The first fire on Grey Land refused to catch.
The wood was wet, the grass smoked, the peat smelled of sour earth, and an icy wind drew up between the stones. The moment they left the ship, the people looked at the cliffs as though they were spoils. But the wind soon worked its way beneath their clothes, and the new shore began to look less like a possession than a place where they could die without witnesses.
Ragned, Steinar thought, would have driven a spear into the shore, spoken fine words, named the land after himself, his father or his sword, and then ordered the others to make their lives beneath that name.
Steinar took the empty cup and set it on a flat stone.
"Don't call yourself a jarl," Saiva said quietly.
He looked at her.
She had grown paler since the storm, with blue shadows dark beneath her eyes. But her voice remained firm. Saiva was not pleading but warning him: she had already seen how a single word could become a trap.
"I wouldn't know how," he replied.
"You would. Every jarl's son knows how, even when he pretends he wants no power."
That was too close to the truth.
Steinar turned to the people.
"Anyone who knows what must be done to survive the winter, speak now."
The people looked at one another.
They had expected something else: the dividing of the shore, a dispute over precedence, the choosing of a place for the high tent, first hunting rights and a name for the new land.
Nera understood first.
"I'll preserve the grain, if we keep it away from the water and don't let fools rummage through the sacks."
Borri grunted:
"I'll preserve the ship, if we haul her higher and ignore anyone who thinks wood is dead after a single crossing."
Modra raised a bundle of wet herbs.
"I'll keep the people safe from fever, if no one drinks from stagnant pools."
Eska thrust up her hand.
"I'll find the little gaps."
Everyone looked at her.
"What little gaps?" Nera asked.
"The ones the cold gets through. You're all big, so you don't notice them."
Nera opened her mouth to scold her, then closed it. After a moment, she nodded.
"That'll do."
Farin said:
"I'll find water if I watch the birds. If they come back."
Skardi with the frostbitten ear added:
"I'll find stone for the walls."
Another said:
"I'll make needles from fish bones."
Saiva was silent longest.
Steinar did not hurry her.
At last she said:
"I'll preserve the names. If we don't begin now, we'll forget later who saved what."
Steinar remembered another world, where names were preserved not by skalds but in records. But a record alone protected no one: a man could be left without a voice even if his name appeared in a dozen books. A list by itself was not enough. Behind every name there had to stand the right to claim the promised share.
That was how the shore began to become a settlement. Not yet a home or a possession, but a place where work was assigned for the first time by skill rather than blood.
Steinar proclaimed no laws and demanded no obedience. He simply took his knife and cut a new notch in the pole beside the cup. At each notch Saiva repeated a name and a task. She did not sing yet, but spoke so that everyone could hear her and correct her if need be.
"Nera: grain and salt."
"Borri: keel and seams."
"Farin: water and current."
"Modra: herbs and old debts."
"Eska: little gaps."
The girl stood as straight as though she had just been given a high seat.
By evening they had found a hollow between the rocks, sheltered from the wind. Nera took an extra piece of fish from one of the oarsmen and made him give half of it to the old woman who had spent the whole day gathering dry grass for kindling.
"She didn't row," he said.
"She gave you fire," Nera replied. "Eat your fish cold if you don't understand."
Steinar did not intervene.
Not intervening was the hardest thing.
If he decided who received every morsel himself, food would depend on his favour again. But if Nera kept the common reckoning, everyone would receive a share for their work, not for being close to Steinar.
Towards nightfall, Eska brought a long piece of wood to the fire. Timber was rare on Grey Land, more often a splinter than a whole branch, so the find was valuable.
"Don't burn it," Saiva said sharply.
Eska froze with her prize in her hands.
There were notches on the wood.
The marks resembled neither northern runes nor the notches on the cup. Slanting and flowing, they clearly belonged to another kind of writing. At one end was a cut shaped like a sign for water or a leaf. At the other, dried resin had darkened, giving off an unfamiliar smell.
Farin took the wood, raised it to his nose and frowned.
"It drifted here from the west."
Borri looked west.
Darkness was already falling there.
Steinar understood that Grey Land was not the edge of the world.
If the wood had come from the west, there had to be another shore farther in that direction.
And someone there had already carved marks.
Saiva said very quietly:
"Don't call this land empty."
Steinar looked at the other people's notches.
"I wasn't going to. These notches prove we're guests here."
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