HILDE LAY AWAKE in her cramped little closet. It was hardly more than a hole in the wall with a wooden lining. The bed – a straw mattress on planks – wasn’t long enough to stretch out on. If she lay down, she had to curl up. The bedding, like the mattress, had come from the ship. Both were slightly damp and smelled of sea water.
It was pitch-black, not a scrap of light, and her toes were freezing. She envied Peer, asleep in the fire hall. She lay rubbing her feet together and wondered if she dared creep out to warm herself at the hearth. Surely the men would be asleep by now? But what about Astrid and Gunnar?
She fumbled for the edge of the panel and slid it back a few inches. It was as dark out there as it was in here: and just as cold. She listened for the sound of quiet breathing that would tell her Gunnar and Astrid were asleep.
Only they weren’t; they were muttering together. Hilde tried to drag the panel closed again, but it stuck. She tugged at it, hearing Astrid murmur, “Gunnar, you mustn’t fret. I’ll look after you.”
Gunnar said unsteadily – it sounded as if his teeth were still chattering – “How c-can you protect me?”
Hilde paused silently. She knew she shouldn’t, but she had to listen to this.
“You men never know how to do things,” said Astrid. “You should have run needles into his feet after he was shrouded. That would have stopped him walking.”
Hilde went cold all over. Is this Erlend she’s talking about? Gunnar’s laugh turned into a cough. “We didn’t bother with shrouds. Besides, it’s too late now.” He was silent, shivering – Hilde heard the air hissing between his teeth. “I saw him on the ship,” he whispered suddenly. “All swollen up and black.”
“Hush!”
“If – if anything does come, Harald’s sleeping in front of the doorway.”
Is he, indeed? Hilde thanked her stars she hadn’t gone creeping out.
“And what can Harald do?” Astrid said softly. “You need me.”
“I can’t sleep. I daren’t sleep.”
“You can, and you will. There are ways. If you trust me.”
“You’re – my wife,” said Gunnar. Then came an odd sound, which puzzled Hilde, till she realised, her fingers curling, that it was a kiss. There’d been no intimacy on the ship. She’d never seen Gunnar kissing Astrid, or Astrid kissing Gunnar. But in private of course they would. Frantically she wrenched at the panel. It wouldn’t budge.
“Gunnar,” said Astrid on a deep, purring note, “give me your soul.”
Hilde’s heart almost stopped. Gunnar mumbled something; it sounded like, “How?” or “Why?”
Astrid whispered rapidly, “Because I can take it from your lips with your breath, and keep it safe. I’ll hide it away where no one can find it. I’ll lock it round with charms. No ghost can touch you then. You’ll sleep safe. No dreams. Nothing will harm you…”
Her voice sank away. There was a long, busy silence. At last Astrid murmured, “Hush. Sleep. Sleep.”
Gunnar didn’t answer. Soon afterwards Hilde heard a gentle snore.
The bedroom was still dark, but she heard the bedclothes stir, and a quiet footfall on the earth floor. She held her breath. In a moment she heard Astrid whispering very softly, “Those who sleep, sleep on still. Those who wake, wake.” The outer door creaked. A rosy glow of firelight brightened the room, and Hilde caught sight of Astrid’s dark shape slipping through the door. She must be stepping right over Harald, if he lay across the threshold. Moments later she returned, carrying a smoking stick with a glowing end. She pushed the door shut, and stopped.
She’s seen the open panel.
But what Astrid could see would be a black gap in the wall. Hilde shut her eyes and breathed evenly. Brightness shone through her closed lids. She felt the heat of the glowing stick very near her face. She kept still – not afraid, but intensely curious.
The stick was withdrawn. Darkness and cold returned. Hilde’s eyes flew open. Astrid was on the other side of the room, using the stick to light a shallow oil lamp. Now a single flame twinkled star-like in the gloom.
Astrid sat on the bed. From under the bolster she pulled out her goatskin bag, and hugged it to herself. She reached in, and drew out something small and square that gleamed bone-yellow. Hilde thought she knew what it was. She wriggled a little closer to the panel.
Yes. The little buzzing box.
But Astrid set it aside and reached into the bag again. This time she came out with a package wrapped in a linen cloth. She undid the linen, and inside was a mass of sheepswool. From the middle of the sheepswool she picked out something small and held it to the light. Now Hilde could see what it was: a hollow bird’s egg that gleamed half-transparent against the flame. With gentle fingers Astrid lifted the egg to her lips. She seemed to blow into it, a single puff. Pattering out some charm under her breath she pulled the wool around the eggshell, and rewrapped it in the linen. Briskly now, as though everything was complete, she popped package and box back into her bag and slipped the bag back under the bolster. She reached for the oil lamp and pinched out the flame. Blackness flooded back.
Hilde knew what she’d seen. It was seidr – magic, that Astrid had been practising. She didn’t know if she believed in it or not: or whether Astrid did. The important thing was that if Gunnar believed his soul was safely hidden, he’d be less afraid – of ghosts, or whatever he thought was threatening him.
She curled up, shivering. Why shouldn’t Astrid look after Gunnar? But it was all so black and secret. “You should have run needles into his feet before he was shrouded.” Hilde shuddered. How can she talk like that? How does she even know such a thing?
She remembered how Astrid had said, “There’s troll blood in me,” and, “Of course I tell lies – how else do I get what I want?”
What did Astrid want? Could you ever trust somebody with troll blood?
Hilde woke with a jerk of panic. Why was it so dark? She flung out a hand and felt it knock against wood.
Someone knocked back. “Did you sleep soundly?” It was Astrid. She was carrying the oil lamp, and its flame reflected little points of fire in her eyes.
Hilde sat up. She was about to say, not very well. Then she thought Astrid might have reasons for asking. “Yes, thanks,” she said cautiously, rubbing a cricked neck. “Is it early? It’s so dark.”
“Only in here,” said Astrid. “It’s light outside. And the fire’s burning well in the hall. Listen, Gunnar’s feverish. He should stay in bed. Boil some water for me, will you? I’ll make him another drink of willowbark.”
Chilled and stiff, Hilde came out into the fire hall. It smelled of warm smoke and salty, sweaty men. Harald, Peer and Tjørvi were up. The rest were still in their blankets. Harald was combing his hair. Tjørvi sat cross-legged on the bench, spooning groute from a wooden bowl. Peer was putting more wood on the fire. He looked up at her, his fair hair ruffled, a streak of charcoal on his forehead, and his face lit with sweet, uncomplicated pleasure.
Hilde was used to people being glad to see her. Back at home, Ma, Pa, the twins, even the babies, greeted her every morning with loving warmth. Even the quarrels were loving quarrels. She’d never thought about it. She’d taken it for granted.
Now, after a night spent in Astrid and Gunnar’s cold, dark room, here was Peer, simply happy to see her, and showing it. It was like stepping into sunlight and fresh air. A strange thought crossed her mind. We belong together.
“Hilde.” He kicked a log further into the flames and came towards her. There was golden down on his jaw, the soft beginnings of a beard. His lanky frame was filling out: he was broader across the shoulders than she’d thought: he moved lightly, with grace. I once said he looked like a heron. Not any more...
“Hilde?” he asked, puzzled.
She jumped. How long had she been staring at him, dumb as a post?
“Is something wrong?” He threw a glance at the dark doorway behind her, ready to tackle anyone who might have upset her.
“I’m fine.” She pulled herself together. “I’m fine, but Gunnar’s not well. Astrid says he shouldn’t get up.”
“Still ill?” Harald looked up sharply. “You should have said so at once!” He vanished into the far room with a swirl of his cloak. Hilde and Peer crowded around the door.
Gunnar sat facing them, leaning against the headboard, red-eyed and pale-faced, wrapped in his wolfskin cloak. Astrid sat on the bedside, singing softly.
Harald gave her a dark glance and knelt on the other side of the bed. “Father,” his voice was full of tender respect, “can’t you get up?”
“He’d much better not,” said Astrid.
“I didn’t ask you,” said Harald, with a snap. “Father?”
“I – I tried.” Gunnar lifted his hand to his throat as if it hurt. “Dizzy. Listen, son…” He muttered hoarse instructions. “Water Snake’s boat should be unloaded for use in the river. Some of the men should go hunting…”
“Yes, father. But get up! Don’t lie in bed like a woman. Fight it off. Get out into the sunshine.”
“Fight it off?” said Astrid scornfully. “How can he do that? There are things you can’t fight with a sword, Harald.” Her voice dropped into a sinister sing-song. “Bodiless things. Insubstantial things. Things you had better leave to me.”
“What – things?” said Harald between his teeth.
Astrid’s face was a mask of innocence. “Fever, of course. What did you think?”
They stared at each other across the bed. At last Harald said, “Just cure him quickly.” He strode out. Peer and Hilde hastily drew back to let him pass.
Astrid turned back to Gunnar, stroking his forehead. “I’ll sing to you again.”
Gunnar nodded wearily. His head rolled back under her fingers; his eyelids flickered shut. Peer and Hilde tiptoed back to the fire.
Peer was laughing. “I think Astrid won that bout,” he whispered.
Hilde nodded. “Peer, I have to tell you about last night.”
But before she could begin, Magnus sat up and stretched. With his arms widely spread, he used one foot to prod Floki in the ribs. “Wake up, Floki, you lazy young brute.” He gave Hilde his gap-toothed grin. “Morning, Hilde my lass. What have you got for a starving man’s breakfast? Or has Tjørvi scoffed it all?” Then he cocked his head to one side, and his brow furrowed. “What’s going on in there?”
Astrid’s voice floated out of Gunnar’s room, half singing, half chanting:
“I know a black stone, out in the sea.
Nine waves wash over it, three
by three. Out, sickness!
I know an oak tree, out in the wood.
Nine crows sit in it, croaking for blood.
Out, sickness!
From breast, from body, from hand, from heart,
From eyes, from ears, from every part –
Out, sickness!”
“Troll girl. Witch woman,” said Magnus darkly. “Brrr! It makes you shiver.”