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  Sigrid screwed up her eyes. ‘Is that you pretending to be kind?’

  ‘It’s me trying to find out what you’re blaming me for. Though, of course, I forgot; I’m to blame for everything!’

  ‘Off you go gallivanting as always and then work yourself up the minute you get back from those ruins. I won’t go near them. Don’t think I didn’t hear you tossing and turning all night. You should be resting.’

  ‘If one more person tells me to rest I shall hit them! You are as bad as Dellingr.’

  ‘It was him that said.’

  ‘What?’ Bera shouted.

  ‘Heggi told Ginna and she told her father. These pains of yours. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Bera was trying to ignore them. ‘They come and go.’

  ‘Why worry poor Heggi with them?’

  ‘I didn’t tell him. He noticed a few times, that’s all.’

  ‘How long have you been having them then?’

  ‘Hel’s teeth, Sigrid! I get a tummy ache and you all panic. Look at me. I’m perfectly well now I can get outside and breathe some fresh air instead of the stink in here. Women have had babies time out of mind.’

  ‘No one knows more about babies than me.’

  ‘You only ever had one!’ Bera stopped.

  It was as though the dead Bjorn stood in the room between them.

  Sigrid’s lips were white. She threw her cloth onto the bench and made for the door. A toddler rolled away and she kicked his toy after him, then slammed the door behind her. He started an ear-piercing wail, which brought his mother, who clicked her tongue at Bera. She wanted to hide but in a way it was her fault, so Bera apologised to the woman, then went to find Sigrid.

  She was sitting with her apron over her face on one of the large stones. Bera sat beside her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sigrid.’

  The apron stayed up.

  ‘It’s just that no one makes me as cross as you.’

  Sigrid snorted. ‘That’s your idea of an apology, is it?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have said any of that.’

  Sigrid uncovered her face. ‘We’ve both lost what we loved the best. We have to get on with it now.’

  ‘I’m trying to! And I try to stay calm for the sake of the baby when all I see is my father standing there and the foul Serpent King swinging his axe and—’

  ‘Don’t say it!’

  Bera did not want to see it, either. ‘All of us must work together to make a success of this.’

  ‘We each have our own skills, Bera. You’re our leader, no doubt about it, whatever folk might say. More than that, you’ve learned your mother’s knack of scrying and suchlike to tell what’s in store for us.’

  Sigrid did not know that the knack had gone and Bera would not tell her, or frighten her about what she had seen in the vision.

  ‘Vallas keep Drorghers away, so you rule over death. But I’m good with life.’ Sigrid crossed her arms over her bundled chest. ‘Once there were a fair number of women of childbearing age, back home. I was at all the birthings. Folk trusted me.’

  ‘Well, the baby will be coming soon.’ She hated the fear in her voice.

  Sigrid’s face softened. She took Bera’s hand and peace was restored.

  Later, Bera swept out the stalls and took the foul straw outside to the bonfire. The driftwood was nearly ash and she was glad that no Drorghers had been seen. Back home, folk stayed in the hall through winternights to keep warm and ration food. But above all, it was to be safe from the band of Drorghers, come to take their living kin and steal their skerns. A Valla had to keep the fires that held them at bay alight, or face them if they went out. Burning corpses stopped them becoming Drorghers. With only driftwood, a pyre was beyond hope – so how did Ice Islanders keep the dead from walking?

  The sweepings caught light at once, their crackle loud in the still air, and smoke rose straight up like a beacon. Bera felt again that everyone in these parts knew they were here but she had no sense of where they fitted into the landscape, or if they were welcome. Were there others, apart from the sad few they sometimes saw scavenging on the beach?

  She hurried back and found Dellingr in the doorway. Bera squeezed past him into the byre, so that he could stand straighter. Further away.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ she asked.

  ‘No more than usual.’ He rubbed his hands together to shake off the grey dust of stonework, studying them as he spoke. ‘I need metal, Bera. Iron. It’s what I know. You can trust to the honesty of it. This work with stone… it’s unyielding. It stays itself, no matter how sharp I hone the chisel. You can heat metal into a river of light and bend it to your will.’

  Bera understood. ‘You’ve forgotten who you are.’

  ‘So have you.’ He met her eye. ‘I’ve forgotten hope. The loss of our boy… I’m not blaming you, Bera, but Asa… she can’t get over it. She says no one could have stopped the bairn going overboard but I know in her heart she blames both of us.’

  Bera pictured Asa turning, her face, the empty shawl… She put a hand on her stomach, then quickly let it drop.

  ‘She hates me having a baby.’

  ‘Thing is, it’s getting worse.’

  A boy came into the byre, picked up an axe and went out again.

  Dellingr went on. ‘Now she’s started on Heggi.’

  ‘He should stay away. What’s she saying?’

  ‘Telling him he hobbled me. That he was old enough to look after himself.’

  ‘Any one of us could have gone overboard.’

  ‘We all know that, but still…’

  ‘So what else?’

  ‘Well, she’s told Ginna the boy’s unlucky, that—’ He tightened the leather belt of his apron. ‘Anyway, best get on.’

  ‘What were you going to say? That she mustn’t make a bond with Heggi? Is that it?’

  He nodded. ‘Because of his bad blood.’

  ‘I feel the same about Ginna,’ she said, to hurt.

  He stooped and stepped out into the yard. She followed and spoke to his back.

  ‘I didn’t mean you.’

  Too late.

  2

  A few days later, the first soft breeze of spring came at last. They were able to get out further and forage. The women kicked their boots off so that they could feel the earth coming alive. A low humming began in the soles of Bera’s feet that spread up her calves, thighs, stomach and chest; caressing the baby so that she felt at peace with the new life inside her. Her scalp tingled with the sense of belonging; a feeling she could see on the faces of the other women as they looked up at the mountains. If only Asa and Drifa had been there to complete the circle. There was no place for outsiders, with so few of them. They quickly pulled on their boots before their feet froze.

  Sigrid placed a hand carefully on the swell of the baby.

  ‘He’s kicking hard,’ she announced. ‘He’ll be a strong, fine lad!’

  Bera wished her baby was a boy. ‘I’m going fishing.’

  ‘Not out at sea?’

  The pain of boat-loss hit, as it always did when she wasn’t braced.

  Sigrid quickly took her hand. ‘Sorry. I’ll come too. I have to keep an eye on you.’

  Bera went to the byre to collect their tackle and found Rakki, tied to a rail.

  ‘Come on, lad. Let’s get some fish.’

  The tussock grass was bleached and flattened by the snow that now only remained in ditches and hollows. Rakki bounded on, out of sight. The women climbed the gentle slope slowly. They heard the rush of meltwater long before they reached the river, broken by the shrill, lonely call of an oystercatcher. The chill air made Bera’s fingertips white, so she put on her mittens. They would get cold enough later.

  They turned onto a narrow path and the noise grew louder. Ahead was a white tumble of water, cascading over rocks and boulders. Some gnarled and stunted birch trees clung to the mossy sides, with rainbow webs in their hair. It was as if the land was opening its tight fist to reveal treasures
in its palm.

  Bera found hope in this and in spring awakening as it always had at home. Perhaps her vision was of a past event; one that had caused the ruins?

  Sigrid stopped. ‘What?’

  Bera pointed at the snow. There was a line of footprints in it.

  ‘Someone’s ahead of us.’

  ‘Heggi or Ginna, most likely.’ Sigrid pulled another shawl over her head. ‘Come on, I’m shrammed standing here.’

  Bera whistled but Rakki did not appear.

  ‘Perhaps he’s found Heggi.’

  There was a strange scratching inside her head, like thoughts trying to form, or a snatch of memory… They walked on. The footprints were a trail to be trusted, not feared. Then a memory came.

  ‘Those prints remind me of my mother.’

  ‘Alfdis trod in enough snow.’

  ‘Once, when I was really small, one spring, we were out feeding the animals and there was a snowstorm, those swan-feather flakes, big and choking.’

  ‘They lay quick, all right.’

  ‘And deep. Home was a long way back.’

  ‘When was this? Alfdis would never have taken you out like that, not when you were small, she’d have known—’

  ‘I couldn’t keep up and fell over, crying. Mama came back and told me to put my feet into the snow she had trodden down. She took small steps so that I could reach the next one. I’ve only realised that now, seeing those prints.’

  ‘Well, that’s what we all do if a child’s got too big to carry.’

  Bera felt a flicker of anger. ‘Mama led me the whole way home. I felt safe. I knew where I was going.’

  Sigrid scrubbed at her forehead. ‘Jump down my throat all you like but what’s your point?’

  ‘Can’t you see? That’s what I need, Sigrid. I need my mother to walk in front of me and show me where to put my feet.’

  Sigrid walked on. ‘You do get some daft ideas. But if it’s about babies, you can ask me anything.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  It was wrong of her to blame Sigrid for not understanding the loneliness of being a Valla. Blame, again. Perhaps they all needed something to blame when things were hard. Harder still for her, with no skern to talk to.

  They got down to the serious business of baiting hooks and choosing the right place to throw the lines. Bera cast her line into a dark pool. She listened to the trickle of small streams that could be heard above the deep, distant torrent of the falls. She saw a flash of silver and the line twitched. She played the fish, liking the dart and chase; the lure and catch. Then the skill of landing the fish, which gasped and threshed. It was nearly as good as sea fishing, but without a boat. Soon her basket was full of char, trout and a couple of good-sized salmon.

  ‘I wish I had your knack,’ said Sigrid.

  Bera looked in her friend’s basket. ‘This river’s teeming with fish and you’ve only got two.’

  ‘I was thinking.’

  ‘Thinking about stealing some of mine, I expect,’ said Bera.

  Sigrid cuffed her, laughing.

  The scratching in her head began again; not a memory, more like a creature coming to life. Something to do with Rakki…

  ‘I’m going to find that wretched dog.’

  ‘The wretched dog you’d give your life for,’ Sigrid said.

  Bera lost the long, slow sound of the river in the chill air. She made her breath coil in different shapes and studied the criss-cross of animal tracks in the frost-pocket snow. Wide, puffin-hunter paws. He was close. She carried on, ignoring a grumbling pain, like a bad stitch. Then Rakki charged at her, pink tongue steaming. The dog’s mind was jumbled with excitement. Hunting. Bera felt it too, like scrying within an animal’s mind. The scratching was a connection starting to be made. It was a new skill. Was it because she wasn’t listening to boat-song now? Whatever it was, she knew Rakki wanted her to follow him.

  ‘What have you found, boy?’

  He led her to a burrow. Small trails of ice-smoke whispered into the air from the sleeping creatures beneath. Rakki stood with one paw raised, savouring the scents. Then Bera thought about the time she had gathered poison plants near a river in a still twilight: plants that were supposed to kill her enemy, and how close they had come to killing Heggi instead.

  Rakki looked at her, then back at the burrow. He was full of bloodlust.

  Bera closed her mind to it. The sensation was troubling – and she refused to kill anything sleeping. She had tried that too, once, knowing it was wrong.

  ‘No, Rakki. Come, let’s find Sigrid.’

  When they got back, she was packing up their tackle.

  ‘All right, don’t say it. I’ve only caught one since you left.’

  Sigrid rubbed her hands on her coarse apron and put her mittens on. One of the trout flipped out of the basket and Bera threw it back in before Rakki pounced. She picked up the heavy basket.

  ‘Well, there’s all the summer ahead,’ said Sigrid. ‘Come on, that’s too much for you. We’ll take a handle each.’

  They set off. The basket was lurching as Sigrid trudged along on her short, sturdy legs. She was getting slow, older than Alfdis would have been, but never complained, even though all the ones she loved best were dead.

  ‘We’re all half-starved, that’s the trouble,’ Bera said.

  ‘Things will get better when we can get some crops planted.’

  The trouble was, they both knew it would be worse. This was the dangerous time, when all their stores were gone and there was a long wait for crops to grow. That was if the weather stayed fair – and who knew if it would here? Or if there was worse than weather to worry about.

  After a while, they stopped to change hands. Bera looked inland, at the tallest mountain, and the flames of her vision turned her sight red. They would be lucky if they had the chance to live long enough to worry about Drorghers. The trickle of smoke coming from its peak was a warning of danger coming, not past.

  The season of driftwood was upon them, so the settlers went down to the shore to see what the winter storms had brought. The sky was further away here on Ice Island, and blueness so remote was harder to predict. At home, Bera could test the weather as a slice between sea and mountain, to see the clouds squeezed and the sun closer. She did not look at the closest mountain and its white smoke, which the others thought was a cloud, that lazed its way upwards into the blue air. She had no boat to take advantage of the seething life out on the whale roads. The deep loss was like their song: low, lamenting and long.

  Bera had to cheer her folk, for she had brought them to this. She worked alongside Sigrid and they sang, urging the sea beasts to spit useful trappings ashore. When they cleared the largest mats of weed and began sifting, they found bones, flagons and even some strange empty barrels, useful for pickling. They were building their future together, like the old days. How her father would have enjoyed seeing it. Ottar would have been at the heart of it and she kept the thought each time it came, and it came often, because it was his due that she should hurt so much; it was part of love.

  After a while, the weight of her baby was too much and Bera sank down onto a stone.

  ‘I reckon any day now,’ said Sigrid.

  ‘There’s weeks to go yet.’

  Bera watched some other folk along the shore. They were busy, with better pickings from the look of it but she was glad it kept them apart. Seen closer now, they were small and dark-haired, not as thin as her folk.

  ‘I think they settled here long before us,’ she said.

  ‘They’re from the huts, them with that smoke we’ve seen.’ Sigrid threw a bundle of driftwood into the cart. ‘Wonder if they mind us being here?’

  ‘They would have chased us off the beach.’

  ‘I meant, settling here at all.’ Sigrid’s voice was tight. ‘That Drifa reckons there are secret watchers.’

  Bera thought about the slight figure near the ruins. Did they have different kinds of Drorgher here? She wished her scalp would
prickle in warning, like it used to. Perhaps this was something else the baby had taken for herself.

  ‘Don’t let Drifa scare you, Sigrid. She enjoys it too much.’

  Bera started sifting. She must stop letting her child frighten her, like Drifa. She took some deeper breaths and heard, distinctly, a summons. Not words, but a warbling whistle.

  ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘What?’ Sigrid carried on working.

  ‘You know those footprints? I think they were a sign, and this is another.’ It was calling from the steep slope beside their bay. Something waiting. ‘I’m going up there.’

  ‘Oh, you and your signs.’ Sigrid wagged a shark tooth at her. ‘It’s awful high. You mind the pains don’t start again.’

  As soon as Bera began climbing she realised Sigrid was right. It was slow going and the dragging pains began. She could have walked into Hel’s trap and her vision of land and body cleaving apart felt very close. But then her heart skipped. Her skern was lounging against a rock.

  He wagged a long finger at her. You shouldn’t risk it, just to see me.

  ‘Nothing of the kind. You came to see me.’

  He tried to hide a smirk behind a thin shoulder but they were both brimful with the joy of his return. They clasped and were whole, their breaths joined. It was a comfort to simply be with her skern and she knew he had not been far.

  ‘Was I deaf to you all this time?’

  Probably. I’m hoarse with shouting.

  A ewe gave her a yellow, incurious look then lowered her head to forage for grass. Perhaps she was carrying babies too. Twins, bringing luck.

  Bera began scrambling to the top. The cliffs were dotted with crevices and a puffin stood guard in each one, their bills bright orange to attract a mate. The Ice-Rimmed Sea pulsed greyly far beneath and Bera scanned the skyline where home might be. It was impossible even to see where sky met water; a colourless murk of low cloud smudged both. There was no going back in any case: home and Seabost felt like failures and would be the haunt of Drorghers.

  Why come right up here? You can’t see any better.

  ‘I can turn my face towards home and smell it.’

  He drew a circle with a glum foot. Home?