day, terrified Svanson and his men might return before our parents did. I’d found it difficult to reassure him; I was afraid myself. My father turned to me, grasping my shoulder, panic driving the tiredness from his face.

‘You’re not hurt?’ he demanded.

I shook my head. ‘No, father,’ I said. ‘Please, come in and sit down. Warm yourself by the fire.’

We went into the house together and I bent over the fire, stirring the embers and adding fresh wood. My parents both looked chilled. The temperature dropped fast when the sun was no longer high in the sky.

‘There’s no time,’ exclaimed my father, restlessly. ‘We need to leave again at once.’

‘Leave?’ I asked, surprised. ‘Why? To go where?’

‘To your uncle’s,’ said my father. His face looked strained and tired. He was the wreck of a once tall and powerful man, now shrunken and bent with age and trouble. In his young days he had sailed the seas, fought for kings in foreign lands and brought back slaves and wealth to our home. But a wound that had disabled his left arm had put an end to his wanderings and had also injured his spirit.

‘My brother has promised us shelter and protection as long as we need it,’ explained my mother. No trouble ever daunted my mother. She grew stronger with every reverse of fortune, her aura shining with determination. ‘Come, Asgrim,’ she chided my father. ‘You have to rest at least for a short while.’

‘We can speak as we walk,’ my father argued, but submitted to my mother pushing him into his seat by the fire.

‘Do you need food?’ I asked.

My mother shook her head. ‘We ate at your uncle’s house,’ she told me.

I was relieved. There was nothing in the house but a little borrowed skyr, the curds we made to preserve the milk, and a few blueberries.

‘Why’ve you been to my uncle’s?’ asked Sigurd.

I saw my parents look at each other. It was an intimate glance, betraying the close bond between them.

‘Tell me what Svanson said first,’ said my father.

‘He’ll be back in two days,’ I told him. ‘He expects payment then. One way or another.’

My father nodded. We all knew what Svanson wanted. My father had chosen to refuse his demands for me last year. To my lasting shame, we’d all suffered the consequences.

‘If he returns, it will be far sooner than that,’ my father told me. ‘We’ve just heard that King Harald himself is marching on him with his whole army. He’s discovered that the heavy tribute Svanson collects doesn’t all find its way into the royal coffers. The king believes him to be a traitor and an enemy.’

Mother nodded, eager to share telling this momentous news. ‘Svanson is afraid for his life,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t have an army that can stand against the king’s and he doesn’t plan to fight. Instead, he has a huge ship lying at anchor down in the fjord, a league from here. It’s being loaded with wealth and provisions.’ She clenched her fist suddenly. ‘May Thor help us now; we are all in danger because of Svanson,’ she added. ‘The king’s not likely to be merciful.’

‘Svanson plans to flee?’ I asked, scornfully. ‘What a coward the man is. Only fit to bully old people, women, and children.’

‘He intends to sail to the new land,’ said my father.

I caught my breath. My father was talking about Iceland. I’d always been fascinated by the tales of the new country. I was given to visions, to glimpses of the future. All my life I’d seen pictures of a strange place, a country I didn’t recognize. The tales I heard of Iceland matched the pictures in my mind. I was meant to go there one day. I knew it with absolute certainty. It was my destiny. Inescapable and unchangeable.

‘At least that’s what my brother-in-law thinks,’ continued my father. ‘It’s where all the king’s enemies are going, if they have money enough to equip a ship.’

‘Fertile land, just for the taking,’ sighed my mother. ‘An empty country full of promise.’

‘Promise of hunger, I should think,’ retorted my father. ‘You’ve heard the stories of the huge glaciers that stretch further than the eye can see. And the vast expanses of black sand and rock where nothing can grow.’

‘Yes,’ admitted my mother. ‘I’ve heard that. But there are also huge green areas, where cattle can graze all summer and not go hungry.’

My father shook his head. ‘Settling a new land is a great hardship.’

‘And our lives are so full of ease here,’ retorted my mother.

‘What do we care about Iceland?’ my father said abruptly. ‘We have no ship and no possessions we could take. We have to prevent Svanson from taking Thora away with him. That’s what’s important.’

‘Take me with him?’ I cried, horrified. ‘Surely not?’

It was true I dreamt about sailing to the new land. I longed to see it. But not in Svanson’s company. Definitely not. I’d never seen so much as a glimpse of him in my visions. Instead there was a different face. A dark-haired, dark-eyed man whom I’d never met. He, I was sure, was part of my future. Not Svanson.

There was a silence as all three of them stared at me.

‘He couldn’t take Thora away!’ exclaimed my brother.

‘She’d be extremely useful to him,’ my mother told him gently. She turned to me. ‘You’re the most skilled healer and midwife in the whole district. He won’t go without a healer when there’s one on his doorstep for the taking.’

‘No.’ I shook my head, hardly seeing them. ‘Sigrun is the most skilled. I still have so much to learn from her.’

‘Yes, Thora,’ said my father. ‘But Svanson wouldn’t take an old woman of fifty winters with him when he could have a beautiful one of fifteen.’

I became aware my breathing was harsh and uneven, my fists clenched so that my nails were biting into my palms. The room was going dark around me. I wondered if it was fear, or if the sight was coming to me. A picture began to form in my mind, cloudy and elusive. Then my father spoke again and it was gone. I shook my head to clear it, frustrated at losing the glimpse.

‘We won’t let him take you. Don’t look so frightened, Thora—or you, Sigurd. Do you really think we would condemn you to life with such a man? Have we not stood by you all winter?’

I nodded, still shaken by what I had heard and by what I had almost seen.

‘Thank you, father,’ I whispered. ‘But how will you prevent it?’

My father glanced at my mother again. ‘We’re going to your uncle’s now. He’s promised to hide you. Until Svanson has sailed or been defeated and the army has gone. Then, if we’ve been spared, we’ll be able to return. We must hurry.’

He struggled to his feet and we fetched cloaks and shoes for the journey. My father took down his spare sword from the wall and buckled it around his waist. His best sword, his pride and greatest treasure, had been taken by Svanson last summer.

Before I left, I unlocked my wooden chest of medicines and packed my bag with a few essentials. My runes in their leather bag. Some herbs, pastes, and other articles of my trade. I also packed the iron knife that my father had made for me in better days. It was shiny black, completely free of rust, and I kept it as sharp as the day he had made it.

We all left the house and my father pulled the door shut behind us. I saw him looking anxiously at the building and I knew he was afraid he wouldn’t see it again. The king was a fierce warrior and merciless in his quest to bring all of Norway under his control. If he had any reason to suspect we weren’t loyal to him, he’d burn our house to the ground. If Svanson didn’t do it first.

Together we crossed the ruined barley field behind the house and melted silently into the woods. It was slower than taking the road, but we’d be unobserved. However, as we walked, a feeling of unease began to steal over me. As though someone were watching us.

The light among the pine trees was dim. I told myself the eyes that I felt were hidden people; elves or fairies. They were unlikely to approach or harm us. And there had never been trolls in these parts. But as we walked, the certainty grew in me that we were not alone in the forest. I hurried to walk beside my father, taking his arm and warning him, with the pressure of my hand, that all was not well.

‘Are we in danger?’ he asked softly. I nodded, listening anxiously. But it wasn’t my ears that told me of danger. It was that extra sense the others didn’t have.

We walked on a little faster, staring among the trees around us. My father loosened his sword a little in its scabbard and grasped the hilt in his good hand.

Then, out of the darkness, they came upon us with only a heartbeat of warning. With a cry, my father pushed away from me and drew his sword to defend us.

Two men on horseback loomed over us, weapons raised. They must have been lying in wait. My heart lurched sickeningly and then, an instant later, I felt fear come flooding through me.

Father managed to get between the enemy and my mother and brother.

‘Run!’ he shouted to my mother. ‘Take Sigurd and run!’ I couldn’t see if they did as he said. I was trapped between my father and the two men. My father pushed me behind him roughly and stood to defend me, sword lifted. I trembled with terror, seeing him standing there, ready to die for me. He was an old man with only one good arm and they were two, mounted and with no pity in them.

‘Drop your sword, old man!’ said one of the men. His voice was low and menacing. Only Svanson’s men would speak so disrespectfully to my father.

‘You don’t need to die,’ said the other man. ‘Just hand over the wench. But if you do fight us, don’t doubt that we’ll kill you.’

‘Please, father,’ I begged, trying to prevent my voice shaking with fear. ‘Let me go.’

He was no match for them. They would defeat him and take me anyway, I was certain of it. I couldn’t bear to watch him die.

Ignoring me, my father fell upon the two men with a battle cry that was loud in the silent wood. He wielded his inferior sword with skill and strength, disabling one rider’s sword arm with a lethal blow. The man gave a scream of pain and shock. His horse threw up its head and shied violently, unseating him. My father whipped round to face the second man, but he was an instant too slow.

This man carried no sword, but he had a huge wooden club which he was already swinging straight at my father. The force of the blow caught him in the back of the head and he crumpled and dropped without a sound.

My impulse was to rush forward. I wanted to hold him in my arms and tend him if he was still alive. But that was not why he’d fought. He’d tried to give me a chance to be free. So I turned and fled into the darkness, sobs of shock and grief crowding my chest, stealing my breath. I could hear the hoofbeats behind me before I’d gone more than a few paces. I ducked and wove among the trees, hoping the low branches would hinder the pursuit.

The horse fell behind. I was getting away. I speeded up, flying over the silent carpet of pine needles. I would catch up with my mother and brother and escape with them, and my father’s sacrifice would not be in vain. But suddenly the horse bore down on me from another angle. The rider had skirted the trees I was running among, and I had no chance of avoiding him. I twisted aside desperately, trying to avoid the horse that was thundering towards me, but as I did so, I lost my balance. With a cry, I fell headlong. The last thing I saw was a rock, rushing up to meet me.

I came to myself again breathing in the smell of horse. I was lying over its withers, my face pressed into its neck, my hands tied behind my back. Everything spun dizzily around me. I was lurching and jolting. As reason returned to my groggy senses, I realized the horse was moving beneath me. I hurt everywhere. Ropes bit into my wrists and ankles, my head pounded from where it had struck the rock. My face and hair felt wet and sticky. I felt desperately sick and fought the urge to empty my stomach.

I had no idea where I was. And where was my father? Had he been killed back there, among the pine trees? I prayed fervently to Eir to spare his life, but I had little hope.

We were following a track I’d never seen before. Or perhaps I’d just never seen it from this angle before. The effort of trying to look made my senses swim again. Another wave of nausea swept over me. I groaned.

‘Lie still and don’t make a fuss,’ said a rough voice somewhere above me. ‘What we’ve done to you will be nothing compared to what you’ll get at Svanson’s hands.’

So it
was
on Svanson’s orders I had been taken. I filled with despair. What was to become of me now? I was beyond anyone’s help. The horse lurched on and on and I sank into a stupor of pain. I wasn’t roused from it until I heard my captor give a sudden shout.

‘My lord! We have her! And her chest of medicines.’

I was alert in an instant, my heart pounding, the sickness worse than ever. What was that about my medicine chest? Had they been in our house?

‘Show me her face!’ Svanson’s voice ordered. The very sound of it filled me with terror.

My captor dismounted and undid the rope tying me to the horse. I slid off, feet first, and landed unsteadily, jarring myself and biting my tongue. The man, whoever he was, caught hold of me, preventing me from falling. He grasped a handful of my hair and forced my head up so that the chieftain could see my face.

‘It’s her. What have you done to her? She’s covered in blood.’

‘She tried to run away, and fell over,’ the man excused himself.