Kin (Helga Finnsdottir) Page 4

  The echoes of Volund’s name being called out followed her as she made her way towards the new barn. The shade of the trees made the heat a lot more bearable. ‘Clever boy,’ she muttered, breathing in the scent of the pines, looking around, searching for – there. A dark circle where someone had overturned a rock; a line suggesting someone had poked the beetles underneath with a stick. Her heart beat a little faster as she hurried on. A broken branch, some torn moss – the signs were small but consistent: someone had gone up the path, picking at things that took their fancy. She kept checking for trampled grass or even footprints where he’d veered off as well, but she could find nothing.

  A bend in the path, and the new barn loomed above her, the sun shining on the east wall. Helga peered around the corner and saw Volund lying outstretched in the shadow, motionless, fast asleep in the shade.

  A giggle escaped her lips and the boy stirred, but he didn’t wake until she nudged him with her foot. ‘Come on, lazy-bones.’ She smiled at him. ‘Your mother is worried.’ Volund opened his eyes and looked dully at Helga. ‘Come on, up!’

  The boy rolled over and pushed himself clumsily to his feet. ‘I – I fell asleep.’

  ‘That happens to the best of us,’ Helga agreed, ‘but now we’re going down to the farm and Einar – the nice boy who tends to the horses – will find you something to do.’

  Volund nodded, face serious. ‘That sounds good.’

  Helga stifled a grin. ‘Good. Let’s go.’ She walked off back towards home, Volund trailing behind for a bit, then catching up and walking happily by her side.

  *

  ‘Volund!’ Thyri’s voice rang out the moment they cleared the treeline and Helga saw the woman running a few steps towards the side gate, then stopping, as if catching herself. Hildigunnur, behind her, walked briskly towards them.

  The boy beside Helga slowed down. ‘Come on now,’ she said, forcing as much happiness into her voice as she could. ‘We’re going to find you something to do, remember?’

  But Volund’s head was down and his feet were dragging. ‘’m in trouble,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Maybe,’ Helga said, cheeks hurting from maintaining the smile, ‘but trouble only lasts so long, and then you’ll be free to do fun things. Maybe we can go fishing in the river.’

  A quick glance from the boy. ‘In the river? Promise?’

  This time, the smile needed no forcing. ‘Promise.’

  The steps picked up ever so slightly.

  Thyri was waiting by the gate, almost as if afraid to leave the safety of the farm. ‘Why did you run away, you stupid boy?’ she shouted. ‘I was so afraid!’

  ‘Wanted to go and look around,’ Volund muttered.

  ‘You don’t ever do that without telling me where you’re going!’ As soon as the big boy was close enough to grab, Thyri reached for him and hauled him bodily through the gate. ‘You’re coming with me and sitting where I can see you.’

  As he was being dragged off by his mother, Volund twisted his head to look over his shoulder at Helga. He looked unhappy.

  Promise, she mouthed and got a half-smile in return.

  When mother and son had disappeared, Hildigunnur asked, ‘Where did you find him?’

  ‘At the new barn,’ Helga said. ‘He’d gone to play in the woods and fell asleep in the shade.’

  Hildigunnur smiled. ‘That wasn’t where I told you to look, was it?’

  ‘No,’ Helga admitted.

  ‘Good. That’s as it should be.’ The old woman sounded pleased. ‘You have good instincts, girl. Trust them. And now I’m going to go back to my workbench and try to make sure young Volund doesn’t get mothered too hard.’

  Helga praised her own mother-luck as she watched Hildigunnur follow Thyri and the boy into the longhouse.

  *

  The forest was quiet, and awash with green light filtering through the leaves. Karl ghosted forward, spear in hand, eyes trained on the prize: a seven-point stag grazing contentedly a hundred or so yards away.

  Suddenly the animal’s head shot up, every muscle in its body tensed and its nostrils quivered.

  Karl, grunting, sprinted headlong towards it, crashing through the undergrowth – but in the blink of an eye the stag was off, pushing away on powerful legs. The spear whistled through the air and sank deep into a tree trunk, inches away from the ­animal’s neck.

  ‘Well done, Brother,’ Bjorn said behind him. ‘Maybe it tastes nicer if you scare it to death.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Karl spat. ‘It probably smelled you.’

  ‘It didn’t,’ Bjorn said. ‘If it had it would have come towards me for a cuddle.’

  Karl strode away from his brother, grabbed the spear and yanked it free. ‘Where’s Father? We need to tell him the stag got away.’

  Bjorn turned around. ‘He was behind me just now. He had the bow, didn’t he?’

  An arrow thunked into a tree trunk a couple of yards to their left. ‘He did,’ Unnthor said, some distance behind them. ‘And since it is only fair to divide the labour, because I killed the stag’ – the old man emerged from the trees where the stag had disappeared, grinning – ‘you get to gut and carry it.’

  Without a word Karl tossed the spear to the old man. ‘Fine. Where is it?’

  Unnthor gestured behind him, and now they could see the trail of blood. Karl pushed the branches of a bush aside and moved out of sight.

  ‘When did you drop back and circle round us?’ Bjorn asked his father.

  ‘About half a mile ago,’ the old man said.

  ‘How did you know where it would be – or where it would go?’

  ‘They used to be your woods, but they were my woods first.’ He smiled and ducked into the bushes behind Karl, who was standing over the carcase of the stag. Two arrows were buried in its neck, one of which had gone right through and was sticking out the other side.

  ‘Not bad, old man,’ Bjorn said. ‘He must have passed right by you.’

  ‘Near enough,’ Unnthor said. ‘Sometimes you have to take the shot, even though they’re too close.’

  ‘You haven’t seen fit to get started, Brother?’ Bjorn smirked.

  ‘You were always better with a knife – at least when the target wasn’t moving,’ Karl said.

  ‘That’s because he paid attention when I taught him,’ Unnthor grumbled. ‘And if you wait any longer to get started, the forest will skin it for you.’

  Flies drawn by the smell of blood and death were already buzzing around the corpse. ‘Right,’ Bjorn said, ‘let’s get this done. Ullr, hear our prayer. We thank you for the bounty you have given us. Yours is the blood of the beast. The hunter salutes you.’ He knelt by the stag’s exposed throat, tilted the neck and slit it, his movements precise, practised. Rich, dark blood flowed away from him and sank into the forest floor.

  *

  The dogs smelled them first and set off baying to the sinking sun. The noise sounded otherworldly inside the longhouse, like something happening far, far away. Jaki’s disembodied voice drifted in after the dogs. ‘They’re back,’ he announced unnecessarily.

  ‘About time,’ Hildigunnur said, putting away her knife and dropping the wooden piece into a little cloth bag.

  Agla was up already, stretching her legs and rolling her shoulders. As she moved towards the door, Thyri cleared her throat. ‘Uh, you don’t think . . . ah . . . could we maybe avoid telling Bjorn that Volund went missing?’

  Helga glanced at her mother, whose face was carefully composed. A gentle frown emerged. ‘Volund? Missing?’ She smiled. ‘My grandson was with me the whole time.’

  Bjorn’s wife exhaled and beamed at Hildigunnur. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Psh. It’s nothing. Now just sit tight. They’ll be here soon enough. My old bones tell me we’ll have something nice roasted tonight.’

  Thyri
settled down again, and Helga tried to pair her up in her mind with big, boisterous Bjorn and failed. Since she’d brought Volund back, the woman hadn’t managed to string three words together. There needed to be a balance of sorts in a marriage, she knew that, but she hadn’t seen a marriage like this before now. Unnthor and Hildigunnur were maybe a little different, size-wise, but Bjorn and Thyri? How could that woman stand up to a man the size of a mountain bear and twice as loud? She turned back to her sewing, trying to find that nice, comfortable mind-place where the fingers just got on with it and worked of their own accord. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling she’d had when Karl had looked at her earlier. She’d heard her mother counsel young women on avoidance, and in some cases, where best to plant an elbow or a knee, but this was different: the men they came to her to complain about weren’t her sons.

  Voices came from outside, almost drowned out by the dogs’ frenetic barking.

  ‘They’re very loud, aren’t they?’ Helga said.

  ‘And why shouldn’t they be?’ Hildigunnur said. ‘They’re simple creatures, and there’s blood in the air.’

  My own flesh and blood. With darkness in their heart. They’re—

  A short, sharp pain punctured her thoughts. Helga looked down at the needle: it had gone smoothly through the cloth and straight into her finger. The drop of blood was bright against the black thread.

  Chapter 3

  Aslak

  Looking around the room, Helga felt dizzy. Her new place at the far end of the table felt uncomfortable and strange, much like the new faces all around her. Although they could probably fit in another thirty or forty guests, the longhouse felt stuffed full of people. Gytha sat next to her mother, across the table from Jaki. Her father’s right-hand man seemed quite happy, unlike his son; Einar, sitting beside him, was looking very uncomfortable. Karl and Agla were just off the corner, by his father’s right hand. Old Unnthor and Hildigunnur sat at the head of the table, looking down towards where Bjorn sat with his family. When she walked by with her plate, Helga narrowly dodged an extended arm as she got the full force of his storytelling.

  ‘—but the wolves didn’t know that they were supposed to get killed, right? So my friend Arnthor wades into the snow to get this one he thought he’d wounded – and another ten come out of the bushes!’ Bjorn slapped his thigh for emphasis. ‘The look on his face when he turned and tried to run, crying’ – a mime followed: red cheeks, puffed out with panted breaths – ‘help me! Help!’

  ‘And then what happened?’ Gytha asked, riveted.

  ‘They got ’im, of course,’ Bjorn said. ‘Jumped him in the snow. Luckily I was close enough, so I’ – Helga just caught a glimpse of Thyri sighing, as if to say, Here we go again! – ‘whipped down my breeches and pissed on ’em!’ Bjorn’s raucous laughter almost swallowed the words. ‘They hate the smell,’ he explained when he’d recovered, noticing Gytha’s bemused look, then added, ‘Arnthor did, too!’

  Agla smiled at him, then looked at Thyri. ‘Tell us about what’s happening in the east. Is it true Harald Fair-Hair threatened to invade?’

  ‘Pff,’ Bjorn said, ‘that big old girl wouldn’t dare. He’d have to walk it. The land would have half of his men.’

  Helga thought Bjorn suddenly didn’t seem quite so friendly any more.

  ‘Stop this talk of war,’ Hildigunnur said firmly. ‘Be quiet and eat your meat.’

  ‘Not likely, with the troll-child at the foot of the table,’ Karl said.

  ‘Shut up, squirt,’ Bjorn said. ‘I’ll say what I want, when I want.’

  ‘That seems to be the problem,’ Gytha said.

  For a brief moment, everything stopped. Glances bounced around the table – and then Bjorn guffawed. ‘Hah! The only person around this table with a big set of balls is a girl!’ As Gytha grinned, he added, ‘The way she’s going, she’ll have Farmboy’s too, before the night is done—’

  As he nodded towards Einar the smile instantly vanished off Gytha’s face. She threw down her spoon, stood up and went storming away from the table.

  ‘Gytha!’ Karl roared after her, but to no avail.

  Agla drew a deep breath. ‘Go easy on her, Bjorn,’ she started. ‘She’s young—’

  ‘Young?’ Bjorn interrupted. ‘She’s been chasing the stallion over here all day long – ain’t nothing young about what she wants to do to ’im, I reckon.’

  Einar’s face went bright red as he stared down at his platter.

  ‘Bjorn!’ Thyri snapped.

  ‘What?’ the big man said. ‘Everyone can see it.’

  When Helga looked at Hildigunnur, she glanced towards the door. The command was clear: Find her.

  *

  The air was cooler outside, the long shadows easing into twilight. The dogs knew her scent, so they didn’t bark. She quickly checked the few buildings, although she was sure they’d be empty, then in her head she worked through the routes Gytha could have taken. After a moment’s thought she turned right, towards the river.

  She found the girl sitting in the grass, head buried between her knees, shoes an inch from the water’s edge. ‘He’s an arse,’ Helga said as she approached the hunched form.

  ‘Who?’ Gytha said, head down, voice cracking.

  What would her mother say? All the conversations she’d listened to in the longhouse came back to her. ‘Do we need to pick one? All of them, I reckon.’

  That got a short, sharp laugh. ‘You’re not wrong.’ Gytha turned to look slyly up at her in the fading light. ‘Have you had him? Einar?’

  ‘What?’

  Irritation flashed across Gytha’s face. ‘Have you had him? Had a ride—?’

  ‘Oh – oh!’ When she finally understood, Helga giggled and sat down. ‘No. No, I haven’t. I wouldn’t – I’ve known him so long, he’s more like a brother.’

  ‘I like him,’ Gytha said. ‘Or, well, you know. I think he’d be fun.’

  People see things differently, Hildigunnur whispered in her head, and Helga bit down on her first thought. Sympathy was what was needed here. ‘Who knows, though,’ she said. ‘I’ve not seen him with any girl for a long time. I don’t think he’s promised to anyone.’

  Gytha’s face brightened. ‘Really? Well, that’s good . . .’

  In the distance they heard one of the dogs barking, followed by muttered voices.

  The girls shared a look, and Gytha twisted round and crawled up to the edge of the riverbank on her stomach. She looked down at Helga. ‘Two, with two small children. Two horses. A dog. They don’t look armed.’

  ‘Aslak is here,’ Helga said.

  And then there were three, she thought.

  *

  The first knock was drowned in Bjorn’s forceful recital of ‘The Farmer’s Daughter and the Handsome Bull’. The second was louder and firmer, and everyone in the longhouse fell silent as the door inched open and a young man stepped in, his slim frame wrapped tight in a well-worn cloak. ‘Four road-weary travellers seek guests’ rights,’ he said, ‘and maybe some stew?’

  ‘ASLAK!’ Bjorn roared. ‘You little shit!’ Even Karl raised a mug and smiled. The young man looked up at them and was about to speak when two blond blurs pushed past at hip-height, one on either side.

  ‘GRANDDAD! GRAMMA!’ Charging across the floor, Bragi and Sigrun leaped on their grandparents, hugging as hard as six-year-olds could. A woman entered and took her place beside Aslak. She might have been a head shorter than him, but she stood tall. Her eyes were little slits of flint. Bjorn’s blurred grin stretched even wider. ‘And Runa! Wel—’

  ‘Welcome to my house,’ Unnthor said, firmly and loud enough to be heard over the big man.

  ‘We have food for you,’ Hildigunnur said, moving around the table with Bragi attached to her leg. ‘Come on, little bear,’ she said, ruffling his hair. ‘Let Gramma g
o or you’ll starve to death.’ She glanced at the child’s bony frame, but said no more.

  Bragi’s sister had already pushed her grandfather down into the high seat and sat herself on his knee. ‘Do you know what a fox is?’ she began.

  ‘Yes,’ Unnthor started, until she looked at him sternly. The old raider faltered. ‘Um, I think so?’

  ‘Well,’ she said self-importantly, ‘a fox is an animal with a big tail. But it is not a wolf, because wolves are bigger.’

  ‘Oh, is that so?’ Unnthor said. ‘I am glad someone is here to tell me these things.’

  ‘Yes. Now be still so you can learn,’ Sigrun said, crossing her arms in the way of mothers through the ages. The old man nodded solemnly, not alone in working hard to contain his mirth.

  ‘So, Aslak – why so late?’ Karl asked, interrupting his niece’s lecture on the difference between wolves and foxes. ‘You live just half a day’s ride away, don’t you?’

  Aslak winced. ‘We were late to start, I guess. I—’

  ‘We had things to see to,’ his wife said.

  ‘It must be difficult, running your farm,’ Karl said, smirking.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Runa said, eyes flashing, ‘but we do well enough.’

  ‘Good to hear—’

  But Runa was already on her way to the pots, where Hildigunnur was standing ready with her ladle.

  ‘Father – stew!’ Bragi carefully passed up a bowl.

  ‘Thank you, Son,’ Aslak said.

  ‘Gramma says I can be a Viking when I grow up,’ Bragi announced.

  ‘Does she?’

  ‘Yes, and I can grow Viking carrots and hunt animals and get Viking furs and sail with them in a ship and sell them to someone like Vikings do,’ Bragi said.

  ‘Don’t tell your father about Vikings, boy – he knows nothing. Come and sit next to your Uncle Karl.’ The dark-haired man patted the bench next to him and Bragi was there in a flash. ‘My son Ormar, your cousin, is away a-Viking right now,’ Karl said. ‘Seventeen winters old, free to roam, just him and the sea.’