Sólmánuður
The Sun’s Month
July
After Vidar’s death, Jarl Haakon’s men had wrestled me up onto the knarr’s deck. They tied me to the mast and left me without water or food. Even though we sailed across the North Sea and the air was frigid, the sun beat down relentlessly and was reflected from drifting icebergs. My hair whipped across my face and stuck to my lips. The sun made me delirious even as I froze. My tongue grew rough from thirst.
When I finally begged for water, one of the sailors brought me a mug of ale. But as I tilted my head to drink, he poured it over me and laughed. “We’ll not waste good ale on you after what you cost us,” he said. “Jarl Haakon would have paid a good price for that boy.”
For the first few days, I tried to follow our course using my navigator’s marks. But since the voyage was not of my design, and I didn’t desire to go wherever they were taking me, the tattoos refused to shift.
The ocean spread out around the ship, vast, endless, and, for the first time, unknowable to me. I bit a hole in my lip trying to focus on home, and finally the maps changed, only to reveal a bleak picture of my town as it was now. The natural harbor, the forest, and the winding beach all looked the same, but, where my skin would once have borne runemarks detailing the town’s precise location and its name amongst the gods, there was nothing, as if it had simply been erased. I stopped trying to use my magic after that.
The winds were strong and they blew us east, aiding the rowers’ course. Although no one spoke to me, the crew seemed in good spirits as we sailed toward Haakon’s lands. I listened as they gossiped about lovers left behind, their crops, and how Haakon would make them all rich for delivering me to him.
On the morning of the third day, the stryimaðr finally brought me a cup of water. Part of me had wanted to spill it across the deck or throw it in his face in defiance. But I was so thirsty that, when he pushed the cup near my lips, I drank it down greedily. I lowered my eyes and thanked him.
The stryimaðr braced his hands on his hips and laughed. “Feeling better, little one? Maybe you would like to take a walk? Clean up a bit?”
“I want a slab of jerky.”
My demand drew another chuckle from him, but he brought me a slab of meat and some small ale to bring back my color. He untied my hands to let me eat and, when I had finished, he allowed me to get up and stretch my legs. As we walked the length of the knarr, the men jeered and tossed crusts of bread and fish bones at me. The stryimaðr raised his eyebrows, but made no move to stop them. Shame heated my face, but I kept walking.
I surveyed the ship: where the crew sat, the little skiff tied beneath the stern, the barrels of fresh water pushed up against the starboard rail. The skiff was the only way I could escape, but untying it before casting off would take too much time. I needed a knife to cut it free.
As we walked past the oar-benches, a man stuck out his foot. I tumbled over, cracking my head against a bench. The man stood and glared down at me. Then he aimed a kick at my stomach. I heaved clear bile onto the deck.
“This is for Bnarin,” he hissed softly. “If you hadn’t gone after him with that sharpened stick, he wouldn’t have been fighting. He wouldn’t have touched that boy and he’d still be alive.”
He took hold of my hair and dragged me up. He tossed me over the bench, then fumbled with his belt. “I’m going to stripe you bloody with this.”
To my surprise, the stryimaðr did nothing. He merely crossed his arms and looked on, smirking. Another sailor sat on the bench beside me and pushed me down. The belt descended, and a searing line of pain formed across my back. I started to struggle harder, but a glint of metal caught my eye. I gritted my teeth against the pain while the sailor beat me, then slipped my hand into his friend’s cloak. I carefully drew out his dagger and concealed it up my sleeve.
“I bet you couldn’t beat me in a fair fight.” I raised my head as much as I could to look at the sailor. I spat on the ship’s deck. He let the belt fly once more, and the buckle sliced my cheek. “Getting your friends to hold me down. Scared of an unarmed girl. Pathetic.”
The stryimaðr laid a hand on my assailant’s shoulder. I started to rise, but the captain grabbed me by the arm and hauled me to my feet. “If you can’t be nice, then you’ll have to stay tied.”
I struggled and tried to protest but, as we walked toward the mast, I caught the end of another conversation.
“We should look for a whale pod or a white bear before we start back,” one of the crew members was saying to a cluster of men, who were all drinking ale from wooden cups. “Fresh meat has been scarce.” He grunted and gestured toward me. “And we can’t eat her.”
“I could find you a white bear,” I said.
The stryimaðr’s grip on my arm relaxed ever so slightly.
I pushed back the sleeve of my dirty nightdress, then brandished the shifting map toward the crew. “I can find anything. That’s why your jarl wanted me, right?”
Shaking his head, the stryimaðr said, “We don’t have time. Our orders were to bring back any children who showed the marks as soon as possible.”
“A white bear,” a younger crewman said dreamily. “I’ve never seen one, except the pelt the jarl has in his hall.”
“It would mean sailing through the Trap,” the stryimaðr muttered.
Silence fell on the ship, as the men looked at one another. The Trap was legendary on both sides of the North Sea. It took skill to navigate through the icebergs, but for those who dared, and those who lived, the rewards were bountiful. Arctic foxes and white bears roamed the icy tundra; their white pelts were worth more at market than most warriors earned in a year. Whale pods congregated in sealed pockets of ocean, caged by the encroaching ice. Even a small white whale had enough meat to feed a village for a month.
I turned to the captain. “If you promise that no one else will touch me for the remainder of this voyage, I will get you safely through.”
My smile was dazzling as I plotted their deaths. I would see every last one of them sink to the bottom of the sea. If the ship sank, there was only one skiff. Cold, but reassuring, the dagger rested against my skin. I would take the skiff and leave all of them to drown. The sea god was not known to protect raiders, and he favored those who lured blood to his children below the waves. The sharks needed fresh meat; the crabs required new skulls to pick over. If I brought the ship to ruin, surely Aegir would give me his blessing?
The crew members all turned to stare at the stryimaðr. I noticed for the first time how gaunt-cheeked some of them looked. The wealth and prestige that killing an adult male white bear could bring to a warrior was immense. The bears were not easy kills, but their pelts were coveted by kings. Many warriors who sought them out never returned. Unlike the whales, they didn’t have predictable migration patterns and they rarely gathered in groups. Their fur blended perfectly with the ice-shelf.
The stryimaðr scratched his beard, then slowly put out his hand to me. “You lead us to a white bear, safely, and no harm will come to you aboard my ship. You have my word.”
Glee rose inside me, but I kept my face solemn as I took his hand.
“You will stay by me,” he continued. His light gray eyes bored into mine. “And if we capsize as we sail along the shelf, I will drown you with my own hands.”
I swallowed hard, then nodded. I would have to pick my moment carefully. Once I led them to the bear, surely they would trust me? A male white bear weighed as much as five men. Our ship was already carrying near its weight limit. The rail was only a few feet above the waves. Weighed down even farther, the knarr would turn only with difficulty, and then, while my captors drank and cheered, I would navigate them to their deaths.
When the stryimaðr turned away, I whispered a prayer to the sea god. I thought of my parents and then of Lief. My brother had possessed a sweet and gentle nature, a quiet voice. If our positions had been reversed, he never would have condemned a ship full of men to a watery death. But because of them, he would never hold a target for me on the beach or talk excitedly about Uncle Bjorn’s forge again. He was gone.
I will deliver these men to your children. I prayed to the sea god, if you help me avenge my dead.
* * *
The Trap had a deadly beauty that took my breath away as we sailed into its heart. I had never seen an iceberg so close. As we ghosted alongside them, I longed to touch their smooth diamond faces. The ocean in the Trap was deceptively calm; the waves merely rippled. The tranquil water gave the illusion of safety. I understood why it had claimed so many.
On the deck, a white bear the size of a horse lay dead. Even in death, it was a beautiful creature, and I felt a pang of guilt for leading the crew to it. Its fur was as fine as powdered snow and looked impossibly soft. Its great black claws were still extended. It was a senseless waste. If my plan succeeded, no one would eat the bear’s meat or use its pelt for warmth. The gods did not look favorably on purposeless slaughter. I was glad the bear was not of Aegir’s dominion.
Despite their caution and numbers, one of the crew had been wounded in the hunt. He bore the jagged cut on his arm with pride. The captain warned him not speak of the source of his injury. Jarl Haakon needed to believe it had been sustained during the raid on my village.
I had gone below deck while the hunting took place, to prepare as best I could. Immersed in the hunt, no one had minded. The stryimaðr had given me a new set of clothes: a loose-fitting pair of suede trousers, a faded brown tunic, and a cloak made from a gray wolf’s hide. I gathered a small flask of water, a bottle of fish grease, a few strips of dried meat, and a long hunting spear. Under the guise of fetching things for the hunters, I discretely stashed my bounty in the skiff to await my escape.
While the men dragged up the anchor, I studied the maps on my arms. Now that I had a plan and a desire, my magic was cooperating again. I shifted so that my back was to the captain. Even now, I had to be careful. We were in an enclosed square of icebergs, with two floating to the south and two others to the east and west of us. The bergs to the south were shallow, small things. The knarr was a solid ship. If we struck them, we might survive. But the berg to the east… it was as big as a mountain.
The men settled onto their rowing benches. The stryimaðr came to stand beside me. “Which way, navigator?” he asked.
His eyes were focused behind me, glued hungrily to the bear’s carcass. Did he already have a price in mind for the pelt? He wouldn’t bring it to Jarl Haakon. He was probably already planning a new route home, one that would take us past trading ports in other kingdoms and provinces, fresh markets with no connection to his lord.
I squinted at my arm. “To the west,” I said and swallowed hard. “If we go east, we’ll run into a giant ice mountain.”
I braced myself as his gaze shifted. He scrutinized me. I’d never been a good liar, but I was betting he would not believe the truth when he heard it. He’d be expecting a trick now that we had the bear and the rest of the crew were distracted. I could hardly breathe as I waited for his pronouncement.
“We’ll go east,” he said and turned toward his men. “There’re no ports to the west. But I’m guessing you know that.”
“If we go east, we’ll wreck,” I said earnestly. It was the truth, and it was easy to infuse my voice with fear. I was ready to get my revenge, but I wasn’t ready to die. My preparations might not be enough. Anything could happen on the open sea. Aegir might decide to condemn me too.
“We’re low on water now. We can’t make it to the next port west and still get home, not without restocking, and the jarl will know if we bring new barrels aboard. The water is warmer to the east as well.”
The ship began to move again, propelled by a crisp wind. She was a fast ship, with a shallow draft for a knarr and a wide sail that harnessed the Arctic wind. Her speed would serve my purpose well. The captain went to stand at the bow, but I hung back. I wanted to be as near to the skiff as possible. We might avoid the ice. The stryimaðr had been at sea for years, and he might have his own accord with Aegir. But my skin showed the full scale of the behemoth that waited beneath the water to the east. I’d spoken true, praying the stryimaðr would not trust me.
I watched my tattoos as we sailed. The miniature knarr bobbed above my wrist, as we drew ever closer to the iceberg. It was marked by a rune, strange for a place that wasn’t human-made, but I had seen it a few times with mountains or great lakes. The iceberg could be floating above the remains of an ancient city, still precious to the gods. I gripped the ship’s rail. Wind rustled through my hair, oddly warm, like a whisper.
When we struck the edge of the berg, we lurched so hard that even I was thrown back. The tattoos on my arm showed the ship on the perimeter of the ice-mountain, even though the visible part of the berg was some ten meters away. The crew tried to row backward, but they only succeeded in scraping the wooden keel over the sharp ice. A cracking noise filled the air. A geyser shot up from the deck.
The men shouted to one another. Part of me wanted to wait, to watch them in their panic and relish my revenge. But if I was going to escape, I needed to leave before the stryimaðr could make good on his own plan to drown me.
As if sensing my thoughts, the captain strode toward me, sword raised, a scowl on his face.
I ran to the skiff, jumped inside, and severed the ropes with the stolen dagger. The little boat dropped into the ocean with a mighty splash. A board cracked beneath my feet and sea water seeped through the skiff’s floor. I covered the small hole with my boot and paddled with my hands, trying to distance myself from the knarr as fast as I could.
My little craft was light enough to float over the waves, well above the iceberg’s jagged surface. The captain’s face was purple with rage as he stared down at me from the deck above. He disappeared, and a second later a spear whizzed past my ear. I ducked and dipped one leg into the freezing water. I kicked with all my strength.
Behind me, the great ship moaned. The berth began to split from the keel. The white bear rolled off the side of the now-unbalanced vessel, cracking the starboard rail as it fell. Men jumped into the sea and scrambled up the face of the ice mountain. A piece of the iceberg fractured and landed on the deck. The ship’s stern plunged under the glassy waves.
From the water, the men shouted and thrashed. I drew my frozen leg back onto my skiff. My calf tingled with cold, but a slow smile spread over my face.
The sailor who had beaten me swam through the water toward my skiff. As he laid a hand on the boat, I plunged the dagger into his flesh. He withdrew his hand with a scream, and I kicked away from him, farther out into the open sea.
When I was twenty meters away, I stopped paddling to watch the chaos I’d created. I knew that I needed to keep going until I reached land, but I allowed myself a just a minute to watch my kidnappers die.
It’s not enough, I thought as they kicked through the water, only to be pulled down by a force beneath the waves. My smile slowly vanished. My rush of happiness faded. These men would die, but what of Haakon and all his thegns? These men were just brutes. They hadn’t given the order to sack my town. Watching them die didn’t bring me the kind of resolution I’d expected. Until Jarl Haakon himself paid for what he had done to my home—to my brother—it was never going to be enough.
* * *
The waves had carried my skiff to the ice shelf. My foot had gone numb from hours pressed against the hole in the bottom of the boat. A tingling sensation worked its way up my cramped calf. The Arctic sun beat down relentlessly. I was thirsty, but I forced myself to conserve the little fresh water I’d managed to steal.
When my skiff had bumped against the ice, I’d scrambled out and dragged it onto the ice behind me. If I was going to make it to the continent, I needed to find a way to repair my boat. The shelf was a vast expanse of desolate white. There were no trees for shelter or firewood. Gusts of wind blew cyclones of ice-dust, sharp as broken glass. I pulled my hood over my hair, then tied a rope to the skiff’s rowing bench. Wrapping a length of rope around my stomach, I began to trudge inland against the wind.
I walked for hours before I collapsed on the ice. I took out my water flask and allowed myself a few cautious sips. My throat burned, and I wanted to chug all of it, but until I found fresh snow and wood to make a fire, it was all the water I had.
I turned the boat upside down and crawled under it for shelter. As the space began to warm with my breath, I fought the urge to sleep. Those who slept on the ice didn’t always wake up. When I’d planned to sink the ship, I hadn’t expected the shelf to be so large. I thought I’d find solid land after a few miles. Impossibly heavy, my eyelids tried to drift shut. I pinched myself hard.
Cradling my arm in my lap, I focused on my tattoos. Surely my magic could show me a path. But when the map shifted and my surroundings came into clearer view, I had to bite my fist to stifle a scream. The ice shelf extended for miles in all directions. The map indicated that I should walk back the way I’d come and set sail again. But with the hole in my skiff, I’d never make it to the continent. The land beyond the ice-shelf was tundra; it would be harsh and freezing, but I might be able to use the sparse trees that grew there to repair my boat. I could build a fire and melt snow to refill my water flask. If my supply lasted long enough for me to get there.
The wind on the shelf had grown so strong that a draft blew through the hull of my skiff. I turned the boat over again and was nearly blown down by the strength of the Arctic gale. My lips were cracked and bleeding. I uncorked the bottle of fish grease and, pinching my nose, managed to swallow a few sips.
I trudged on, my whole body aching. The sun slowly dipped behind the horizon and left me in near darkness. Overhead, waves of green and purple light danced across the black sky. When my legs buckled, I flipped the skiff and climbed inside. I slept there until dawn, not sure I’d wake again.
In the morning, I devoured the stripped beef and swallowed a hasty gulp of fish grease. The endless ice stretched on ahead; the horizon was a continuous white cloud. An opening appeared on the ice. I squinted, wondering if I had started to hallucinate. Tiny, rippling waves appeared over the lip of the opening. A spray erupted, and, a moment later, the inquisitive face of a beluga whale popped up. I stumbled toward the hole in the ice. The beluga peered at me over the edge of the ice shelf. Three other whale-faces joined it.
One whale would yield more than enough meat and blubber to see me to land. I didn’t relish the idea of eating raw meat, but it could sustain me. I grabbed the hunting spear from the bottom of the skiff and crouched beside the hole in the ice.
The belugas were trapped in a space the size of a small pond. It was the only hole I’d seen in the ice for miles, the only place they would find to breathe until the shelf began to melt. I had never hunted a whale before. On the open ocean, it would have been impossible for me to land a whale alone. But maybe here, I would only have to kill it. The salt in the water might make the carcass float. I could pull it closer and then cut off what I needed.
I waited until a juvenile whale surfaced to breathe. When the dark gray calf drew near, I lunged forward and thrust my spear into the water. The whale ducked beneath the waves, unscathed. Tears stung my eyes. I knew nothing about hunting whales, but something inside me knew that this was my only chance. I was already so thirsty, so hungry. If I couldn’t do this, I’d die.
Wrapping my fur around my face to create a mask against the wind, I knelt beside the ice. My fingers curled around the freezing lip of the shelf. The water wouldn’t be much warmer than the ice. If I fell in, I wouldn’t get warm again.
One of the whales floated just beneath the surface. It watched me warily. I thrust my spear down. Just as the point broke the water, something grabbed it from below and tugged. I lay down on the ice and wrapped both hands around the spear’s shaft. But the pull was impossibly strong. One of the belugas must have grasped the tip of the spear in its mouth. I tried to hang on, scrambling to find purchase on the slick ice.
A blue-scaled hand emerged from the ocean. I dropped the shaft and crawled backward. What was that? My breath caught.
A girl pushed herself out of the breathing hole and onto the ice. Her long turquoise hair hung down to her waist. She was naked, but blue scales wound up her voluptuous body. She sat on the edge of the ice and swung a luminous, cerulean tail onto the shelf.
I rubbed my eyes. Mermaids were not real. Everyone knew that. They were fantasies, carved onto the bows of ships by sailors missing home. And yet, she stared at me with such intelligence in her bright, topaz eyes. Delicate freckles covered the bridge of her nose. Her shocked expression mirrored mine: curiosity and fear mingled. She watched me, not moving. I let out a shallow breath, as she slowly lay back on the ice and closed her eyes. I began to scoot across the ice toward my skiff. Without legs, I didn’t think she would be able to chase me. I didn’t want to be this close.
Her body began to glow. Her scales changed color from deep blue to pale sea-green. Light emanated from them and cloaked her in a halo. She spread her arms. A smile dimpled her cheeks as she bathed in the low, Arctic sun. Around her, the ice started to melt.
I took a sip from my flask and settled down to watch her. The glow in her scales receded. She sat up and stretched. Her eyes locked on mine. Behind her, two white beluga faces popped up from the water. The mermaid bent to stroke them and whisper.
A shiver that had nothing to do with the Arctic wind ran down my spine. Her voice was soft and rolled like waves. She spoke like the ocean and yet, I understood her words.
“You’ll be safe,” she murmured to the whales. “I stole the harpoon.”
I bit my lip. Maybe she had just hastened my death, not caused it. Even if I had been able to kill one of the whales, I’d be stuck on the ice shelf with no way home. The days would grow longer and the beluga pod would break free of their icy prison. But the way she looked at me—curious and a little bit playful—gave me another idea. I needed wood to make a fire and repair my ship. But if I could convince her to help me, I might survive. She could show me how to get to the ocean.
I crawled toward the mermaid. My arms were leaden from days of hauling the skiff across the ice. She could push me into the sea and drown me. What if mermaids ate people? Maybe that was why we all thought they were a myth: Anyone who had seen one had been devoured. But before I could reach her, she dove through the hole in the ice. Her topaz fins waved jubilantly in the air, and she disappeared into the black sea.