Betsy Tobin Read online

  But each time I close my eyes, I cannot help but see the necklace. The longer I wait, the more it preys upon me.

  THE NORNS

  Beneath the lush grass of Hekla’s flanks lies layer upon layer of ash, the legacy of her temper inscribed into the earth. Hekla is a conduit. She has one purpose: to channel heat and gas and molten rock from the centre of the earth. In future generations men will come to regard her as the gate to Hell.Though she is but one of many here, Hekla is the most unpredictable, and the most violent. For now, she lies dormant, gathering her strength. Beneath her arched spine, like the giant back of an enormous whale, a huge chamber slowly fills with molten rock. Eventually, the long ridge of her spine will tear asunder, as if someone had drawn a knife across the belly of the earth.

  FULLA

  Fulla stands mutely eyeing the man in front of her. He is not at all what she expected. When her grandfather said that he was widowed, she assumed that he meant old. But Rolf is far from ancient. Though older than her by many years, he is still youthful: tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick head of raven hair flecked through with tiny spots of silver. His features are large and finely crafted, his eyes a startling blue. What is even more disconcerting is the manner in which he looks at her, as if challenging her to meet his gaze.

  “It is a great pleasure to meet you,” he says.

  Fulla cannot find her voice. She smiles and gives the ghost of a nod instead.

  “Rolf is an old friend of mine,” says Hogni. “Indeed, I knew his father for many years before he died.” He turns to Rolf and smiles. “He was a fine man. And a good fighter.”

  “He also held you in high regard,” says Rolf.

  “Fulla is Jarl’s only child,” explains Hogni, laying a hand upon her shoulder. “The last of our line.”

  Rolf turns back to her. “You’ve been to the Althing before?”

  “Only once,” she says. “As a child.”

  “Ah. I thought I had not seen you last year.”

  “Grandfather did not wish me to come.”

  Rolf smiles. “Afraid of losing you too soon.”

  “Exactly,” laughs Hogni.

  “And is it as you remembered?” asks Rolf.

  “It is bigger. And more crowded.”

  “Indeed. The Althing seems to double in size each year.”

  “But otherwise, yes. It is much as I remembered.”

  “Come,” interjects Hogni heartily. “Sit with us and share a horn of ale.”

  They seat themselves on logs about the fire and pass the silvered drinking horn from one to another.When Rolf hands her the horn, Fulla fumbles and spills some of the contents across his leg. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly.

  “It’s nothing,” he replies. He smiles at her reassuringly. There is nothing hasty about this man, she thinks. His bearing is strong and measured. He displays none of Hogni’s excitability and none of the awkwardness that seems to afflict men of her own age. She watches his mouth as he converses easily with Hogni. His voice is low and resonant, and the words roll smoothly from his lips. Hogni drinks quickly, his face soon flushing. Rolf passes the horn more than he drinks, and speaks to them both solicitously, though his gaze returns frequently to her. After some time, he places his hands upon his knees and rises, turning to her. She and Hogni quickly stand. “I am very pleased to have met you, Fulla.”

  “And I you,” she replies.

  “Please be my guests this evening, both of you, after the games.”

  “An excellent idea. We must make the most of our brief time,” says Hogni pointedly. Fulla flushes. Hogni takes Rolf’s arm and steers him outside while Fulla watches. Upon his return, Hogni looks at her expectantly. “Well?” he says.

  She takes a deep breath. “He is not unpleasant.”

  “He is perfect! As fine a man as we could hope for. And wealthy too. He owns half the Western Fjords! You will lack for nothing. And he is keen.You have caught his eye, there is no doubt. We must move quickly.”

  She hesitates. “The Western Fjords,” she says tentatively. “They are a long way from Laxardal.”

  He steps forward and plants a kiss upon her brow. “Fulla. I will not be here for ever.”

  “But you’re here now.”

  He shrugs. “Who knows for how much longer?”

  They spend the afternoon and early evening at the games, watching young men test their skill at various contests. Fulla spends as much time looking at the crowd as the contenders; here and there she recognises a few faces, but nowhere does she see the men of Skallagrim’s clan. At length, the games conclude and Hogni steers her towards Rolf’s booth. It is close to the Law Rock, as befits a man of his stature, and the booth is already crowded with visitors when they arrive. Rolf immediately moves towards them with a welcoming smile. He introduces them to several kinsmen, and Fulla senses that he has told them of a possible betrothal, for she feels their scrutiny keenly. Rolf invites her to sit beside him and hands her a horn of mead.

  “You enjoyed the games?” he asks.

  She smiles. “We’ve seen many spears thrown.”

  “Ah. Young men’s pursuits. Did they distinguish themselves?”

  “A few. Most missed the mark.”

  “I am glad to hear of it,” he says heartily. “I hope they did not catch your eye.”

  “Not at all,” she assures him with a laugh.

  “As a young man, I rarely excelled in such contests. Though I had no equal in draughts,” he adds.

  “You were not a keen rider?”

  He shrugs. “I can sit a horse competently, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Hogni said your father was a skilled fighter.”

  “He was. And I can wield a sword if need be.” He pauses.

  “But I prefer not to.”

  “I am glad,” she says. “Did you travel much when you were young?”

  “A fair bit. My people came from Denmark and from there made their way to Norway. I have been all through Scandinavia, and have sailed as far as Orkney and the Faroes. But I prefer my own shores to that of any other.”

  “The Western Fjords.”

  “Yes. Have you been there?”

  “No.”

  “My farmstead is at Barder.” He hesitates, as if reading her mind. “It is two days’ sail across Breidafjord, then another day’s ride to Laxardal.”

  “I see.” He watches her closely as she takes in this information. “You’ve been to Laxardal?” she asks.

  He nods. “I’ve travelled through there on a few occasions. I passed a night at your grandfather’s farm once.”

  She smiles self-consciously. “Forgive me. I do not remember.”

  “You were but a tiny child,” he says gently.

  “Oh.” He hands her the horn, and she drinks deeply, hoping to erase the unease she feels. She should not feel odd about their respective ages, yet the fact of it arises more often than she would like. Rolf clears his throat, then addresses one of his kinsmen across the booth.The two men exchange jests. Fulla sees that Hogni is deep in conversation with Rolf’s uncle on the opposite side of the fire. As she looks about, she catches the eye of an older woman wearing a violet gown and an elaborate headdress seated beside Hogni. The woman smiles, and at once rises and crosses over to sit beside her.

  “I find women’s talk far preferable to that of men’s,” she says with a mischievous smile. “But perhaps you are still young enough to be enthralled by deep voices.”

  “Not at all. I too prefer the company of women, but find myself surrounded by men most of the time.”

  “You’ve no sisters?”

  Fulla shakes her head. “No. And my mother died when I was born.”

  “You’ve been unlucky.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “But now,” the older woman nods towards Rolf and drops her voice. “Rolf is a fine man. He will make a good husband.”

  Fulla flushes. “I can see this,” she says. “Did you know his first wife?”

  The ol
der woman smiles. “She was my sister.”

  Fulla flushes again. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t know.”

  “No need to apologise.”

  “When did she die?”

  “Two summers ago. Just after the Althing.”

  “You must miss her.”

  “I do. Very much.”

  “What a shame they were not blessed with children.”

  “Indeed. It was her great regret. She was ill for much of her life, you see. I think it was a relief for her to die in the end. Perhaps for all of us.” She casts a darting glance at Rolf. As if sensing their talk, Rolf shifts his attention from the others back to them.

  “You’ve met Edith, I see,” he interjects. “My late wife’s sister.”

  “Yes.”

  “Fulla says she prefers the company of women to that of men,” says Edith.

  He looks at her with a bemused smile. “Oh?”

  “I only meant . . . I have so little opportunity . . . there are few women in our small household, so I welcome their company.”

  “There is no need to justify your words. Whatever you said, I am certain it was meant well.” He casts a meaningful look at Edith. The older woman rises at once.

  “Please excuse me,” she says nodding to Fulla. “I am promised elsewhere.”

  Fulla and Rolf stare after her as she makes her way out of the booth. “I’m sorry,” she says to him.

  “No need. Edith has a way of wreaking havoc with her words. What else did she say?”

  “She said your wife suffered from ill health during much of her lifetime.”

  “It’s true,” he says earnestly. “She was unlucky. Ill health plagued her all her life.” He turns to her and looks at her intently. “Perhaps we could take a walk down by the lake and speak in private.”

  She feels a small surge of panic. “Yes, of course,” she says. “If my grandfather doesn’t object.”

  “I’ve spoken with him already,” says Rolf.

  They both rise and quietly take their leave of the others, walking out into the cool night air. Darkness has begun to fall, and most people have retreated to their booths for the night. As they stroll through the encampment, she sees small knots of people gathered around open fires. They speak in low voices, punctuated by occasional outbursts of laughter. Neither she nor Rolf speaks for several minutes, until they reach the edge of the lake. Once there, they are alone, except for a few men off in the distance fishing from the shore. Rolf turns to her.

  “Fulla, may I speak plainly? You are young and desirable. You could have your choice of many men.”

  “The decision is not merely mine, as you know.”

  “But I wish it to be.”

  She hesitates. “What do you mean?”

  “That I desire you to choose freely and of your own accord—not simply follow the wishes of your grandfather.”

  She considers his words. “You are an honourable man,” she says carefully.

  He sighs. “I have the advantage of experience.”

  She looks out upon the lake. The moon has risen just above the horizon; its reflection shimmers in a line across the water. “Did you love your first wife?” she asks quietly.

  Rolf hesitates. “I respected her.”

  “That is not the same.”

  “No. It is not.”

  “Why did you marry?”

  He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “Because as a young man, my heart was set towards another. She married someone else, according to her family’s wishes. And eventually bore two children before she died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He smiles. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Do you think that I . . . that we . . .” She hesitates.

  “I think that when two people enter into marriage with an open heart, anything is possible. Love can be nurtured, but the heart must be willing.”

  “And is your heart willing?”

  “Very much so.” He turns to her. “Is yours?”

  “I think it might be,” she says. “But I’m not certain.”

  He pauses, his expression growing more serious, then reaches for her hand. She feels his fingers close around her own. His hand is large and warm. He gives a small squeeze. “Fulla,” he says, choosing his words with care, “I have had one loveless marriage. I do not want another. You must consider carefully.”

  She nods. “I will sleep upon the matter, and give you my decision in the morning.”

  He smiles and releases her hand. “That is as much as I can ask for. Tomorrow it shall be. I will come to your booth first thing.”

  On the way home she evades Hogni’s probing questions. He has drunk a vast amount during the course of the evening, so does not press her overly. Once they have retired, sleep eludes her. She lies awake listening to the snores of those around her, and ponders her decision. Rolf is a fine man; that much is obvious. Thus far, she has seen nothing in his character to object to. But neither does she feel the excitement of a new bride. Would love grow between them, as he claims, given the right conditions?

  Part of her resents the responsibility he has conferred upon her with the choice. A different part of her sees the possibility of a new life in a distant place, with a man who will do his best to love her. She knows that his proposal is not one to be trifled with. But it has come so soon—before she has even grown accustomed to the idea of marriage.

  She sleeps eventually, but when she wakes at dawn, her body is still exhausted. Hogni lies to one side of her, and the other men are ranged across the floor. She takes in the stillness of the morning, and finds to her dismay that her mind is no clearer. As quietly as she can, she rises and pulls on her overshift and shoes, before creeping across the booth to the door. Once outside, she turns to survey the encampment. A small handful of people have woken around her. They crouch beside their campfires tending the delicate first flames. She makes her way across the field towards the edge of the encampment, and finds the path cut into the wall behind the law rock that will take her to the top of the escarpment. She climbs quickly, breathlessly, her mind concentrating on the jagged steps cut into the basalt wall beneath her feet. At length, she reaches the top and walks a little further inland, so she cannot be seen from below. The dawn sun sits squarely on the horizon. She walks without purpose, lost in thought, until she eventually reaches the great rift that tears the rock in two. She peers down into the crack, which drops for many metres below her feet.

  “They say it widens each year by the span of a man’s hand.” With a gasp, she turns to see Vili standing not ten paces away. He has come from behind her, without her realising. Did he follow her from the encampment? She looks down at the rift. “How can such a thing be possible?” she says.

  He shrugs and moves a bit closer to where she stands. They both stare into the crevasse. “For the past three years I’ve measured it. But it is difficult to tell.”

  “Perhaps it is we who alter each year,” she offers. “Rather than the rock beneath our feet.”

  He looks at her and smiles uncertainly. “The new religion preaches forgiveness.The old one retribution.Who are we to believe?”

  “Maybe neither.”

  He looks at her intently. “Do you hate me for my father’s crime?”

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  “And my kin?”

  She hesitates. “Hate is too strong a word,” she says.

  He sighs. They both look out across the valley floor. “There is talk of a betrothal,” he says after a moment. She turns to him with a frown.

  “I am not yet betrothed.”

  “But you will be.”

  “Perhaps,” she says.

  “To a man twice your age.”

  “Rolf is a worthy man,” she says defensively. “With a fine reputation.”

  Vili raises an eyebrow. “His wealth is equally reputable.”

  “If wealth is a crime, then I am not aware of it.”

  He considers her for a moment.
“Then what is it you seek? Is it his purse? Or the wisdom born of age?”

  She feels her face start to burn. “You’ve no right to say such things!”

  “No,” he says. “Perhaps not. Who am I but the son of an outlaw?” He flings the words at her, his cheeks two spots of colour. “I wish you both great happiness,” he says. Then he turns and strides quickly across the rock towards the steps, never once glancing back in her direction. Fulla stands motionless, long after his figure has disappeared over the crest of the escarpment. Anger gathers like a storm inside her. She is stunned by his outburst. And by the doubts he casts upon her motives. She had not yet made her decision. But now perhaps she has.

  Once back at the booth, she feels newly calm, as if the path ahead has been suddenly cleared of obstacles. She smooths and straightens her dress, attaches her best brooch, and combs her hair in preparation for Rolf’s visit. The others have risen and are busy with their morning labours. Two of Hogni’s men are dispatched to fetch water; another is sent to check upon the horses, grazing at some distance from the camp. Hogni himself seems buoyant this morning, as if last night’s celebrations are still carrying him along. He hums a little tune as he ladles out some skyr for breakfast, holding up the spoon to offer her some. She shakes her head. A few minutes later, an old friend stops by to greet him. The two men stroll out of the booth together, and Fulla is left alone. As if on cue, Rolf sticks his head round the door.

  She smiles at him. “Come in. The others have just gone.”

  “I know,” he says. “I watched from a distance, as I wished to find you on your own.”

  She laughs. “Do you manage everything so easily?”

  He shrugs good-naturedly. “I try to.” He hesitates, then steps a little closer to her, lowering his voice. “Have you considered my offer?”

  She nods. “I have.”

  “And?”

  “I accept.”

  He breaks into a wide smile and takes another step towards her. “You are certain?” he asks.