Winter Song (8 page)

    Bera appeared by his side. "You shouldn't walk around on your own. It's not safe." Karl stopped and she took his arm. "Lean on me."

    He nodded thanks. They resumed. "Looks. Safe," he panted.

    "Things aren't always as they seem. Like Thorbjorg." She jerked her head at the strawberry-blonde. Before he could ask what she meant, Bera changed the subject. "Why were you so rude to Ragnar?"

    "Long. Story."

    Bera stopped him. "We have time."

    How much could he tell her? If she did tell Ragnar, would it matter? Karl decided on the truth. "When I was ten my parents moved from one Clade to another. It was compulsory, to avoid incest." She looked puzzled. "Small gene pool," he explained. "Jakob Attlee was a year older than me. We loathed each other. I was small for my age – I grew thirty centimetres during adolescence, but then I was a shrimp – and Jakob was big, nanophyte injections converting his fat to muscle." He wondered whether to explain nanophytes but she nodded, so he pressed on. "When Jakob learned that I'd had my first injections, the bullying got nasty."

    She tilted her head to one side as something caught her interest. "A big man like you? Hard to imagine anyone bullying you."

    "People change," he said.

    "These injections," she prompted.

    He resumed, "Nanophytes repair injuries, build muscles and make other improvements. When they learned I'd had my first injections, Jakob's gang cornered me away from the main trees. Jakob had stolen a bottle of household bleach." Bera looked puzzled again. "They held me down while he poured it down my throat. Before I'd had my nanophyte injections, it would have burned my throat out, maybe killed me. It was still the worst pain I've ever felt. The nanophytes began repairing me straight away, which was as painful as the burns. Jakob's gang wouldn't let me go, but watched what happened." He paused. "An hour later, they did it again; and again. When they finally let me go that evening, they threatened to kill me if I told anyone. I believed them."

    Bera said, "That's sad. But what's it to do with Ragnar?"

    Karl said, "I'd just been dreaming about Jakob. Ragnar looked exactly like an older version of him." Maybe, he thought, that was the companion's way of assimilating Ragnar's image? "The same piggy eyes, and bushy eyebrows… waking up and seeing that face again…" He saw her nod of comprehension, and said, "Is it significant?"

    She pushed out her lips, thinking. "He was offended. Think of it. He's an important man, and you react as if he's a troll."

    A troll? He thought. Ah, they're Icelanders. Trolls are part of Icelandic culture. I'm surprised that they quote old Icelandic tales, though. "So I should make a big fuss when I next see him? Thank him for his hospitality?"

"I would," Bera said. "It may work."

"May?"

    "Ragnar bears a grudge," she said. "He might forgive you."

    "Ah," he said. "Understood. I'll hope that I do a good enough job of convincing him how grateful I am."

    "I would," she said. "And if I were you, I'd hope that it's enough." Though she smiled, the fear in her eyes didn't fool him. He could understand fear, but there was hope as well. Why?

    "Come on," she said. "We mustn't keep him waiting too long."

    "Ragnar's house?"

    She nodded.

    Like the barn, it was about forty metres long, perhaps twenty metres wide. Karl looked back at the barn; all the buildings were dug into the hillside, and covered over with turf. Smoke issued from a vent on one of the roofs. Bera said, "His family sleep here, in the winter, his labourers too. They're up with the flocks now." She helped him descend steps into a half-lobby that stank of furs and boots ingrained with body odour, and through into a long room lit along each wall. Except for one, which was all window, looking down over the barn, onto the lake. "Strengthened glass," Bera said. "Two centuries old."

    This room stank too, of bodies crowded together for too long, but now it was nearly empty of people, though boxes and piled possessions were strewn everywhere. "The main hall, where the children and Thralls – the indentured labourers – sleep," Bera said. At the far end was a five metre-long table, around which two women bustled, setting out jugs and plates: "Hilda and Asgerd, Ragnar's daughter and older daughter-in-law."

    "Good morning," Asgerd said with a shy smile. She was another blonde, but subtle to Thorbjorg's voluptuous.

    Hilda was as dark as her father, and her mouth was down-turned; she looked as if life perpetually disappointed her. "My father," she faintly emphasised the first word, "will see you now. You can leave us, Bera."

    "Why can't Bera stay with me?" Karl said. "I couldn't have got here without her help."

    Hilda stiffened, but before she could answer, Bera said, "I'll go and find you a walking stick, Karl, then go help in the kitchen."

    Hilda dipped her head a centimetre in acknowledgement, or dismissal.

    "
She
knows her place," Hilda said. The rebuke to Karl was clear: so should he.

    "Is she a servant?" Karl said, refusing to be intimidated.

    Hilda looked offended. "She is fostered here. Farms that cannot support their people often place children with other farmsteads, and the children work for their keep, as does everyone else. Everyone," she emphasised, then added, "but Bera's family were killed when their farm was buried beneath lava. So sad. So unusual, that a volcano blows, but they knew the risk. Lush farmland often means volcanoes. Come!"

    She led Karl into a large chamber in which Ragnar sat gazing at some papers, his shoulders draped with a white fur lined with coloured ribbons. Karl wondered if he was supposed to be impressed.

    Ragnar looked up. "You're here. Good." He noted Karl's trembling right leg: "Do I scare you so much?" He grinned.

    "Muscle spasm," Karl said. "Being on my feet. Still recovering." He did feel a little weak.

"Then sit. Hilda, fetch him some warm sweet water."

Hilda departed.

    Ragnar gazed at Karl, who stared back. Ragnar said abruptly, "Where are you from? And what were you doing naked on a hillside at night?"

    "I – uh, I fell from the sky." Karl felt foolish saying it, but his companion hadn't gained enough vocabulary while he'd been unconscious for anything but simple concepts, although his lexicon was expanding hourly.

    "Why?"

    "My ship was attacked. I was forced to… leave it. It was destroyed. I had no time to take any possessions."

    "A starship? Not a sailing ship?" Ragnar's tone hinted at scepticism.

    "A starship, yes." Keep it simple, caution urged. Karl wasn't sure whether this man was friend or enemy, although his instincts suggested more the latter.

    "Who attacked you?"

    Karl said cagily, "They're people who assumed that I was hostile. It's complicated. There are a lot of factions in a big sky."

    "Were they Shapers?" Luckily, Karl saw Ragnar's lips shape "Formers" so ignored his idiot companion's urge to translate words even when they were common to both languages.

    "Terraformers? No."

    "Are you?"

    "I'm…" Karl paused, working out how to explain it. "My conglomerate – clan, that is – uses Terraforming to an extent. But it's expensive, and takes constant, ah, working on to stop the world reverting to its default state. That's what happened to the people who founded Isheimur. They went bankrupt in the Long Night, and their assets were sold off. No one would take on this project. I'm sorry."

    Ragnar looked oddly satisfied at the news that the colony had been abandoned. "We'll have to work out what to do with you."

    Karl wondered how his family were, how he could send a signal. He wished that Ship had had the time to download more than basic information – he had no idea how much this world had devolved. The silence of the colony couldn't be taken as a sign that they'd lost all tech, especially as Ship's records hadn't even shown that Isheimur had survived.

    But was he simply wishing for a happy ending? The Galaxy was vast: it was easy to forget that when crossing from fold-point to fold-point, squeezing a journey of years at sub-light into weeks between each star-system's nexus.

    Any signals from Isheimur were probably being transmitted to what was now empty space; current nexi would be unknown to the Isheimuri, while those stations at nexi utilised by Isheimur's Formers were probably now disused.

    A knock interrupted Karl's thoughts.

    Ragnar, who had silently watching Karl called, "Come!"

    Bera held out a metre-long stick that was gnarled, but arrow-straight. "It's been used by Olders before," she said. "I found it in the lobby. It might prove useful."

    Ragnar said, "Take it. Go to lunch. Meet the others." He returned to his papers.

    Karl tried not to feel like a fool as he pulled himself into a standing position. When he took his first step he was grateful for the stick, which stopped him falling flat on his face.

    Bera offered him her arm, though Karl saw her hesitate, and wondered why. As he wrapped his left arm around her right, she flinched – only slightly, but he felt it.
Has she been told to be friendly to me? Is she scared of me?
Because I'm a stranger?

    He also wondered why he was so sensitive to her. He tried not to feel unfaithful to Karla and Lisane in noticing how pretty she was beneath the camouflage of grime and messiness and her squint. He resolved to offer nothing that might reveal any attraction; he would be correct, but cool, and hope that that would work. Hell, for all you know, not making an advance toward her might give offence.

    Karl drew back from the throng milling around in the long, low room, but Bera gripped his arm. The mob was so busy talking, and shoving each other out of the way to place dishes of meat, bread, eggs and pitchers of drink on the table, that for several seconds they didn't notice him.

    Karl watched the women, Ragnar's daughters and daughter-in law bicker. Thorbjorg had changed her dress into something that highlighted a clearly defined waist separating an ample bust and backside, and coloured ribbons now bedecked her hair. Asgerd had done something to her lips that made them look beestung and highlighted her fine cheekbones. Only Hilda remained unchanged. Through the adults a half-dozen children weaved, dancing and flitting like a shoal of minnows, helping the adults or chasing one another depending on their age.

    Asgerd saw Karl and her lips parted in a smile. The others followed her gaze and falling silent, swung round. "Come join us," Asgerd said.

    "Can I help?" Karl chin-cocked the laden table.

    "You can help eat it," Ragnar said. "Some of it is for you, anyway." He gestured to one of the benches that ran the length of either side of the table, and the others burst into conversation, the children chattering and laughing. Hilda sat opposite Karl. "Is Yngi joining us?" Hilda asked Thorbjorg, who had shoved herself into the space next to Hilda. Thorbjorg flushed. Karl thought he caught Hilda's faint smirk.

    "He's butchering a rock-eater. He's going to pickle it."

    One of the children made gagging noises.

    "We may have to eat it, if it's a hard winter," Hilda said. She turned to Karl. "As Ragnar's daughter, I run the household in his absence." Someone tittered. "So I choose the menu," she added.

    Thorbjorg said, "I'm Thorbjorg, Ragnar's daughterin-law." When Karl shook her hand, he felt the faintest pressure on his knuckles from her thumb, and she seemed reluctant to let go. When he met her gaze, she widened her eyes fractionally, and a pink tongue-tip licked her lips.

    "Would you like some lamb?" Bera said, pushing some of the grey chunks onto his plate. "Green sauce," she said, and ladled a few small spoons onto the lamb. "Have some pickled vegetables."

    Karl nodded thanks. For all that his stomach was growling in protest, he took only a few of the various vegetables, but looking across in the sudden silence, saw that he'd taken far more than anyone else. He tried to scrape some onto Bera's plate, but she blocked him. "You have some," he muttered, pointing to her nearempty plate. "I've taken far too much."

    "You need to build your strength up," she said.

    Following the other's example, he ate using the implements, which felt awkward in his hands. He'd spent too long on Ship and grown used to munching on food that he could hold in his hands. The pickled vegetables were tart in his mouth, but enjoyable. So was the green sauce on the lamb, which was slightly greasy but so rich that his mouth didn't feel big enough to hold the flavour.

"Good?" Bera said, watching him.

"Very." He shovelled another forkful into his mouth.

"It should be. It's freshly slaughtered."

    The lamb turned to ash in his mouth, but somehow he managed to keep chewing and swallow. "This is from an animal?"

    He grew vaguely aware that Hilda and Thorbjorg had stopped talking.

    "A small one of the sort that you saw on the hills. You remember?" Bera said.

    Karl didn't answer, but concentrated on the pickled vegetables, trying not to think of eating what had been a living, breathing creature. Did you think that they were pets, or ornaments, fool?

    "And the other day," Bera said. "You remember, you said 'sheep'?"

    "What?" he said. "I've only just awoken."

    Thorbjorg laughed. "Oh, Loki, you're funny."

    Karl thought, Hmm, there's some sort of misunderstanding here.

    Karl watched Ragnar flirt with Asgerd. Her serenity seemed to challenge the Gothi, who paid her far more attention than the others. His vitality clearly attracts women, Karl thought, surprised at this new facet of a man he'd only glimpsed as a grumbling bully.