Kin (Helga Finnsdottir) Read online

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There’s trouble coming,’ Jaki muttered.

  ‘Oh now, old goat! Am I finding out that my father has turned fishwife in his old age? What’s next – dream signs?’

  Jaki turned to look at Einar. He didn’t say anything, but his face looked carved out of stone.

  After a moment the young man looked away, and saw Helga approaching.

  ‘Why are you two lazy sods hanging out here by the gate?’ she called.

  ‘Bjorn’s coming,’ Einar said, nudging her towards the road.

  ‘First time back,’ Helga said. Beside her, Jaki raised an eyebrow. ‘He had just left when I got here.’

  ‘Hm,’ Jaki said, ‘that sounds about right. Which is—’

  ‘Eleven winters,’ Helga said. ‘I think.’

  The old man looked stricken. ‘What? Eleven? Where does the time go?’

  ‘Well met!’ a deep voice boomed; they were now close enough for everyone to make out faces. The big man waved and called, ‘Jaki – is that you?’

  ‘Who else?’ Jaki shouted, smiling.

  Helga could sense Hildigunnur as she came up behind them.

  ‘Well met, son!’ Hildigunnur shouted. ‘Stew’s in the pot!’ Behind her, Agla and Gytha came out of the longhouse and stood behind the old woman. They know their place already, Helga thought.

  ‘That’s good news to weary travellers,’ Bjorn said.

  As he closed in, Helga couldn’t help but stare. Everything about Bjorn Unnthorsson was big: his face was coarsely hewn, his hands were like shovel blades. Blond hair and beard gave him the appearance of some kind of hill giant; even the wolfhound by his side, a huge dog in its own right, looked like a puppy by comparison. Nine foot tall and filed his teeth, Helga thought. If Karl at his best was like Unnthor at his worst, Bjorn must trace his looks to Hildigunnur’s side of the family. Bjorn’s wife Thyri almost disappeared in the shadow of the big man as they reached the gate. A woman of average size, in sensible clothing, she seemed to drift along in Bjorn’s wake. Her light brown hair was bound in a traveller’s bun and tied with a leather strap. Helga glanced at the elfin Agla next to her. Such a difference, she thought – then her attention was caught by the awkward dismount of the boy on the horse. Though almost the size of a man, and a big one at that, he had the soft face of a child and all the grace of a new-born deer. While Bjorn and Thyri exchanged greetings with the other women, Helga found herself staring at the boy. Minded by no one, he just stood there, clearly not sure where to go or what to do. She saw in him the shadow of her younger self, lost and ignored, and her feet moved before her brain caught up.

  She slipped in between the horses. ‘Are you hungry?’ she said quietly, by his shoulder. The boy looked at her with watery blue eyes. His lips pursed, but he stopped short of saying anything. Instead, after a moment, as if processing her words, he nodded. Helga smiled. ‘Come with me,’ she said, winking conspiratorially. After another moment’s hesitation he led his horse on after her.

  ‘Volund!’ Bjorn snapped, and Helga felt the boy tense up.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Hildigunnur said, ‘Helga will look after him.’

  ‘Boy’s a halfwit. He needs a clip ’round the ear more’n he needs looked after,’ Bjorn grumbled.

  Helga looked back at the newcomers. Bjorn took up so much space that she couldn’t even see Thyri any more. ‘Lead the horse through here,’ she said to Volund, pointing to the stables. ‘Einar will take care of him. Did you have a long trip?’ The boy nodded and looked down, then peeked up at her, chin still on his chest. Helga smiled. ‘Do you like lamb stew?’ The boy nodded again, more enthusiastically, and Helga’s smile spread. ‘Then let us go and raid the pots!’ She marched off, feeling an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction when she heard the boy falling in behind her. He dragged his steps a little, but he was following. They were rewarded with the rich smells of cooking meat as they entered the longhouse. Helga walked over to the big pot, grabbed a ladle and dished up a generous portion, and the boy immediately sat down, hunkered over the bowl and started shovelling the food in his mouth. ‘You might want to be . . . um – careful—’ Helga started, but too late: Volund was already in the process of spitting the food back into the bowl.

  He looked up at her, surprised and betrayed. ‘It’s hot!’

  Helga couldn’t help the grin. ‘Yes, it is. Blow on it, like this.’ She took the bowl from him and blew gently on the top. Volund looked at her, eyes full of distrust, but he accepted the bowl again and took a small spoonful, pushing it carefully past his lips. Moments later his face lit up in a radiant smile. Frowning, as if trying to remember something, he stuck his spoon in, lifted it up and blew on it with all the care of a master craftsman.

  ‘That’s it,’ Helga said. ‘Just like that.’

  Volund beamed and continued to eat as his parents came in, chatting with Agla and Hildigunnur.

  ‘—been a kind winter,’ Agla said, craning her neck to speak to Bjorn’s face. ‘We’ve got ourselves into a good situation down south. How are things on your side?’ The door closed behind them.

  ‘Oh, the valleys are hard work, no doubt,’ Bjorn rumbled, ‘but the Svear keep to themselves and we stick to our end.’ The big man lowered himself onto a bench that creaked ominously. ‘We sometimes trade with them. This one time I managed to get three wagonloads of—’

  ‘BJORN!’ Einar’s shout was almost drowned by an unholy brangle of barking and growling. There was a blink of an eye inside the longhouse when no one knew what was going on – and then the big man was up and, for all his bulk, moving surprisingly swiftly towards the doors. Helga, still vaguely aware of Volund cowering over his bowl of stew behind her, found herself pulled in his wake, following the rest of the family.

  By the time she was through the side door of the longhouse, Bjorn was already halfway across the yard. The big grey wolfhound was poised, teeth bared, over Karl’s mastiff. Blood was streaming from a cut on the white dog’s square muzzle. Its head was close to the ground but powerful legs were pushing for purchase, preparing to spring at its slim grey opponent. ‘Breki,’ Bjorn shouted, ‘here!’ The wolfhound hesitated for a moment and the mastiff barrelled into it, maw opening wide and clamping down on the grey dog’s neck.

  ‘NO!’ Bjorn waded in and levelled a savage kick at the white dog.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing to my dog?’ Karl shouted, charging across the farmyard towards the fighting animals, but Bjorn ignored him and kicked the mastiff again, catching it squarely in the ribs. The big dog howled and released its grip on the wolfhound, who retreated, head down but eyes fixed on the mastiff, still focused on the attack.

  Karl grabbed his brother from behind with both hands, planted a heel on the back of his knee, pushed and twisted, and Bjorn hit the ground with a scream.

  ‘Stay away from my dog!’ Karl growled as he leaped over the big man and lunged for the mastiff’s collar. The dog growled at him, but did not snap. ‘Calm down, Erla. Calm down,’ he said, and the mastiff whimpered in response.

  Karl turned on the big man, who had managed to rise to his knees. ‘Why did you set your fucking dog on him, you big ­bastard?’ he snapped. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘I didn’t set anything on anything, least of all your mutt,’ Bjorn growled. ‘Einar shouted, and I came out.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’ Karl said. ‘You did this on purpose—!’

  ‘I did not!’ Bjorn shouted. ‘No such thing – and if I did, you know I’d tell you right to your face, rather than attack from behind like a fucking coward.’

  Karl’s fists were clenched and his weight had started to move from his back foot to his front when Unnthor’s voice cracked over their heads like a whip. ‘If you two whelps don’t stop this right now I will treat you both as you deserve,’ he snarled, striding towards where the two men had s
quared up. ‘Back off.’

  ‘But he started—’ Bjorn began.

  ‘NOW.’

  Helga watched from the longhouse doorway as the giant and the warrior somehow deflated into six-year-olds being told off by their father. Karl spat on the ground and turned to see to the mastiff, which had slinked off and crawled under a cart.

  ‘Why were the dogs loose, anyway?’ Bjorn growled as he knelt by the bloodied wolfhound, soothing it with gentle strokes while he examined the wounds.

  ‘They must have slipped their leads,’ Unnthor said, standing over him. ‘Out to cause trouble, like their owners. Now, am I going to need to watch the two of you all day, or are you going to act like grown men?’

  ‘I won’t do anything,’ Bjorn said, adding under his breath, ‘I never do.’

  Unnthor snorted. ‘At least you haven’t learned to lie since you left. Don’t be a fool.’ With that he walked over to the other side of the farmyard, where Karl had coaxed the mastiff out from underneath the cart. The big dog favoured her side and whimpered as the dark-haired man touched its ribcage.

  ‘Any breaks?’

  ‘No, no thanks to him,’ Karl growled. ‘You can’t just kick someone’s dog like that—’

  ‘Shut up,’ Unnthor said. ‘You should have made sure yourself that your dog was tied up properly in the first place. As should he,’ he added when Karl made to protest. ‘But I need to know that you’ve both grown up and stopped this stupid rivalry – just for the next three days. Then you can go your own way and do whatever you do. But while you are on my land, you show me respect. I can still give either or both of you a thrashing.’

  Karl turned to look up at his father. ‘Did you summon us here to shout at us?’

  ‘No.’ Unnthor glanced round at Hildigunnur. ‘We asked you here to see you – to see family. We haven’t met up for a long time, and I thought we should. I got tired of your mother telling tall tales about your successes. I thought I could hear it from your own lips.’

  Karl looked around quickly. The women were heading back to the longhouse and Bjorn was busy with his dog. The words tumbled out of him. ‘Father, I need help – I borrowed to extend the farm and then sixteen of mine got the rot – and I can’t . . . I can’t pay it back.’

  Unnthor frowned. ‘Sell some of your cattle. Get rid of workmen. It’s not complicated.’

  ‘That won’t be enough.’

  ‘How much did you borrow?’

  ‘Too much,’ Karl said. ‘I thought—’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t have. Never borrow,’ Unnthor snapped. ‘Work. Sell the farm if you have to. Start a new one.’

  ‘Why would you not want to help your own flesh and blood?’

  Unnthor looked Karl up and down, choosing his words carefully. ‘Because I think any offspring of mine should be able to help themselves. And they should not seek to hold more than they can carry.’ With that, he turned around and walked away.

  ‘Don’t turn your back on me, Father,’ the dark-haired man muttered. ‘You won’t live for ever.’

  By his knee, the mastiff whimpered.

  *

  Einar closed the door to the smithy behind him and looked around. His father’s workshop was simple but effective: a workbench nestled up against the wall with a row of well-worn tools above it. He reached for the hammer and put the bent pegs on the table. The first blow covered the sound of the door opening softly.

  ‘Weren’t you supposed to look after the dogs?’ Gytha said behind him.

  Einar twisted around. ‘You have a knack of sneaking up on people,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Einar muttered.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Gytha said, closing in.

  ‘Just straightening some pegs,’ Einar said.

  ‘Can I help?’

  Einar frowned. ‘Help? Uh, no. It’s a one-man job.’

  Gytha leaned in, touching shoulders with Einar. ‘Can I watch, then?’

  Einar turned and looked at her for the first time. The breath caught in her throat and her eyes twinkled with anticipation.

  He reached out and grabbed her shoulder firmly. Then he marched her towards the door, opened it and pushed her out. ‘No,’ he said.

  Gytha stumbled backwards, taking three steps to gain her balance and avoid a fall.

  By the corner of the smithy, Bjorn, bent over his wounded dog, looked up. Within a blink, he smirked. ‘Oh – what’s going on here? Did the little princess not get what she wanted?’ The wounded animal on the ground by his feet whimpered.

  ‘Shut up, Uncle!’ she snapped. ‘He’s a – he’s a jackass!’ With that Gytha stomped away.

  The big man grinned as Einar firmly closed the smithy door, but the smile faded when he saw Karl heading towards him from the longhouse. The dark-haired man stopped ten yards away.

  ‘I didn’t set Breki on your dog,’ Bjorn said.

  Karl looked at the horizon, then at the trees. ‘Sorry I kicked you,’ he said.

  Bjorn shrugged. ‘It’s no matter. Got me to the ground quick enough, I suppose. Good move.’

  ‘Had to fight some big bastards out west,’ Karl said. ‘Knee’s the best bet for someone my size.’

  Bjorn smiled. ‘I’ll remember that – and plant it in your face next time.’

  Karl smiled back. ‘You’re an arse.’

  ‘A bigger, better and hairier arse than you, Brother,’ Bjorn said. Unnthor stepped out of the longhouse and glared at them, but the big man waved. ‘Don’t worry, Father. Karl was just explaining to me how he was wrong in every way and how he’ll give me the farm after you go sailing on the burning boat.’

  ‘Who says it’s his to give?’ Unnthor said. Standing between them, Karl stiffened for a moment, then he laughed. A smile crept up on Unnthor as well as he walked past his sons. ‘I suppose I’d better treat you like the dogs you are and take you out for a run around.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Karl said.

  The old man ducked into the smithy. The brothers exchanged glances, but neither spoke.

  When Unnthor came back out, he held three spears. A bow was slung over his shoulder and a quiver hung at his waist. He threw a spear to each of the brothers. ‘We’re going hunting.’

  *

  ‘—caused quite a stir!’ Agla said. The midday sun’s rays were lancing into the longhouse from the open vents, casting a yellow glow on the four women.

  ‘I can imagine,’ Hildigunnur said, whittling a small piece of wood. In time it would be a sitting dog or a horse or a bull, whatever she wanted. The blade moved smoothly, the tiniest of cuts doing exactly what she needed them to. The way her fingers closed around the polished reindeer-horn handle, the slim blade seemed to be almost a part of her.

  Like a claw, Helga thought as she watched from afar. She was trying to busy herself with some stitching, but the bloody needle wouldn’t go where she wanted it to. What had in her mind been a sumptuous vine stretching from the hem of her skirt up along her leg looked more like the trail of a drunken crow. She frowned, ripped out the stitch for the fourth time and started again.

  ‘All we know, though, is that after they ran out of food she got caught stealing. I didn’t hear from where or what, but no one spoke to her for weeks.’

  ‘Awful,’ Hildigunnur murmured.

  ‘Isn’t it? You have to question what women like that learn – and how they get their husbands.’

  ‘Oh, I can think of a couple of ways,’ Hildigunnur said.

  Agla giggled. ‘It’s so good to have someone to talk to,’ she said.

  ‘It is,’ Hildigunnur said. ‘How about you, Gytha? What do you think about this woman?’

  Gytha was sitting sullenly next to her mother; she’d not said a word for ages. For a moment she stayed silent, then she spat, ‘She�
�s a cow – was a cow, is a cow, will always be a cow.’

  Agla sputtered, but Hildigunnur interrupted her. ‘If all your mother says is true, that sounds like a fair assessment to me.’

  Gytha snorted and clammed up again, but Helga couldn’t help but notice the angles of the young woman’s elbows and shoulders softening just a little bit. Not much, not much at all, just the tiniest bit. Hildigunnur shot the girl a smile and continued listening to Agla.

  Gytha drew a deep breath and sighed, loud enough for everyone to hear, but before anyone could react, the door flew open and Bjorn’s wife stumbled through.

  ‘Well met, Thyri,’ Hildigunnur said. By her side Agla fought and failed to hide her annoyance.

  Thyri shook her head quickly, flustered. ‘Forgive me, Hildigunnur. I – uh, I – thank you for inviting us. I come as a guest – uh – I can’t find Volund,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘He’s never— I don’t—’

  Hildigunnur was on her feet and halfway across the floor before Helga understood what had happened. Her voice was no longer laced with a smile. ‘How long since you saw him?’

  ‘Uh – a little while?’

  ‘Agla and Gytha – river. Helga – stables.’ Hildigunnur put a hand on Thyri’s shoulder. ‘We’ll take the road.’ She clapped her hands twice, hard. ‘Move.’ The command in her voice had the women out of their seats before they’d even realised it.

  The sun hit them as they stepped outside. The shade of the longhouse had made Helga forget about summer for a little while, but the warmth of the morning had been replaced by the oppressive heat of midday. She thought of Volund as she walked out into the yard, watching the backs of the older women. Going to the stables felt wrong, somehow. What would the boy do? I’m in an unknown place, she thought. I’m hot and uncomfortable. I’ll go to the river . . . no – because despite the body I’m in, I am still a pup, and I’m bored. There’s more to play with . . . As Hildigunnur guided Thyri to the main gate and Agla disappeared down towards the river with Gytha in tow, Helga looked at the stables, made a decision and turned left, towards the side gate.