Sigrun's Secret (2 page)

I looked back, guilty for the fright I must have given Erik. He was running down the hillside towards us, but as he drew closer and saw all was well, he stopped, bending double to catch his breath. ‘I’m sorry, Bjorn!’ he called to my father.

‘Poor Erik,’ teased my father. ‘He’ll be relieved we’re all back to keep a closer eye on you, Sigrun.’

He set me on my feet again and turned away. I knew he was looking for my mother. She stepped forward, a woman of some five and thirty winters, retaining much of the beauty of youth in her glowing, happy features. She smiled at my father, warmly welcoming.

‘Thora,’ he said, the word a caress. He walked to her and swept her up in his arms, holding her close.

Some of the people clapped with delight and cheered. At the same time, I saw our neighbour, Helgi, embracing Bera, who was weeping with joy to see her husband safely back. Other men, our free workers and Helgi’s slaves, were also greeting their loved ones.

‘Sigrun,’ said a deep voice close to me. I turned, looking up questioningly at the tall young man who held my horse. ‘If you want to race your horses, you should pit yourself against me,’ he said.

There was something familiar about him. As I looked, feeling shy about studying such a fair young man so closely, I caught my breath in surprise. ‘Ingvar?’ I asked uncertainly.

My childhood playfellow had grown and changed so much in the year he’d been away that I hadn’t recognized him. I realized I was staring, confused and admiring, and felt a little colour creeping into my face.

‘If you don’t recognize
me
, do you at least know your brother?’ Ingvar asked with a smile. He pulled Asgrim forward, taller, and bronzed from his long sea voyage. I hugged him eagerly.

‘What’s this supposed to be?’ I asked, tugging affectionately at a new growth of fluff on his chin.

‘Mind your manners, little sister,’ he retorted. As we let each other go, Ingvar passed the reins to Asgrim and stepped forward offering an embrace too. I caught my breath, suddenly shy. But before I had time to think about it, I was stopped by a high-pitched keening sound behind me.

I whipped round and saw my mother standing rigid, her eyes glazed over, a faraway look on her face, her eyes glowing blue. She was experiencing the sight, I knew at once.

‘Thora, what is it?’ my father was asking, still holding her hands tight. ‘What do you see?’

My mother began to speak. Not, I knew, in response to my father’s question, but because Freya, the goddess of prophecy, had chosen to speak through her. Her voice was deep and musical, as though it was Freya herself who spoke.

‘They are coming again. Their garments are black as night. They carry torches in their hands, darkness and anger in their hearts.’

With a convulsive shudder, she stopped speaking and fell forward. My father caught her in his arms and they looked into each other’s eyes.

I didn’t understand what my mother had seen. Her words meant nothing to me. But I knew she had visions when danger threatened. And that what the goddess showed her always came to pass.

Around us, voices were raised in fear and several women began to cry. I shivered, feeling a dark threat draw over us. The fright I’d just had, my concerns for the colt, and the excitement of the homecoming faded into insignificance, swallowed up in a terrifying sense of dread.

The preparations for a homecoming feast were usually joyful, but as I helped lay out bowls, shells, and goblets on the tables, I could feel the shadow my mother’s vision had cast over us. The older members of the household wore serious faces and talked quietly together. There were no jokes and no laughter. What had my mother seen? The thought made me restless and afraid.

My parents weren’t in the longhouse. I found them pacing the dusty ground outside the house together, deep in conversation. As I approached, they stopped talking and looked round, strain etched into both their faces.

‘What did you see?’ I asked. ‘Is there danger?’

My mother looked away.

‘We won’t be long, Sigrun, my child,’ said my father, avoiding my eyes. He gave me a quick hug. ‘Please don’t worry. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’

He was
lying
to me. I couldn’t believe it. My parents had always been close, almost as though they knew each other’s thoughts and feelings without the need for words. So much so that I sometimes felt shut out. But they’d always been honest with me before. Shocked and unhappy, I walked back into the longhouse, dragging my feet.

‘Do you know what’s going on?’ I asked my brother. He shook his head and the slight crease in his brow told me he, at least, was telling me the truth.

‘No, I don’t,’ he said. I noticed his voice had deepened in the year of his absence. ‘There was some kind of incident at the market. I don’t know whether it’s connected with what mother saw.’

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. Helgi thought we should stop over on our way home in case father was there. And he was. He’d finished trading and told us he was about to leave, but we all thought there was some kind of scene going on, some hostility. Father wouldn’t talk about it.’

More worried than ever, I went to Erik’s wife, Asgerd, and sat down beside her at the fire where she was roasting a whole pig for the feast.

‘You know my mother better than anyone,’ I said quietly. ‘What did she mean by her vision? Who’s coming?’

Asgerd shot me a sideways glance. She and Erik had come to Iceland with my parents at the time of the settlements some twenty years ago. If anyone knew she did.

‘I can’t tell you. Your parents will take care of everything, Sigrun,’ she said.

I scowled at her, a knot of fear twisting in my belly. ‘Why is everyone hiding things from me?’ I asked. ‘I’m fifteen. Aren’t I old enough to be trusted?’

‘They’ll tell you when they’re ready,’ Asgerd said. But like my father, she avoided my eyes, concentrating instead on basting the meat over the fire.

I’d looked forward to my father’s return so much. Every day that I’d helped with the chores, cared for the horses and accompanied my mother in her gathering of plants for medicines, I’d been counting down the days of sun month until the market would be over and I could expect the ship. And now everything was secrets and fear.

A bustle and voices at the door drew my attention. I looked up to see Helgi, Bera, Ingvar, and his younger sister Gudrun all come into our house together. They’d been invited for the feast, of course. Gudrun was wearing a blue apron dress over her brown kirtle, I noticed immediately. All heads turned, everyone stared and whispered. Gudrun smiled and preened, delighted by the attention.

I felt a small tug of envy, looking at the beautiful blue. It was a colour we couldn’t make in Iceland, and showed Gudrun’s father had been in foreign lands with money to spend. If my father or brother had brought me any sort of gift, it had been forgotten in the turmoil of the prophecy.

With Helgi were two strangers I’d never seen before. They must have been at the ships, but in all the excitement, I hadn’t seen them. What I particularly noticed was that they were smaller than the men here, more my father’s height, and dark haired too, like him, and like me.

‘Hello again, Sigrun,’ said a familiar voice. I got to my feet in a rush, almost tripping into the fire.

‘Hello, Ingvar,’ I mumbled, glancing up shyly. He’d grown so tall, his features more defined than I remembered. His sun-bronzed skin contrasted with his fair hair, which tumbled to his shoulders in a pale golden mass. And his eyes. Such an intense blue. Why had I never noticed them before he went away? I met them briefly and felt my breath come short in my chest and a fierce heat spread over my face and neck. What was the matter with me?

Ingvar was smiling down at me. It made my stomach flip over.

‘Will you sit by me?’ he asked. Before I knew what he intended, he’d taken my hand and was drawing me to one of the trestle tables nearby. My feet turned to clumsy lumps of clay with nervousness and my heart was fluttering at the touch of his hand.

‘Your mother has set everyone in an uproar,’ Ingvar said once we were seated. He leaned close and spoke for my ears only, so that I could feel his breath warm on my cheek, making me shiver deliciously. ‘There’s something truly other-worldly about her when she sees like that.’

‘It’s a great gift,’ I agreed, fighting to keep my voice steady. I was affected by his nearness, my feelings thrown into confusion. But at the same time, his words touched a sore point. It was my deepest disappointment that I’d failed to inherit the gift from my mother. I’d worked hard to learn the healing skills she taught me, but I always felt like an impostor, lacking the sight.

Other people sat down around us, and to my mixed relief and disappointment, the talk became more general. Several of the women served the food; I was glad it wasn’t my turn tonight with so many guests in the house. I was more than happy to sit quietly beside Ingvar, glad to have him home after such a long voyage. Asgerd came around with a large jug of mead, and poured some into my goblet too. I looked up at her, surprised. I was normally only allowed whey, or as a special treat, watered ale.

‘Your father says you may,’ she said by way of explanation. I glanced over at my father who nodded to me and gave a tiny smile before turning back to Helgi who was talking earnestly to him. Father was showing me he was thinking of me, despite his worries.

‘Bjorn realizes you’re growing up,’ said Ingvar, with a smile, reclaiming my attention. ‘Your very good health,’ he said, looking directly at me as he touched his goblet to mine.

‘And yours,’ I replied shyly. I sipped the mead and closed my eyes as the unaccustomed sweetness spread through my mouth. ‘Oh, it’s good,’ I sighed.

Ingvar laughed, and it seemed to me he radiated happiness, dispelling the gloom that had engulfed me earlier. I found myself laughing too, my worries pushed into the background. I sipped the mead again, noticing that all around us, voices were raised in toasts and chatter. The fear of the prophecy was, if not forgotten, then at least put aside for the time being. The tense, oppressed atmosphere had lightened, as though everyone had decided to revel in being together again after such a long separation. The fear my mother’s words had lit in me burned lower, like a fire fading to a gentle glow. Perhaps they had meant nothing so very serious after all.

As well as the pork, juicy and tender, there was roast lamb, cheese, fresh fish and crusty newly-baked flatbread, in honour of the homecoming. We hadn’t feasted so lavishly all summer. After the energy I’d expended riding, I ate eagerly, enjoying the flavours of the good food.

‘Ah, it’s good to be home,’ sighed Ingvar, tearing a piece of flatbread and soaking it in the juice that had run from his meat.

I smiled, glad to hear him say so.

Once the food had been cleared, we pushed the tables aside and gathered round the fire. The story telling was about to begin. I felt a shiver of excitement in anticipation of the new tales we’d hear tonight. Ingvar sat beside me once more, his shoulder touching mine, his face lit by the firelight. The knowledge that he was choosing to be near me gave me a glow of pleasure.

Helgi spoke first; he told us of storms at sea, of trading and battles. He described the green land of Ireland, where there was daylight even in the depths of winter. I listened avidly, drinking in the new images, my troubles forgotten in the excitement.

My brother recited a poem he’d written for an Irish chieftain, and showed off the gift of a fine knife it had earned him. When he finished, Ingvar was invited to tell the tale of how the ship had been ambushed by pirates on the way home. He went to stand by the fire to speak, so everyone could hear him. At last I had an excuse to look at him without shyness. I watched his face become animated as he recounted the gruesome battle on the deck, and how they had turned the tables on the pirates. He made light of the fear and the danger they’d all been in. Even so, I shuddered at the thought of it.

When he’d finished speaking, two of the young farm girls, Halla and Jorrun, beckoned him over to them and to my regret he went to sit beside them. I could see Halla gazing worshipfully up at him as he answered their questions and felt unaccountably annoyed. Halla was nearly my age and far too pretty with her blue eyes and fair hair.

One of Helgi’s guests asked him to recount the story of how he’d come to settle in Iceland. He did so, telling of the hauntings that drove them from the east fjords, leading them to settle here, near us.

‘And you, Bjorn?’ asked the guest when he finished. ‘How did you come to settle in such a remote spot?’

My father shifted a little and exchanged glances with my mother. He was a gifted storyteller, but never liked recounting this tale for some reason. Perhaps he had told it too often. His eyes sought out my brother Asgrim, who was in the act of draining a horn of mead. With a slight shake of the head he turned to me.

I clenched my fists tightly in my lap and sent a swift prayer to the goddess.
Not tonight, please don’t make me speak tonight
, I whispered inside my head.
Asgrim isn’t so very drunk; let him tell the story
.