The first summer in Grey Land ended before they had time to prepare.
They repaired the ship, raised low walls of stone and turf, dried fish, hunted birds, quarrelled over water, stood watch at night, guarded the fire, and every evening found some new task no one had thought of beforehand.
Without a sword, a warrior was only a man with a strong back. Without a hall, Saiva kept names alive by the common fire. Farin, once a thrall and now the owner of a share in the ship, could say "no" and know he would be heard. But Steinar still did not understand what a jarl's son became without a hall of his own.
Then the cold came early.
The cold crept into every daily task. Ice formed on the water in the buckets, the smoke hung lower, and people chewed more slowly, trying to make their meagre portions last. In the mornings the grass was covered with hard white frost, and Eska stopped running barefoot even for a wager.
The first great quarrel began over Nera.
More precisely, over her reckoning.
She cut the portions of three strong men and left Modra, Eska, Saiva and Farin their former measure. The men came to Steinar and demanded that he reverse her decision. They were almost pleased to have found a cause: now the old order could be restored in the guise of fairness.
"We hold the walls," Skardi said.
"Modra does nothing but cough."
"The girl carries kindling."
"Saiva sings."
"Farin is an oarsman, and the ship is ashore."
Nera stood beside the sack of grain, gripping the wooden measure tightly, ready to defend her decision.
Steinar could have settled it himself.
That was exactly what everyone expected.
Steinar saw how easily he could turn into a lesser Hroald. All he had to do was decide who ate that day, call the decision care, and grow used to everyone waiting for his leave before taking food.
He took the empty cup and set it between them.
"Tell me what will truly help us live until spring."
Skardi answered at once:
"Walls."
Nera nodded.
"Walls without food will protect nothing but corpses. Go on."
He reddened.
Another man said:
"Strength."
Modra coughed, then spat into the snow.
"A strong man with a sick belly will infect more people than a weak one."
Farin said nothing. Everyone noticed.
Steinar looked at him.
"What do you say?"
Farin slowly raised his head.
"The water hasn't frozen yet. If I don't eat, I won't be able to tell when to set the nets below the rocks. Set them in the wrong place and we'll be chewing our belts."
Saiva said:
"If I stop naming by the fire what each person has done, the strong will claim again that the weak have done nothing and take their food. We have already seen that in the hall."
Eska added:
"If I don't look for the little gaps, you'll all be sleeping in one great draught."
No one laughed, because the girl was right.
Nera raised the measure.
"I reckon how much food we need until spring, not how much honour each person is owed. Everyone who helps us live until the warm weather will receive a share. Anyone who wants the old reckoning can go and gnaw on Brand's song."
For the first time in a long while, Steinar wanted to laugh aloud.
He held it in. If Steinar laughed in approval, people would decide Nera was right only because he supported her.
Skardi looked at the empty cup, then at the notches by the hearth, then at Farin.
"So the former thrall eats because he knows the water?"
Farin answered without looking at Steinar or waiting for permission:
"Yes."
One exchange did not end the quarrel. The men grumbled for a long time yet and recalled the old order. But that day no one took Farin's food, drove Eska from her place by the fire, or silenced Saiva when, that evening, she listed what each person had done during the day.
By the end of the first winter they had grown quieter, but not weaker.
After surviving a winter of hunger, people spoke only when there was something to say. Borri repaired the keel so well that even he sometimes looked at it without swearing. Nera stopped asking Steinar before changing the measure of food, and that was the best sign of trust. Farin found a place for the nets below the black rocks. Modra survived her cough and now cursed more heartily than before. Eska outgrew one borrowed sleeve and promptly stole another, but first she asked whether anyone needed it.
Every evening Saiva spoke the names.
It was not yet a song, but a daily reckoning: who had held the wall, who had brought water, who had fallen and risen, who had shared fish, who had lied and been caught, who had been afraid and gone out into the cold all the same.
She named Steinar less often than anyone else.
He did not know whether she was sparing him or punishing him.
In spring the water grew lighter.
First the water turned pale grey, then green bands appeared in it, and the returning birds cried noisily above the rocks.
That day Farin woke Steinar before the first fire.
"Ships."
One word was enough. Steinar ran to the shore with his cloak unfastened. Two long dark lines showed on the horizon – northern ships.
They came on steadily under good sails. Ragned's mark on the prow of the first ship was easy to recognise even from a distance. People emerged from behind the turf walls in silence. Nera clutched the pouch of their last salt to her chest. Borri watched how the ships sat in the water, not their sails. Farin peered at the men by the oars as though he already knew which of them would count him as a possession.
Saiva came out last.
She heard it before the others.
At first Steinar mistook the sound for the wind, then made out a distant voice. The words were still impossible to distinguish, but Saiva recognised the melody and went pale at once.
Brand was aboard the first ship.
The Old North had come not to save them, but to claim the right to dispose of everything they had built and preserved through the winter.
Open in the reader