Daughter of Fire and Ice (30 page)

‘There,’ he said. ‘Do you think you’ll be warm enough to sleep now?’

I was very far from sleepy. His presence had lit a fire in me. I had to use all my self control to stop myself from turning around and pressing myself against him.

‘Yes … I’m … warmer now,’ I stammered, fighting but failing to keep my voice steady.

‘Good,’ whispered Bjorn, and his hand found mine under the covers and took it in a comforting hold. His hand was trembling.

The night seemed far too precious to waste. I wanted to lie awake and enjoy our closeness. But I was very tired, from the long day in the saddle. The rise and fall of Bjorn’s breathing against my back was soothing. As I warmed through, my eyes began to close. Sleep took me and the night passed.

Towards morning, as I was lying halfway between sleeping and waking, aware of Bjorn’s arm around me, a vision came to me in a dream. A ship was sailing into our bay. All the men on board were dressed in black. The ship was a shallow-draughted warship with shields placed on its sides and a fearsome dragon carved at its prow. It sailed right up onto the beach and at once the men leapt ashore carrying their weapons. Death stalked the shore. I saw one giant of a man attacking Bjorn. I tried to cry out, to warn him, but as is the way in dreams, I had no voice. Helplessly, I watched as the giant rained blows on Bjorn, until he fell to his knees. His opponent raised his sword high for the death blow. Once more, I tried to scream and this time I succeeded, waking myself up.

I was shaking and crying. Bjorn was beside me, propped up on one elbow, trying to soothe me.

‘Thora,’ he said, ‘are you awake now? What’s the matter?’

‘They are coming,’ I gasped. I turned and flung my free arm around him, burying my face in his tunic, breathing in the damp wool scent.

Bjorn was gently stroking my hair.

‘It was only a dream, Thora,’ he said calmly.

‘I don’t have “only dreams”,’ I said, torn by sadness and fear. ‘It was a glimpse of the future. He was real. He was going to kill you. He will kill you.’

I looked up and met his eyes as I spoke.

‘If I am going to die,’ said Bjorn, ‘then I have nothing left to lose.’ And instead of radiating fear, his aura glowed with love and desire. He stroked my hair back away from my face, leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. I clung tightly to him as he brushed his lips across my temple to my eye. He kissed away the tears of shock and sorrow that I had shed. I was too weak to object. Too terrified by what I’d just seen. Before I knew what was happening, we were kissing in earnest, his mouth warm against mine. I forgot the cold and the fog and even the vision. Only Bjorn existed beside me. They were hungry, desperate kisses, after a winter of pent-up passion and hardship. I never wanted them to end.

Eventually I felt a sharp nudge against my shoulder. One of the dogs had pushed me. Bjorn and I fell apart, breathing fast. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and I wanted nothing more than to burrow back into Bjorn’s embrace and stay there. But he was sitting up now, running his hand through his hair. When he spoke, his voice was not quite steady.

‘I love you, Thora,’ Bjorn said. ‘Nothing can change that. Not my pretence of a marriage, and certainly not the prospect of death.’

I pushed myself up onto my knees on the damp furs and met his eyes. Before I could reply, before I’d formulated my thoughts, he spoke again: ‘How soon will they come?’

I was thrown by the change of subject. I’d wanted to tell him about my love for him, my hopes and fears. Perhaps, I reflected, it was better not to say too much. I struggled to bring my vision clearly to mind again.

‘I … can’t tell,’ I told Bjorn. ‘It was noon, bright with sunlight. It feels close. A few days. Weeks perhaps.’ As I spoke, I noticed it was no longer raining, though the fog still hung in the air.

‘We must go,’ said Bjorn. He stretched out a hand and stroked my cheek. ‘I want to defend our home.’

As I began to roll the bedding together with trembling fingers, a wind blew up from the south. It was milder than yesterday’s bitter sea breeze. By the time we had loaded the horses and were ready to start, the fog was clearing. I could see a bright blue sky above it. We spoke little as we rode homewards. This was the end of the trip. By this evening we would be back in the longhouse with everyone else.

The images from my vision still hung heavily on me. I couldn’t keep myself from speculating when the attack might take place. I couldn’t bear to lose Bjorn. I didn’t know how to find the courage to face such a certainty. I imagined the emptiness of a world without him. We would perhaps all be killed, or taken as slaves. And the house that we had all worked so hard on would probably be looted and burned. It was a terrifying prospect, and made me feel ill with grief.

As we reached the top of the last slope, the view of the whole bay burst on us, sparkling in the summer sunlight. We could see both Helgafell and our own farm as specks in the distance. The land had been transformed in a few short months from wilderness into two neat, working farms. I had a sense of satisfaction looking down at them, but also trepidation. I saw the fragility of what we had achieved. Was everything going to be destroyed?

‘Time for one last rest,’ called Bjorn, turning in his saddle to look at me.

I nodded my agreement and slid from my horse. My limbs felt stiff and awkward. Vaguely, I wondered why and decided I’d been tensing them in fear as I rode.

I sat on a low rock, holding the horses. The dogs flopped at my feet, tongues lolling. Bjorn came over to me with the water skin, and I drank gratefully. Bjorn drank after me, and then put his hand over mine, startling me from my reverie.

‘Are you angry with me?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘How could I be?’

‘You’re very silent,’ he said.

‘I’m afraid. I’ve never been so afraid of the future,’ I confessed.

Bjorn let go of my hand, knelt beside me and drew me into his arms. I didn’t object. It would probably be the last time we would ever be alone together.

‘I’m not afraid,’ said Bjorn. ‘It’s strange. I should be, I know. Your predictions are reliable. But I believe destiny can be changed.’

I tried to feel comforted, but failed, because to me destiny was unchangeable. And the presence of the enemy ship was strong. It was still a long way off, but I could sense it drawing inexorably closer.

‘We must go home,’ said Bjorn. ‘I have to protect my people. I have to protect you.’ His voice was both strong and calm. And when he bent his head and kissed me tenderly, I kissed him back. I put all the love I felt for him into that one, last kiss, because soon he might be feasting with the dead warriors in Valhalla, the sacred hall of Odin himself.

‘You asked me not to leave,’ I reminded him softly, stroking his cheek. ‘Well, I won’t. I won’t go away from here. Your friendship and regard mean more to me than the love of any other man. I’ll stay as long as you need me. I promise. But I fear they will reach us soon.’

Bjorn’s arms tightened around me.

‘Then let’s hope we’re ready for them.’

Sun Month

Sólmánu∂ur

Ragna’s resentment at our stolen days knew no bounds. The house was a hotbed of strife and anger for weeks. I felt guilty, knowing she was justified. I also feared her. I took no food or drink from her hands, eating only from the communal pot. When thirsty, I drank directly from the spring. There was no proof that Ragna was the thief and poisoner, in fact all the evidence suggested she could not be. But I had no doubt of her hatred of me and would take no risks. It was a comfort to me that everyone in the household grew tired of her tantrums and unreasonable behaviour. Even those of the men whom she had previously won over with flattery and honeyed words, grew wary of her. Asgerd openly supported me against her. And Bjorn’s goodwill towards me was constant. Just a smile or a look from him made the day more bearable.

Sun month passed in long, outdoor days working the land and caring for the stock. I made running the dairy my own particular concern. I milked the one cow that had calved and made the skyr each day. I kept my distance from Bjorn in Ragna’s presence. I never even looked in his direction if I could help it. I spent time at Helgafell with Bera, when I could get away. Helgi’s leg was healing well and he would soon be up and about.

There was an added incentive to absent myself from the farm. One of the youngest slaves, Jon, began to hang about me, blushing and paying me compliments. He had just entered that impressionable age, and for lack of suitable young women to fall in love with, had fixed on me. Most of the household laughed openly or behind his back. Bjorn was clearly irritated by Jon’s behaviour. But it was Ragna that concerned me. She watched us both out of narrowed eyes, and her aura glowed with resentment. She wanted to be the woman all the men adored. I feared for Jon, and discouraged him as strongly as possible. It was hard to be unkind to him though. He was young and vulnerable; one sharp comment would demolish him.

One morning, Jon insisted on sitting beside me at breakfast and offering me some of his food.

‘You don’t eat enough, Thora,’ he whispered shyly. ‘You need to keep up your strength. I’m always happy to share my food with you.’

Jon dropped a piece of flatbread into my bowl, looking longingly at me all the while. I gave it back.

‘Jon, do you have no sense?’ I asked him despairingly. ‘Don’t you see you are angering Ragna?’

‘I don’t care about Ragna, I only care about you,’ sighed Jon.

I turned away, determined, for his own sake, to ignore him for the rest of the meal, but my eye was caught by Ragna. She wasn’t looking at me. Instead her eyes were fixed on Jon. And instead of the usual baleful stare, she had fixed a look of intent expectation on him. I watched her, trying to make sense of it. I saw excitement flare in her aura in bright green and turned swiftly back to Jon. He was in the act of raising his goblet to his lips.

‘Don’t!’ I shouted, and dashed it from his hand.

It hit the table and then bounced onto the floor, spilling its contents in an arc.

‘What the—?’ asked Jon.

I could hear other exclamations of surprise around me. One of the dogs rushed to the spill and, before I could prevent him, had lapped up a good amount of the whey. I rushed forward to kick him out of the way, but it was too late. The world slowed and sounds blurred. I was half aware of Jon’s shocked face as he stared at me. I could see Ragna was angry and Bjorn horrified. I looked back at the dog. He whined and stumbled. His eyes clouded in pain. I caught him and held him, unable to either speak or look away. In just a few moments, the animal convulsed and died.

I knelt on the ground, holding the body, numb with shock and rage. I could hear the voices around me growing in volume. I had no idea if anyone was blaming me this time. Asgerd knelt beside me, putting her arm around my shoulders.

‘Thora,’ she said. ‘Oh, by the gods, Thora, who is doing this?’ She reached out with her free hand and touched the poor dog’s head.

Jon knelt on my other side, raising shocked eyes to mine.

‘You saved my life,’ he whispered. He was as pale as a cloud, trembling with fear. Bjorn had come over and was standing in front of me, looking deeply concerned. But his face began to fade from my sight. Something else was intruding on my mind. A completely different picture, that shut off the people around me.

A warship gliding through the water with the sun behind it. It’s coming from the east, about to turn into our bay. Fourteen men sit at the oars ready to row. Two men stand at the stern, one holding the tiller. Two more are standing in the prow. All of them wear black and have leather helmets on. The ship is hung with shields and they wear swords or knives at their sides. Vengeance is in their hearts and their minds. Except for one. It seems to me I know him but I can’t see his face.

The vision faded and the inside of the longhouse came back into focus. It was noisy with arguments and accusations and I doubted anyone but the three closest to me had heard my words. As soon as I had myself in hand once more, I spoke again, my voice hoarse with fear.

‘They are here!’

A sudden silence fell.

‘Men in black. They are close now. Very close.’

In a single stride, Bjorn was by my side. He grasped my arm and pulled me to my feet, away from Asgerd and Jon. The dead dog was left unheeded on the earth floor.

‘How close?’ Bjorn demanded. ‘How many men?’ He must have been able to see I was still dazed, because he gave me a little shake.

‘Eighteen men,’ I whispered, terrified. ‘They’re about to reach the bay.’

I heard a gasp of horror from the men. We were outnumbered.

Bjorn was already dragging me to the door and pulling me outside.

‘Run, Thora,’ he ordered me. ‘Run to Helgi. Ask him if he will send me help. Beg him. And then STAY THERE, do you hear me?’

I nodded blindly. I wanted to tell him to take care, but the words were futile and wouldn’t come. He would do what he had to do and the gods would see to the rest. His face was set and determined.

I threw myself into his arms, giving him a desperate hug, aware it might be the last time I saw him alive. Then, with one more look at his face, I turned and ran. I could hear others emerging from the house now and Bjorn shouting orders to them. ‘Asgerd, Asdis, Hild, take the two children, get in the ship and sail it across the bay to Olvir. Ask if he will come to our aid. Ragna, take the other women into the tunnel.’

And then I was too far away to hear any more. I was still weak and sick from my vision and my legs shook under me, but I forced myself to keep running.

Helgi was out when I stumbled into the house at Helgafell.

‘Out?’ I gasped, dazed. ‘Is his leg … so much better?’

‘Yes, he’s moving about quite freely now,’ said Bera. She turned and ordered a man to go and fetch Helgi. Then she drew me towards the fire.

‘Sit down and tell me what’s wrong,’ she urged. ‘You look as pale as a corpse even though you’ve been running.’