Page 36 of Sky in the Deep
Winter was my favorite time of year on the fjord, when everything was dusted in a sparkling crust of ice. Each blade of grass glistened in the sunlight. It was what I’d always imaginedSólbjorgto be like. I’d pictured my mother there, sitting on a hillside with her skirt spread out around her, almost every night.
I hung the clothes on the railing of the fence, smoothing out the fabric as it flapped in the wind. When I came around the house again, the Riki already had planks going up along one of the walls of the barn. The structure extended off of the house, just big enough for ten or fifteen goats. If they werediligent, Kerling and Gyda could get by trading on what they grew in their garden patch and what the goats produced. It was clear Kerling wasn’t a blacksmith or a healer. He had been raised a warrior. Gyda too. Maybe she would join the next fighting season in his place. Maybe I’d see her there.
I took the basket of fish from the table and started on the fire. They were perfectly cleaned, their skins smooth where the scales were removed. I stuffed the cavities with herbs and salt and set them onto the hot coals to let them cook.
The rich, savory smell filled the house and I could feel the twinge in my chest again. This, too, was like home. I looked out the window, to where they were lifting more boards, stacking them on top of the lower ones to lift the walls. In Hylli, we’d often work on the boats of the Aska who were too old. We’d care for their animals and my father had me check their fish traps on the dock when I checked ours. The Riki, too, took care of their own.
I pulled the fish from the fire when the skin was crisp and lifting up from the flesh and piled them into a large wooden bowl. I steeled myself before I opened the door and walked out into the midday sun with the bowl on my hip. My eyes fixed on Inge, where she stood with another woman, winding rope. The path widened as I passed the gate and a figure in the corner of my eye made me draw back. I stumbled, almost dropping the fish, and a hand shot out to catch me by the arm, steadying me.
Kerling.
He stood beside Inge’s gate, leaning into the post. WhenI had my balance, I stood, staring up at him. But his attention was pulled toward the barn that was lifting up plank by plank from the ground. He was watching the Riki work, hidden in the shade cast by the tree.
The pain and humiliation of his injury was plainly painted on his face. He was dependent upon his clansmen in a way that no one wanted to be. If it were my father, he’d feel the same.
“Thank you,” I whispered, trying not to show the pity I had for him.
His eyes drifted toward me, as if he was suddenly aware of my presence, and I turned, crossing the path until I passed the gate before his house. The banging and sawing stopped as the Riki noticed me and each head turned as I made my way toward Inge. Someone stepped into the path before me and I stopped, staring into the face of a woman with hair as red as Mýra’s.
The bowl slid from my hip and I looked up to see Fiske taking it into his hands. He nodded, dismissing me, and I bit down onto my lip, meeting the eyes of the Riki who were still staring at me. I turned on my heel as pain curled in my chest and I swallowed it down, making my way back toward the gate. The sounds of work picked up slowly, followed by the soft tune of a song rising on a woman’s voice. The others joined in, singing as they swung their hammers and scraped the wood. Ancient words on an ancient melody.
My lip quivered, fresh tears springing to my eyes as I reached Inge’s gate. And there, still tucked into the shadow, Kerling still stood.
TWENTY-TWO
Istared into the side of the mountain asIri spoke.
Inside the house, Inge was rolling up blankets for him and Fiske. The morning was stark and the fire was still warming the house, but Iri was up before the others and waiting for me when I came down.
He leaned in close to me, buckling the axe sheaths to his back. “We’ll be back tomorrow.”
They were going hunting with some of the men from the village. He was leaving me. Again. And I wouldn’t be here when he returned. I’d wait for a chance to get to the river and I’d take it. I wouldn’t look back.
“Stay here in the house.” He set his hand on my shoulder but I shoved him off.
I wasn’t going to ask him to stay. I’d learned to take care of myself a long time ago.
I helped Inge pack their saddlebags as Halvard stood at the door, pouting.
“Why can’t I go?” He leaned out to catch snowflakes in his hand.
“Next year.” Fiske gave him a reproachful look and Halvard slumped against the wall. “Someone needs to check the nets while we’re gone.”
Halvard nodded reluctantly, happy to have a duty, but he still crossed his arms over his chest.
Iri had the horses ready when we came outside with the bags. He and Fiske kissed Inge and she ran her hands over their faces. “Be careful,sváss.”
Iri met my eyes one last time before he lifted himself up onto his horse, but I kept them cold. Hard. I wasn’t going to give him an unspoken good-bye any more than he would beg for one. He turned his horse and started down the path toward the others. They disappeared around the bend and I rubbed my palm against my chest.
It would be the last time I’d ever see him. In this life or the next.
I picked up the milk pail and went to the goat pen, pushing my shoulders back, ashamed of the pain still twisting behind my ribs. I didn’t need him.
Iri was a traitor.
But we were bound together in a way that even I didn’t understand. And the worst part had been realizing that there was maybe nothing he could do to change that. I wanted toforget him, but maybe I never would. I wanted to let him go, but I might never be able to.
I sat, ignoring the ache in my throat, and a goat pushed his head through the pen, nudging me until I ran my palm over his forehead. It had only been two weeks since I was brought to Fela. There were still at least six more to go before the snow stopped falling and started melting. I could make it home in time to help my father plant. He’d never have to know about Iri. And if Sigr had mercy on me, maybe I’d forget him too.
