

### HEDDA STEIN-SUN'S

UNREMEMBERED ISLANDS

A. NORDVIK-NASH

Copyright © By Clive Pugh 2018

Contact: publishing@iolitepeak.com

First published in Great Britain in 2018 by iolite peak publishing

Distributed by Smashwords

The author has asserted his right including under the Copyright Designs and Patents Act, 1988 and generally under current and subsequent copyright legislation within and outside the UK, to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

All the characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Likewise names of villages and towns, although some readers may recognise them.

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

With thanks to Nina, Thomas, Emily, Kevan and Hayley

Contents

1. The Forest

2. People Leaving

3. Turning Back

4. Watch-Room

5. Double Feast

6. Coin-sized Sores

7. After the Feast

8. The Post

9. Baking

10. Competition

11. Packing up

12. The Dolphin Boat

13. Voyage

14. New Islands

15. Deeper in the Village

16. Swimming

17. Dance

18. Feltspar

19. Dark Island

20. Approaching Razorbill

21. Razorbill Island

22. The Holmgang

23. Direction

24. Breakfast

25. The Learnings

26. Clearing

27. No Respite

28. Wake-up Call

29. Path Home

30. Running Away

31. Challenge Revealed

32. Preparation

33. Difficult Recipes

34. Conversations

35. Team of Five

36. Competition Nears

37. Judging

38. Return to the Forest

39. A Minor Law

# Chapter 1

### The Forest

'Three hundred and six,' Hedda sighed, kicking the ground. Since her tenth birthday, she had kept a painful count of the sharp stones thrown at her. Even then, leaning over to cut the first slice of cardamom cake, she had ached with the rows of bruises across her body.

Flint and granite hurled, nearly every other day. She added today's to her list: two hundred and seventeen leaving deep bruises, eighteen sets of stitches.

But now, as dusk arrived and she headed for the trees, the forest would provide some protection. Amid the cool ferns, she could hear her second voice. She neared the firs, clasping her arm tight, trying to stem the blood from her newest cut.

'Marit, just once, just once, couldn't I pick up a stone, cast it back at them?' Hedda thought-spoke, asking the second self that shared the worries in her still-growing skull.

_Think of your clan! You, a daughter of old leaders ... That's not the way!_ came the tinny internal voice behind Hedda's temples.

'But it all went, the joy! It went so quickly!' Hedda's thoughts carried a lilting sound, ebbing and flowing like her speech, ending with the hard edge of the islands close to Norway's coast.

Hedda's mind-eye still watched the fading ripples of early, gleeful days. Up to knee-height, her childhood had been daisy chains, laughter and sword games. But the cowled shadow of family shame welcomed itself into her life so early. She was just five, maybe six, when the vague tales of the clan, of the pit prison, circled and trapped her. She asked to know more, to know what had happened, but some dark reasons seemed bolted and hidden away.

Hedda could still picture herself in those pretend wedding processions - the flowing cotton dress, little Vegard waiting at a fish crate altar, wild spring-flower bouquets replaced with sneers and taunting, pushing and thrown stones.

It was also then that Marit came first to join her.

'I tried, Marit! Tried to have friends outside of my small family. I begged, but my hand was bitten. The shame on its own ... why couldn't that be enough punishment?' Hedda pleaded.

_Quiet!_ Marit half commanded. _You need to treat that wound. Look for the broad leaf bushes in the forest. Don't think I am going to help you with healing every time! How would it aid you in the long run?_

At the forest edge, the curled ferns bowed like house-hounds before Hedda's touch, as if greeting an old lord. Hedda looked quickly behind her, before taking the path. She knew the risk of being followed, the risk of someone seeing her hidden skill at work. A few steps more and she would be lost under the shade of the trees - tall, slender birches standing guard in their silver uniforms. These sentries gave way to dark-bark fir trees, some three or four times taller than the stave church in the valley behind.

Hedda knew that most of the village would still be down by the longboat. The boat would be filled with a jostling crowd, tightly packing parcels under the decks, barrels of pickled beets and cucumbers, and dried hocks of meat wrapped in greased paper. Hedda had promised to be there for the farewell the next day - always the hardest leaving day of the raiding season, as everyone knew that a second boat, the Dolphin Boat, would come perhaps just a week later, splitting families still further apart. The Dolphin Boat would take the selected young and those judged five years from death to Razorbill Island. Hedda knew that the chance to be there for the challenges, the Holmgang, was an honour that went back a thousand years.

A chance to learn from the wise.

For her and her family, it offered a rare gleam of hope. They were still allowed to attend, having not been banned by that spiteful McKennor decree.

She had done all she could with her studies, trained hard. But to be chosen brought risk, though she knew that now at least, not all challenges involved the sword and fight. She knew, at least to start, there would be other ways to test. Even if her family could not be leaders, perhaps they could gain some relief - to be treated no longer as if slaves, lowly thralls. There was, though, still no doubt that at the Holmgang the risk of death remained for all.

Many never returned.

But now, she needed the broad leaves. And for that she had to go to the clearing.

_Move, move quickly, now deeper in,_ came Marit's tin voice from between Hedda's ears.

'Hush! Can't you just leave me now? Leave me with my own thoughts for once!' Hedda whispered.

_Who do you think I am anyway?_ came the voice, adding, _Hedda, can't you hear the footsteps behind you? If you don't go now ..._

She didn't want to argue anymore. Instead, she answered Marit by pulling her silver-handled dagger from its rune-covered scabbard and knocking its hilt hard on her forehead. With each step through the woods, the anxious muscles in her shoulders loosened and released. Her pulse slowed. The tight, tall firs and pines brought early dark to the forest floor. Then, further on, in the centre of the forest was an older oak wood; the air was still shaded, but the clearing here took on a brighter pastel green.

There she sat crossed-legged, leaning on a smoothed ice-age boulder, pressing the crushed leaves on her arm to help seal the open cut. She hoped the earlier footsteps had turned away. Anyhow, now at least, anyone would just see a young girl sat alone in the woods. Soon, though, as dusk took hold, it would bring its grey wash to the sky. Animals would find some bravery in the early evening, draw near. Now, she could feel the dusk seep into her bones. It was starting to build. There was that gentle surge in her blood, that daily rush she was still trying to tame.

As the forest darkened, before true evening, four or five sets of soft-furred, grey ears, half a hand high, bobbed backwards and forwards into sight behind a fallen log. Hedda could hear them move, a few steps forward, a few less back, hopping slowly closer. Then, on the other side of the clearing, brown-red faces, black-nosed, moved behind the trees, nearly as tall as horses but with finer, smaller heads. Hedda caught their gaze and slowly nodded towards them. Four of them were there, lightfooted, a male made grander still by two tall branches of felted bone crowning his head. The stillness of these fine lives was then broken by the rumble and crack of snapped branches. It was something much heavier, something padding, broader than any man in the Great Hall and heavily black-brown furred. He joined the clearing, making one short roar.

StorBjorn sat, his great bulk resting down on a patch of ground before Hedda. The compacted grass traced his bodyline, like a worn stool, a frequent rest in the grey-green light.

A few minutes later and the animals had gathered in a rough ring around Hedda. Here was such a wide range of sizes and fur, some jaws for grain, others for flesh. To Hedda, nothing seemed to be shared amongst this animal group, nothing perhaps other than the importance to them of this time in the day. Hedda sat like the core of a seed-pod, holding the group together without violence or fear. They sat for a few quiet minutes, resting, but then, then a new noise in the forest came, an unwelcome noise.

Hedda lost her thoughts to the sound, someone's footsteps, leather boots, someone who might see Hedda and her gathering and wonder why, what, what is happening? Her blood-surge shrank away from her. She fell back to being simply a slight twelve-year-old girl. The forest scent changed to sour.

A thin veneer of control cracked, shattering to the ground.

Within seconds, StorBjorn was on his hind legs, over seven feet tall. Growling, 'Urreaaar-awh Urreah-aaawh!' \- baying, wild. The pads of his front paws raised in the air and broadened, hooked claws, each a finger long, flexed outwards, ready to swipe down hard. Within a moment, there was a rush of wind as his weight struck out. It lashed forward and just missed the neck of a young deer before hurling into a rabbit. There was an ugly thud against rough bark. The rabbit fell with an anguished, low-pitched cry from its soft core, and then ... the sound of small bones breaking.

Hedda quickly knelt, urgently checking the struggling life at her ankles. She brought back her focus and surged upwards. Her own small frame stood broad-footed between StorBjorn's massive, roaring, violent shadow and the other animals. The deer, seeming locked in fear, were trapped against dense holly bushes.

Hedda's look was frost and stone, an ice avalanche of pressure building behind her eyes. In a flash, she reached out towards her second self: 'Marit, come, I need your help!'

The edges of Hedda's eyes started to glow moon-white, the glow building quickly, lighting the edge of her cheekbones. For a moment, as Marit stretched out from inside, a faint white orb hovered above her, shot forward and was gone.

Then the bear halted, its eyelids dropping down, head bent.

Hedda walked slowly over to the rabbit, like a nurse tending a brave wartorn and damaged soldier. She held the little one in her arm, its small mouth grabbing out for breath. 'We can make it through, together,' she whispered to it, before adding in her thoughts, 'I need your help again here!'

Hedda rested her hand on the rabbit. She smarted with a jolt of pain, as if from a jagged broken rib. The delicate animal calmed, and it seemed that its deep unseen injuries, snapped bones and wrenched ligaments, re-fused and started to heal.

Finally, the pain inside her eased and the rabbit struggled back on all fours, resting on Hedda's forearm, cleaning its face slowly with long strokes of its paws. Then it moved onto its back legs, and Hedda lowered her hand, allowing the rabbit to limp into the ferns and into the forest.

Suddenly, the atmosphere returned to calm. StorBjorn remained on the same spot. All seemed as before, save for the dull throb deep inside Hedda. She turned to the massive being and walked up to him, arms open. Her eyes, no longer lit white, were now glistening with gentle understanding. She hugged his massive frame and he hugged back, controlling his power.

'We need to learn, StorBjorn,' she whispered.

At the same time, she reached for the handle of her dagger. She paused while the two voices inside her debated. This would need a deep cut, a lasting scar. She pulled the dagger from its ancient scabbard and dug the full length of the blade into the bear's paw. It delved through fur and skin, then deeper through fat and into the bear's muscle and flesh. Warm, dark treacle blood pulsed in a small tide onto the weapon's hilt and gloss coated Hedda's clenched knuckles.

The bear raged, tears running from his eyes, head raised, the salt water drops running into his open jaw. He did not fight back.

Hedda pulled out the blade, stood back and held it high toward the bear's eyes. StorBjorn fell down on all fours, yelping as his injured paw hit the hard ground. Then he turned and lumbered into the forest. He was gone. Only a distant whimpering could still be heard from behind the trees.

Hedda loved that bear, had loved him since he was a cub.

The wound would heal over time. His, anyway.

Hedda quickly scanned around her, dagger raised, searching the trees, but the sound of footsteps had gone. She re-joined the track taking her home.

• • •

She headed back to the finely-crafted, broad-logged roundhouse, decorated with master carvings from the myths of serpents and dragons, which once had stood at the proud centre of the village. Now it stood amongst the pigsties and the wet of the north fringe, angrily thrown back together.

On the path, blocking her way to the roundhouse, she saw a small hooded figure. She could tell from the hunched-over bone and skin frame it was Old Anna, her sack clothing pierced in lines of moth holes, the edges of her cloak splattered in mouldering clod and muck.

Hedda, like everyone in the village, always tried to dodge behind bushes or in the alleys, away from Old Anna, but she could see nowhere on this single track to honourably hide.

Two things that repulsed Hedda most about the crone were that horrible stench, like dead dog, and the disturbing versions of the future that she would tell. Hedda tried to take comfort from pretending they were only fables from an aged and lonely mind, but Hedda still lost sleep over Old Anna's crooked visions.

The old one drew closer. She pulled back the hood of her cape and brushed back her white-grey hair, long and tightly curled. Her face seemed held together by its deep, aged grooves, framing wide, bulbed eyes. Her once-moss-green irises were thickened and glazed with clouds of white. Hedda wanted just to push past, but knew her clan would expect her to open the greeting.

'Hello, _Gamle_ -Anna, so nice to see you this evening,' said Hedda, not getting too close.

'Well, we know that is not true for at least one of us,' came the age-worn, barbed voice. Now, though, even Anna's harshest words were softened by a mouth clinging with spit onto its last three yellow-black teeth.

'How can I help you, _Gamle_ -Anna? Can I carry anything for you?' Hedda asked dutifully, trying to breath only through her mouth.

'You can carry a message for me,' Old Anna replied.

'Yes, of course. Who to, to my father, or perhaps Far-Far?' said Hedda.

'To no-one, just carry it for me,' Old Anna made clear.

Hedda bowed, but inside just wanted to leave, wanted to get past, get home.

'Please, please, you are not going to tell me again about my disgraced, hated, clan, how we are valued less than runt pigs?' asked Hedda, repeating the words of others, with polite but practised angst.

'No, you can hear that from the first and last house in the village. Don't need it from me,' Old Anna said, without the need to care.

'I know, I know,' Hedda added, now cross-armed, her tone as if in some saddened game of charades. 'You are here to say, yet again, that my family will not, cannot, ever come to anything - fallen from our old great height into the dirt. Or, tell me more unclear histories about the Order of the Acorns.

Or, say that clan, yes family, come before me as a person, and I need to keep in line, tied by my past.'

'Well, young lady, if you heard that from me, at least then, then we know you were _not_ listening.' Anna drew back a breath and spat a half cup of wet on the ground. When she lifted her head, for a moment, the edges of the aged clouds in her eyes seemed lit a cold blue. 'Come, come, closer to me,' the old one asked.

Hedda hesitated, but leaned over towards Old Anna with a small stamp on the ground. As she did, Old Anna grabbed her by the hair with the speed of someone fifty years younger. She pulled with a violent tug and dragged a good hand of long hair with her.

'Oww!' Hedda screamed. 'What are you doing? That really _hurt_ , you mad old _kjerring_!'

'I just need nine long strands - you can have the rest back,' said Old Anna, counting and sorting the hairs in her hand. Once she had chosen her nine, she started to twine them and then form a braid: first three twines of three and then one thicker braid of nine.

'Here, I have made this for you, to remember, remember the three groups of three,' Old Anna spoke, tying the strands into a circle like a brooch.

'Three of three ...?' Hedda replied, rubbing the sore patch on her head, trying to hide her need to know.

'Yes, yes! Three captives, three powers, three parts of yourself.' Old Anna paused. 'I woke today with a glimpse of what will be seen. Here is the first three,' Old Anna said, pointing at the one twine in the plait. 'Remember, there lie three groups of captives; you will find them and you have the chance to make one dark decision that will not save them all.'

Hedda looked at the old woman and searched for something meaningful to say back, but could find nothing from her unfinished childhood.

'Right, fine. Um, it's getting late ... can I help you home?' Hedda asked.

Anna just stood there, mouth open, shuffling from foot to foot, her dank smell building with each step. 'The second three,' she said, 'are three powers. Some will want to steal, to have all three, but I have never seen one master the darkness they bring together, even for a moment.' Anna's tone mirrored a grieving church mass. As she spoke, she tucked the round hair brooch into a pocket of Hedda's tunic.

Hedda waited for a few seconds, then drew her shoulders back and gave a short formal nod, adding, 'Good night, farewell!' and ran for home.

'And the final three!' Old Anna shouted out after Hedda. 'The three parts of all of us, the clan, care for others, care for yourself. Remember, if any of the nine strands are worn, uncared for, the brooch will break.'

# Chapter 2

### People Leaving

So far today, at least, Marit had been quiet, letting Hedda say her farewells by the harbour edge. All had stood straight-backed. There was a solid slapping of shoulders. Villagers gathered, well-wishing for their departing raiders. The raiders in turn were leaving notes of small chores, wishing the young and old well should the Dolphin Boat come for them, some giving hints on how to best survive the Holmgang.

All was in order, but then Hedda lost her footing, slipped and was close to falling.

'Look! Hedda _skal falle inn_ \- right into the sea sludge!' came a cold, sharp voice in the crowd.

Hedda and several of her clan had, seconds before, shoved their feet against the rough oak stern, pushing the ancient dragon head longboat to sea. The boat slipped off into cooling waters towards the ever-present mist, but sadly Hedda had pushed way too hard. Only her right leg was on land. The rest of her, in her best white and black spotted, cowhide tunic, was hanging over the stale water, trapped in the harbour corner. She was above the spot where the fish were filleted and the innards were swept in. Even from five feet below, the stench from the bubbling gas made Hedda's stomach wretch. Then, she fell in, knee-deep.

The sludge drooled into her boots. Slime, like fish gruel, oozed down to her toes. At first, she had kept her balance, but then she caught her foot on something moving. She stumbled and fell forwards, face first.

Hedda pulled herself back up and tried to spit out that sour milk taste.

As she wiped the slime from her eyes, she soaked up more cold sneers from those standing above her. The villagers stood in a rough crowd, leaning over from the harbour side, looking down, laughing at her and shouting, cherry-faced.

'Let her rot there,' shouted one voice.

'Look, the rats are coming for her!' added another, sounding delighted.

She tasted the daily sourness again, and wished she could lash out, swear at them or even cry, but that would show a fracture, a forbidden weakness.

'Let me pull one of the crowd down into the sludge by their heels, drag them down!' Hedda begged Marit in her thoughts.

_Not now! Wait! Give it time!_ the tin mind-voice cautioned.

Hedda instead stretched up to grab the wooden harbour edge. It was nearly in reach - her wire-like muscles shaking - almost there.

Then, from above, a shadow.

A black leather and steel boot, trimmed with white seashells on the toecap, slammed down hard, cracking down on her hand.

Blood coloured Hedda's fingernails.

_That boy with the boots!_ hissed Marit. _He's kicked and punched you more often than the sunrise!_

Hedda looked back up at the boy with his greased-back, black hair and gaunt skull-white face.

' _Nei_ , Vegard, not again!' Hedda snapped at him, holding her throbbing hand under her other arm. 'Can't you just leave me alone, attack someone else?'

_Go on then,_ urged Marit's mind-voice, butting in _. Why not? Yes, yes! Pull him in! Drag him in, into the sludge!_

Vegard cackled and hissed like a scavenging bird in front of the jeering group around him.

'Thought you were a rat on the ground, something ugly, filthy, just like yo-' he taunted, but was stopped short, barged to the side by a rounded shoulder. 'Now, look who's come to save you,' he said with a sly, mocking humour, adding, 'No surprise, I guess! Look who's here to fight it out, to protect his little cousin Hedda? How brave! You here for my blood, you fat stump?' As he spoke, he raised his frame to full height, a good head above Einar. Vegard was death-thin, but was known to fight like a wolf, as if crazed after meat.

Einar had not been gifted the natural frame of a warrior, but he held his ground, his plump fists up by his nose, rolling them around in a backward motion as if spinning wool.

'You can't talk to Hedda like that! She's done no wrong!'

'No wrong! But what about her family, your family, the pit prison, what it meant for us all, even today?' Vegard's words were close to screams, and the crowd around the boys started to move back, making space for a full brawl.

Vegard reached for his blade, curved and jagged, designed to rip like teeth. As he did there came a loud, shuddering noise, a sound from across the water, from the other side of the mist.

It had come before.

Its fear poured over them, stopping any fight in an instant.

The whole village froze still.

There it was again.

Two sounds like a clang, then a dull thud. It repeated, then again.

Hedda knew a sound like it from her time cleaning out the forge, the sound of hardened metal hitting rock. It was so loud they could hear it through their feet.

The crowd started to move, huddling like scared cattle, quaking. Hushed voices in the crowd murmured, 'It's getting nearer!'

Others darted stabbing looks between them, whispering, 'It's the Mainlanders' machines again!' and 'It's nearly every day now! Surely only a question of time!'

The din rattled on for several minutes, breaking up the crowd and spreading the Vikings like wind on a white puff-head. By the time it was still, most of the clan had made it quickly back to the village.

Hedda was still lodged in the slime. Her fingers kept slipping against the harbour wall. Then Einar's thick arm reached down to help her onto land.

'Come, Hedd! No shame in going back home to dry. Let's get up the hill; soon time for the leaving Fest.'

She sat, slumped like hauled squid on the side of the harbour and looked out at the longboat, growing smaller, soon to be lost in its own shield of fog. More hurtful for her than all the daily spite was again having to miss a parent for months. The oars pulled them further apart. Hedda's eyes filled with water as if rubbed in grit, but she must not cry. She could still hear the rowers out at sea, chanting of plunder, loss and fight, their high, gossamer voices fading, and she slapped her palms against the ground, sighing one word - 'Why?' Until those Viking raiders returned, there would be no woman between sixteen and sixty on Crop-Skul island.

_You know why, silly girl!_ Marit replied.

She ignored the second voice, and kept watching the tugging movement of the longboat until there was a charged flicker ahead in the fog wall, and then a small blue, arched gap opened for a moment, and the longboat sailed through it. As it did, the boat was shrouded in its own circle of mist and was gone.

Hedda stood and tried to smooth the wet mess on her top, rubbing it deeper in. Her tunic's cut had not changed in a thousand years, worn over thick leather shorts. She wore lace gloves, cut off at the fingers, one black and one once white. She wore polyester leg warmers to the knees, bright turquoise when clean, with wide yellow zig-zags at the top. On her right wrist was a black rubber watch with a steel-framed crystal display, a row of tiny buttons, 0 to 9 under the screen. She had set the year on the top right corner of the screen: 1985.

# Chapter 3

### Turning Back

Einar had been waiting for Hedda, but now started to make his way uphill. She watched him, half jealous of his natural warmth. She knew he suffered the same rough childhood, sharing the same bloodline. Now, though, moments after the taunts, he was jostling with open glee like a young dog. There he was, in his traditional Viking leather, stretched over a bright yellow t-shirt with a broad rainbow design across its chest. He was distracted by a Morello-red, late-summer ladybird, which sat on blackberries by the track, watching the little insect ramble for a few moments before turning to face his cousin.

'Just keep staring to sea, _fint_!' Einar shouted over. 'But you know there is always fresh cake and cinnamon _lefse_ on a leaving day and I'm not built for sparing any, even for you!'

'I know. Let me have some time,' Hedda replied, fists on waist, raising one eye to her same-aged relative.

She looked back out to the few smaller islands within their ring of mist. Here the lands were gentle mounds of grey stone that folded roundly into the sea, like wet-backed seals and whales frozen in time. Hedda closed her eyes, trying to cling to those memories of her younger self. She thought of the days picking berries in large, laughing groups, fingers and mouths all blue stained. But then, seconds later, her thoughts were shaken again with that same noise, the loud clangs of the Mainlander's machines.

The noise reminded her of how close Crop-Skul is to the Mainlanders' world of cars, electric picture-boxes and sugar drinks. At night, Hedda would wrap her knuckles hard over the top of her sheets, whispering to herself, 'What if our lives are discovered and we are lost to the soft world, turned human?'

She had grown up with harsh tales of the Mainlanders and the fear that one day they might just break through the protection, through Crop-Skul's thick wall of mist. Many Vikings would sweat with the fear of the humans' metal ships pushing through the fog. The fear once led Hedda to take a secret, late-night trip in her open row boat, to test the mist. She had rowed at it as fast as she could, but the mist seemed to hold some heavy weight as if it could push you backwards. You could sail straight in, only to be turned back out seconds later, just a few feet further along.

All said that if they were found, the Viking ways would die, shrivelling like wild flowers pulled from their roots in the July sun. The fear lived like an unwanted guest with the villagers, raising its head through old men's tales, drunken speeches and dark nursery rhymes.

_But those humans, those Mainlanders, must have so many more ... so many wonderful things,_ Marit challenged Hedda, as if trying to tempt her with some sweet treat.

'No!' Hedda snapped back in her thoughts. 'If they found us, what would be left? What would it mean to be a Viking? We would be slaves to their easy ways.'

As Hedda struggled with her thoughts, she played with the tiny buttons on her rubber watch and walked back towards the village centre. Hedda had seen the lure of the Mainlanders' modern life wrap around the longboat just before it had left for sea. Each of the home Vikings had made small plunder requests, many giving secret notes of wishes. She could now hear the men and children in the village chattering, excited.

'I asked my wife to bring back a plastic slingshot for the rabbits,' said one middle-aged hulk to another.

She even heard her father speak, with her grandfather, Far-Far.

'If they make it to a high street, perhaps they could bring back a new cookbook,' her father said.

Far-Far replied, excited, still using some of their old words, even in the face of the McKennor ban, his Norse accent the strongest on the island, ' _Ja_ , _det_ would be great my son, _og_ I've asked if they can get some of the old recipes.'

Hedda watched her father, his eyes broaden, his voice soften to an eightyear-old, asking Far-Far, 'But tell me, tell me, I need to hear again ... what was it like to go on the raids to England?'

Far-Far's shoulders, already sorrow-bent for four decades, hunched further, like a breaking wave. When stretched straight, he could still stand six-foot-eight _tomme_ , level with his massive boy.

' _Min barn_ ,' Far-Far said, head swaying with his speech, 'on rough days the North Sea would crash onto the _baats_ and we _ofte_ lost men to the dark blue _sjo_. So much Viking _blod_ lost.' Far-Far halted, a slight shake in his body, adding, 'It was all worth every _draap_ as we landed secretly ashore.'

Then Far-Far's right hand started to tremble and he grabbed it with his left, holding his hand hard, like an escaping fish. Hedda was too far away to stop his fall. She gasped as her father quickly tried to grab Far-Far's shaking arm, trying to lift him from the ground.

'Don't worry son,' she heard Far-Far whisper, 'probably just _sma_ shivers ...'

Hedda couldn't shame her elder, her ever-rock, by watching on. She faced the water again, retraced tales from the world beyond the mist. FarFar told of lines of stepping-stone islands, pockmarked with the humans' little used summer cottages. The humans' closest island still bore its ancient Viking name, Boroy. A name that her clan would bicker and fight over, whether Bear or Berry Island.

As she gazed out, there, to the right, a shift on the horizon.

A pulse in the fog.

She could see sparks in the white.

A wide patch of mist turned deep pink then a dark scarlet.

Five or six blue gaps opened.

One as large as a barn door.

Hedda stepped backwards quickly, nearly losing her step. From behind, somewhere in the village, she heard a low churning, pumping noise, then another sound, as if some resigned pain. Then, back out at sea, the mist returned to the colour of house dust, thickening again.

She looked back towards the village. Did the others notice?

• • •

Hedda wanted to stand watch, check that the mist held, but the voice from her yellow t-shirted cousin called out again, dragging her up the hill. A hidden part of her wanted to laugh, as she saw Einar balancing, nearly falling, on an egg-shaped rock by the houses. As he called out, he pretend shovelled invisible handfuls of treats into his face.

'C'mon, Hedd, come now or I'll eat the lot, and there's always the best treats at the Double Fest,' he shouted.

She didn't shout back, just lifted her hand and moved to join him, cutting her boots into the mud path.

'Yes, Double Fest,' she thought-spoke with Marit, 'last Fest before the Holmgang. Must focus, look strong.'

_And we agreed, didn't we, little one ..._ Marit replied. _We agreed you would do anything, yes anything, to get to the Holmgang_.

'Haven't I shown that with my studies, my ...' Hedda didn't want to end her words even if they were only in her mind.

_But what if even more is asked? Success, success at any price, our pact ..._ Hedda reached for the hilt of her dagger, the voice halted.

Back from the sea and stones, the land was soft, rich with grasses, late summer fruits and flowers, the final small blooms of untamed roses. The violent summer haze would dominate a few weeks more. A periodic flush, just enjoyed, would settle with rot back into the earth.

As she trudged upwards, a sunset-orange ladybird rested on the back of her hand. She thought about crushing it, to enjoy the stain on her palm. She raised her other hand in the air, hovering above the little life.

She paused.

Hedda's raised hand swiped downwards, smack, against the side of her shorts. Then a gentle push and the ladybird scrambled from her nail onto a bush beside her.

The village lanes narrowed. She passed the dark, tarred wooden homes, their walls of rough, rounded logs as wide as her arm. These _hytter_ were joined at their corners by overhanging dovetail joints, looking like massive pine plaits of hair.

Some of the roofs were rough-slate tiled. Others were covered in wild grasses. The summer turned them into mini sloping meadows, goats grazing. She tapped her hand along a line of barrels, full of sharpened defence spears. Lined up next to them were ... red-rust iron shields, a hardly used, pale blue, fibreglass windsurfing board, and a chrome and lime green Sky Star freestyle bike.

As the throng of houses increased, so did the men and children trailing towards the _Stor-Ting_ , Great Hall. All eyes noticed Hedda walking amongst them. Most turned their backs or spat thick streams of spite onto the ground, rubbing their heels into pea-grey bile, well practised. Just a few mixed their scowling, seemingly without thinking, with small nods of old deference, tugging at fringes of hair not there.

Hedda knew her old family name would once have commanded deep bows. But now that name was silenced and could not even touch the villagers' lips. A family disgraced in a charcoal quarry. Their name judged so bad, it was changed without choice.

The hateful sneers around her were worse than any flesh cut, but she still walked upright, back straight. She was trained to be strong, think wisely, be generous. She would catch the sight of those staring at her, all knowing her line of Vikings would once have stood and given the noble speeches to the clan.

Another ugly scowl buffeted her. Part of her wanted then to turn away, to be alone.

'We could sit home, by ourselves, quiet, let the milk white glow light my face,' Hedda mind-spoke, hoping her half-self would seize the chance.

_Well, inside the Great Hall you can expect attack amongst the feast, but back on your bed, where would that take you?_ Marit hissed, as if soul free.

Hedda's thoughts were broken by the loud voices steaming out from the open _vindus_ of the _Stor-Ting_ , a mix of men shout-singing and girls pitch perfect ...

' _The Vikings are off to plunder Newcastle, Hurrah! Hurrah!_

Don't get caught by the locals, you rascals, Too far! Too far!

Hide the boats and wear the cloaks,

Steal the wine and beer,

And to Amsterdam on your way back,

For cheese and chocolate - no fear!'

Hedda neared, seeing the bustling Vikings through one of the _vindus_ , all traditionally dressed, with some modern touches. What would Mamma always say, returning with snippets of Mainlander life? Hedda could feel Mamma's voice, its soft laughing,

'More leather than a bunch of bikers raiding a luxury handbag factory,' she would say.

Hedda wanted to freeze frame the old room.

The long, hefty wooden table protested and groaned from end to end, heavy with beef and ham. Warm custard cream _boller_ and _lefse_ were piled on pewter platters. A massive chocolate cake glistened with 'imported' glace cherries. Wooden mugs, more than a foot tall, full of newly brewed ø _l_ were set next to walnut-wood bowls of thick sausages, resting in browned onion sties.

She held herself back for a final moment; a deep breath before pushing at the Great Hall's horse-heavy door.

# Chapter 4

### Watch-Room

Several days sail north of Crop-Skul, Philos sat at his radiant black onyx desk, its rounded, cold, cut edges without pattern, like a lonely scarab resting in the white marble of the room around it. No pictures, rugs or fabrics were allowed to enjoy the Watch-Room. The room's hexagonal floor plan was framed by six deep windows, revealing the curve of the glass dome supporting from underneath - a glass dome taller than the trees. It sealed beneath it a dark quarry cavern.

Philos's marble room sat as the perfect vantage point to view the six long, jagged buildings that spread out from the dome like giant insect's legs, buildings made of a hardened mix of stone and lime slurry.

'Soon the delegates will come. We will keep control,' Philos bellowed, his rolled Rs and hard-consonant accent more at home by the middle-sea's temples and acropolises.

As he spoke, he stared, aged, hardened, down towards the ever-present, four-foot-high Nisse, Matti.

'Control,' said Matti, 'but you promised we will stay safe. What about the humans? I saw them on the horizon. Can't lose more. Lost that wide finger of land from the Eastern Forces.'

'That man of steel had passed now,' said Philos, speaking with might, 'but more will come.'

As Philos spoke, he lifted a muscle-heavy arm, brushing his near Viking face, rubbing his wide nostrils. He pressed his clawed fingers deep into the black hair-fur above his forehead, as if in some ritual massage, revealing a small curled-back horn above each ear.

'But your loss,' Matti replied, 'nearly greater than mine and still you believe we can hold them back?'

Philos didn't answer. Instead he reached for the small black picture frame on the desk. The black and white instant image under the hand-blown glass painted a family scene. Perhaps some wedding or funeral. The outlines of their faces each showed the lines of their minotaur horns. Only a few of the faces were untouched; most had been covered opaque with black pen.

'I know, Matti,' Philos sighed with repeated loss. 'Seventeen, seventeen of my family and now only three remain, two in hiding back in Greece and, well, me here.' As Philos spoke, his body started to shake in rage, his hand starting to beat on the table

'The tablets! The green tablets! Quick!' Matti shouted. 'Will make you feel relaxed, feel ... up.'

Philos grabbed for the small tin in front of him, and flipped open its blue and red lid. He quickly swallowed two of the light-green tablets. He kicked his head back. A few moments later, his tongue was relaxing out of his jaw.

'Feels good. Yes, feels good.'

# Chapter 5

### Double Feast

Hedda held in a big breath as she walked through the oak and iron strapped _Stor-Ting_ doorway.

Groups of Vikings were hard at work, bearded and leather armoured, delicately piping fluted lines of ribbed cream into caramel eclairs, carefully icing white wings on small pastry swans, levelling glossy black-brown ganache on gateaux.

Others were laying the table for dinner, placing hand-forged, rough knives and forks on top of delicately crocheted serviettes. Drips of warm cocoa raindrops pattered onto the flagstone floor and were quickly licked up by fat house rats. The room was lit warm with a double-length log fire, two whole pig spits turning above it, candles on heavy pewter stands, and battery powered, gold glitter lava lamps.

Hedda's father stood next to the fire, tending a stew. A floor brush bristled beast of a man, tall and wide with legs like blue veined boulders. He stood now in the hall, clothed all in dark brown Viking wear, save for a ragged servant's apron stretched tight around his broad frame. Father stood there, head bowed as if there were some secret escape he could find amongst the boiling gristle.

The next Viking chorus was to begin when Hedda stepped into the light of the room.

All sound stopped.

All eyes were on her.

Vegard stood in front of his vile pack, chest out, showing off his black, long-sleeved top with silver, diagonal stripe. Five or six of his group were holding potato sized stones in their hands, some rubbing their fingers across their sharpened flint edges.

Hedda stared back. Unlike the rest of the Stein-Suns, she always held her head high, not yet downtrodden by her family's old name. She knew Einar still showed some fight and spark, and risked himself for her, but most days, he eased his passage by doffing to the current leaders, face down.

Amid the quiet, HalvGronne Vesper stood, nearly as massive as Father and heightened by the chains of the head of clan. The heavy silver links of two of the chains, hanging to just above his gut, intertwined like family histories. Resting beneath the silver, a fine chain of golden acorns. Hedda knew the end of that chain, tucked into his leather pocket, held a golden acorn leaf key, its teeth a detailed six piece pattern.

HalvGronne's face looked as if it were burning, purple-red. He looked around to all in the hall watching, his eyes bulging, making clear to all that he was following a path, and not following his path would lead to pain.

'You are back from your farewells,' HalvGronne said formally.

' _Ja_.' Hedda kept it short, one hand close to her great-grandmother's dagger, its blade a tenth of the broadsword on HalvGronne's belt.

'You know how I feel about your family,' said HalvGronne. 'We all live with your elders' shame, the seeping power-rot, their _makt-råtne._ '

'I know,' said Hedda, angry she could not find some fuller reply.

'Well ...' HalvGronne, replied, 'tonight at least, after a sad day of farewells, you will eat here without threat.' As HalvGronne spoke, a loud anger-chorus of disappointment followed the sound of stones dropping to the ground. Under cover of noisy dispute, HalvGronne added, in a whisper, 'One day my fate may be the same as yours.'

HalvGronne raised his broad hand. The crowd quietened. He tapped Hedda's still wet, earth brown hair and added, 'Go to your family's bench.'

The baking, feasting and stirring restarted, including Einar's mid chew of a butter rich Bakewell tart.

HalvGronne looked down towards his raven-haired, bone and skin boy.

'Son, put the music on ... the one I like,' he ordered.

Vegard glared at Hedda, baring his teeth. Deep blue-black veins pulsed on both sides of his forehead. He kicked out at the table and raised his fist above it. Slamming it down, he smashed a delicately decorated pastry swan case. Vegard hit the table twice, making sure the fine swan neck and head were crushed to dust. He snatched the worn cassette - _Best of Pop n Rock 1983 -_ shoved it into the battery-driven, double-deck player, and eighties soft rock filled the room.

Hedda and her father took their places at the end of the table, farthest from the current leaders, with Hedda's sister, Lisa, two years younger. She loved her little Liss, but Hedda was green-eyed at the lighter touch Lisa enjoyed as a second born. Lisa and Hedda never spoke of it, and Lisa made up for her easy gain with her warmth, like her cousin Einar's: a gentle amber light she could bring to any room. But the glow of her humour was a shiny decoy for Lisa's sticky, stealing fingers. Hedda knew that any Viking looking for a missing bracelet, pin or dagger would best look under the loose floorboard by Lisa's bed.

The Stein-Suns sat bunched in a row on their wooden _benk_. A bench which, on Far-Far's dark return those years ago, had been ceremoniously broken and then roughly repaired with a leaden strap. The bench rupture was worse than any loss of gold.

As the evening built, even Hedda warmed to the fire, the dancing and singing in the room. Her family swayed from side to side with favourite tunes. She filled her plate with cold meats and fresh pastries, and allowed laughter with her sister. Hedda passed on trays of beef and honeyed water to Lisa and her cousin.

Far-Far sang low-voiced, dressed in his olden wear that all the other warriors thought looked out of date. His battle tired face was crimson marked as if potato masher pummelled. His arms were covered in pockmarked scars, a rough pink star map. Hedda smiled and laughed with him - Far-Far was more than his sad tales. For her, he was an anchored treasure of songs and party games, wise words, paper planes, with stories also of wonder and mystic people. For her, she could not think a better grandfather could exist.

She halted for a second; she never knew her mamma's father, never had the chance to meet her Mor-Far.

Far-Far passed a pewter scalloped tray. Lisa took a few sausage rolls, and a royal blue enamelled, silver fork slipped in her pocket. Far-Far offered the tray to Hedda, before he seemed to focus on something on her arm.

A dark change of light crossed his eyes.

Suddenly, Far-Far smashed the pewter tray down towards Hedda's wrist. It nearly caught Hedda's hand and rubber watch, but she was too quick. Instead the tray thundered onto the oak table, leaving a finger-deep groove in the wood.

She caught his eye.

'Stop, Far-Far!' she said.

'Don't like it! Don't like it!' he repeated.

'But,' Hedda pleaded, 'you can't fight, can't stop every new present and idea coming back from the raids.'

'I ... know, _min star_ ,' Far-Far sighed, 'but when, what if we stop be'in Vikings ... I would just be a dressed-up, fat old man.' Hedda held his trembling hand.

'Never! Never to me!' she said.

Hedda had noticed that his hand shook more often, and sometimes his right leg would go stiff and get caught in the floorboards.

He breathed out hard.

'Soon, perhaps after your next birthday, yes, when you are thirteen, perhaps then you will learn to accept how things always must be.'

Part of Hedda wanted to reply with words of duty. But she could not stop crushing the sausage roll in her hand, dropping its flesh onto the floor below.

Marit made her kick it hard at a rat in the corner.

• • •

Hedda and Lisa flicked a dozen dark, oozing chocolate profiteroles from the back of their forks straight into Einar's mouth, caught each time with the delight of a pink Labrador puppy.

As the evening quietened, Hedda asked, 'Father?'

'Yes,' Far grunted in a keep-it-short manner.

'You know,' said Hedda, 'I love everything Mamma has taught me, to kill, plunder, stand my ground and use a weapon ...'

'Won't find finer than your mamma,' said her father in agreement.

'Well,' added Hedda, 'I do want that life, but sometimes I would just prefer to bake like you and the men.'

Her father's eyes narrowed, holding out his iron knife, it seemed, without thinking, towards her.

'What would our dead elders in the hall of the slain think? You know us men had nothing else left. Banned from raiding, we have to keep something, something for the men.' Father spoke with love and threat. And then he stopped, dropping his knife to the table. Hedda's heart was harpooned, but she was never going to cry here. Father paused, his eyes creased at the corners like milk pudding skin.

'There is, of course,' he whispered, looking around for scouting ears, 'the island's baking contest in five days. You ... you can help me with it ...

I mean secretly. We can close the shutters to keep the dust out, keep Team Stein-Sun from passing eyes.'

Hedda grabbed his arm tight.

'And we can bake for nearly a week together,' Father added.

'Wonderful, wonderful!' Hedda whisper-squealed, just for a moment, as a happy child.

Her father pushed her away, in an all to see way, adding quietly, 'No one ... no one ... is to know, especially HalvGronne and even more especially ... your mother.'

• • •

In another corner of the _Stor-Ting_ , three men in their early thirties feasted, Viking-clad and smiling, one spreading thick, homemade strawberry jam on broad slices of wholemeal bread. They laughed and joked, and most of the time looked just like the Vikings around them. When they reached out for rolls and cakes, there under Viking armour, were glimpses of their old t-shirts, each with the same emblem: _Tvedestrand High School, Fruit Pickers Association, 1966_. One had a faded scar, over a foot wide, from his elbow to his wrist. It was rounded and indented with a row of teeth marks.

# Chapter 6

### Coin-sized Sores

Two hours after all had left, Hedda finished cleaning the tables and slops. Now, in the grey before daybreak, she traipsed home through the dirt strewn northern alleys. It was a deadened area, left mainly for fodder keeps and storehouses. She neared one of the old, larger storerooms, perhaps fifty feet away. Its wood walls were moss covered. Old windows had been long closed up with wide pine panels. But then, under the gap of a broad storeroom door, a light. The blue glow fanned across the alley floor, a dull whining sound seeping out.

'Can you see it too?' Hedda mind-asked.

_Of course, I can. We've seen it before, the colour, the light-blue light. It's not a flame is it; there is no wooden flame like that_ , Marit answered.

'Should I run closer?' Hedda asked again.

_Go on, go on_ , Marit urged.

Hedda picked up the pace. As she neared, a large figure stepped from the shadows of the storeroom into the alley. He slammed the door quickly. With a glint of gold, the sound of a heavy lock being turned broke the silence. The figure turned, stared at her.

'Go home now, girl,' came the voice.

Hedda knew the voice, the voice of the broadsword carrying leader.

HalvGronne sounded as if he were defending family papers from marauders.

'But what, what?' Hedda asked.

'Don't you even think, girl. One more word and your family will be cast out. I would burn your home, wouldn't flinch.' HalvGronne spoke without control, his cautious welcome the night before replaced with maddened fight.

Hedda said no more and ran fast onwards, down the alley.

• • •

Panting loudly, a fair distance away, where the village gave way to unkept fields, she needed to rest. She needed some time with her thoughts before returning to her family circle. A tumbledown stone wall provided a seat. She breathed slowly in through her nose and out from her mouth, letting her ribs fill and fall. Her arms dropped loose on her lap and she closed her eyes. In a moment, her mind merged as one and her thoughts were all colour.

She pictured herself, five years younger, sat in her family home. Far-Far sat before her on a large carved-elm stool, speaking slowly to her, Einar and their closest kin. Far-Far retelling the story. The story of the hessian sack. Hedda knew it like the veins in her arm. The smells and pain lived with her, as if she herself had been held captive with her elders.

'I want you _alle_ to always know my version, not the one in the streets and bars,' said Far-Far, pausing. ' _Ja_ , it starts with a hessian sack and it starts when your _faders_ were younger than you are _naa_. There had been five years of terrible human war. Fear and fight were swelling _rundt_ us and my tale will never do justice to man's loss. Their grey, steel ships spat fire and brass bullets broader than your head. So many human towns were lost to the guns; their streets were lava fields.

'During that time, sadly, I was still leading the whole island chain; I sat on the gulden throne, decided fates. No decision was easy and _mest_ of all I wanted to keep our whole island group safe, free _fra_ being found.'

'But how were we not found, Far-Far?' the younger Hedda in her vision asked. 'I just don't understand. All those boats in our sea and still we were safe from being seen? You told us of the underwater ships, like iron whales. They would have found us, wouldn't they? Just ran ashore and captured us?'

'Hush, _min_ little starlight,' Far-Far replied. 'I can't answer every question ... enough to say that we made it through and ... a good many of the other islands did too. But I had to make terrible choices.' Far-Far stopped for a long moment, his eyes dropping to the floor, adding, 'And lesser than three days _efter_ the human guns stopped, I heard heavy boots outside our _StorTing_. I knew the stories of the _makte-r_ å _tne_ , rotting leaders from within. It seemed none could stay from going bad.

'Our hall was suddenly filled, not with Mainlanders, but the Western Island Forces, other Vikings and Celts. A broad rope, tied around my legs, and a hessian sack pulled tight over my _hode_. _Da_ there was the long sea trip to the islands North of Scotland.'

Hedda's thoughts pictured cousin Einar in the same room, hand raised, bursting to join in, adding, 'And when you arrived there, when the sack was pulled off you, you were held in that deep, dark hole in the Western Island jail.'

' _Ja_ , Einar, my _barn-barn_ \- chained in the dark,' said Far-Far.

'But for ... two years ... in the soaking mud at the bottom of a pit?' asked Einar.

'For two years ...' Far-Far continued, 'until I was pull'd out by a hook and then dragged up onto the flagstones by the Western Island's Great Hall.'

Hedda knew the next words sound by sound, her lips spelling them out as she thought, 'You were dredged up onto the floor, like a half-dead Kraken pulled from the deep. Your skin, nearly see-through, shiny and grey like wet bone. Your body was covered in red and yellow bullseye sores, the size of coins.'

Far-Far continued speaking in her thoughts, ' _Ja_ , Hedda, they pulled me up onto a simple stool. There next to me, still tied by ropes, were your _onkels_ , Harald and Kjell; they looked just as grey and drawn, barely alive.'

Far-Far relived each step of the saga, every rung in a feud older than the broadest oaks: the Western leader, Glen McKennor, sitting in FarFar's gilded chair; how Far-Far's punishments could have been far worse if McKennor had wanted an eye for eye. McKennor then picked up an enamelled metal sign from the floor, rounded and heavy, made to last, the punishments spelt out clearly on its shining front, engraved deep under the light green glass coating. Far-Far was forced to carry the notice and its nineteen copies on the boat back to Crop-Skul and nail them above the doors and hearths of their buildings.

Hedda still followed the image of her Far-Far, eyes red as he spoke.

'The first bit-ter punishment,' he said, 'was our name itself, banished and _ogsa_ the name of our island. For generations, we stood proud by our _familien_ name \- Skum-Ronde _._ Glen McKennor would only refer to the English version - Dusk. They wanted to wipe out our _familien's_ meaning, deprive us of our past. On my trip back to Cresp- sorry, Crop-Skul - we had no name. I was thrown back onto our harbour and I _kuud_ see the sunshine, bright on our _stein_ backed islands. _Stein-Sol_ , no Stein-Sun, was the new part Engelsk family name they allowed me.'

Even with eyes still closed, Hedda saw the enamelled signs, now faded but still punishing, hanging above the doors in the village, spelling out in English:

Proclamation 18 of the Western Islanders,

Leaders of The UnRemembered Island Chain,

14 August 1947

This island will from this day be known as Crop-Skul

Tronde the Un-Named and all other men from Crop-Skul are hereby banned from Viking raids, and banned from leadership of the UIC for 100 years.

Norse will be banned from all lessons on Crop-Skul. English is now the official Crop-Skul language.

Then, with a palm smack from someone against her face, her thoughts were broken. Her eyes surprise-opened to greet the boy in the yellow and rainbow t-shirt.

'Hedd, where have you been? It's nearly morning. I was looking for you,' Einar spoke quickly, hands on knees.

'Just thinking of old stories, Einar, empty places at our table for uncles Harald and Kjell,' sighed Hedda.

'Yes ...' said Einar, 'but it's all our past - you know even Far-Far laughs that when the men couldn't raid, they thought beer and fighting would best fill the time.'

'And then,' said Hedda, her eyes beginning to soften, mimicking a stronger old Norse accent, 'the years of wood whittling, 'til we couldn't stand making spoons and napkin rings anymore.'

' _Ja_.' Einar stood smiling, one hand in the air, a sense of young foal glory.

'And then ...' He sucked in some more air. 'And then, there was cake.'

# Chapter 7

### After the Feast

The next evening, Hedda slopped the Vesper family home out, whilst the rest of the Stein-Suns prepared for night in their own _hytte_. In the Stein-Sun roundhouse, a small fire was set in the middle of the room. Beds lined the walls of the single space: oak, built in, heavy wooden six-foot frames and thick burgundy and ochre drapes. Each bed was built short. At night they slept with knees tucked up under their chests like dormice.

Einar and Lisa had been sent to bed and Far-Far sat with Hedda's Father, Geir, next to the warmth of the centre fire. Geir held his father's hand, limp and trembling.

'Let me make you the broth for that,' he said, and opened a small cupboard by the beds, taking a handful of dried leaves and stalks. The rows of bell-shaped flowers on the stems still held some of their blue-violet colour. He boiled them down with a spoon of honey. As Far-Far started to sip the broth, his hand calmed a little.

Geir waited, allowing time to pass, the room to settle, for Lisa and Einar to rest in their beds. He waited for their snoring to start, for it to slow to a song. He was certain the children were asleep.

Lisa's thoughts tumbled in deep dreams, eyelids twitching, her hand tightly gripping the blue enamel fork and a newly acquired silver fob watch. Einar lay wide awake, watching the fire through a pinprick hole in the heavy curtains, pretend snoring as expertly as he could.

He saw Geir breathe out heavily before speaking, and could hear the half-whispers.

'I am worried, Dad, worried about small Hedda,' said Geir.

Far-Far pulled his head back and shrugged, 'Well, she is a fine young _barn_ , in the main. If she is picked for the Holmgang, will do well, sure of it.'

'Come, you know that's not my fear,' said Geir. 'You've seen Hedda acting sort of ... well, whispering to herself, more and more each day.

Sometimes she even hits her head with her dagger.'

'Well, son,' Far-Far replied, 'bit _av_ imagination ne'er hurt _en_.' As FarFar spoke he dragged his foot in the cold ash by the fire, as if it might add to their talk.

'You can't just say that,' said Geir. 'Remember Gerte? She would help in our home, clean. She would sing the wonderful clan histories, could switch voices from an angel to a ghoul.'

'Been years since we've seen Gerte, lost to the forest,' said Far-Far, wiping a wet smudge of dirt from under his eye.

'But, that dark voice of Gerte,' said Geir, 'I heard it sometimes speak out even when she was just stirring the soup or feeding the pigs. Gerte's head would shake from side to side and her eyes would look all sugar-glazed. I just think of my little Hedda.'

Far-Far's eyes looked down at the ashes. A pause entered their talk, as if Far-Far was choosing a path in the forest.

'Well, my boy,' he said, 'tis haard to put in _Engelsk_ words and they banned me from learning you Norse, but our symbols, they come from a time before.' He bent slowly, picked up the black iron poker by the fire, plunged it between the burning logs until its point gave off a dull orange light. 'Look, _jeg_ have told you something of this symbol before,' he continued as he stabbed the poker into the ash covered floor, dragging out lines in the ground.

Seconds later, Geir started to nod to himself, saying, 'I know this shape, one of our early runes; it starts with a strong capital Y.'

As Geir spoke, Far-Far had just finished dragging out the second diagonal line of the Y shape, and above the one diagonal, he drew with his finger an M and an H.

' _Ja_ , son, then you know the name of the rune,' said Far-Far.

'Well I know it forms part of the rune called Lyke. It's for our body and flesh, our Lyke-ness,' Geir answered.

' _Der_ , you have it,' Far-Far replied with a quarter-smile. 'Soon you won't need me to be your learner. Then you know the M is the Mumr ... What you young ones call it in _Engelsk_?' asked Far-Far.

'Memory,' Geir answered, tapping his thighs as he sat.

'Yes, memory,' said Far-Far, 'the thing that reminds you what you _knowen_ , that wood burns and _vanner_ freezes, so you do not have to learn these things _frisk_ every morning.'

'And the H, the H is for Hunger, isn't it?' Geir half-asked.

'Close, my boy, and in one way very close. It's your Hung'r ... Yes, you say Hunger,' Far-Far said, pausing before adding, 'the Hung'r is the sum of your desires, feelings. It's what makes you stand out from the stones and the mud. Some of the _Engelsk_ may call it person-ality.'

'That's all fine, but what about Hedda?' Geir asked. 'She's got a great Hung'r for life, keen and driven, and often - well, sometimes - kind.'

Far-Far rested back on his stool, raising his chest like a great old bear, still just in control of his maul. He stabbed the ash again with the poker, dragging it out from the heart of the Y shape, etching out another straight line between the two diagonals. Then, with his finger, he dragged out the letters A and S in the grey ash.

'Sorry, Dad, these letters confuse me. What's A and S?' asked Geir.

'In Norse,' said Far-Far, 'we call it _Annet Stemme_. I guess the nearest words in _Engelsk_ would be Second-Voice.'

Geir pulled back as if he had found a rotting animal in the woods. His breathing quaked.

' _Kom_ now, son,' Far-Far spoke with a soothing voice, 'you know the Second-Voice if you are honest to yourself. It's the Celts, others, who want to keep you from your Viking truth. Don't tell me that you never heard your own Second-Voice?'

'Well, I suppose now and then when I am uncertain I think things over a bit, but-'

Far-Far jumped on his son's words, speaking as if sharing a password. 'And that thinking over,' said Far-Far, 'it has a different point of view sometimes?'

'Well perhaps, but ...'

' _Ja_.' Far-Far paused again, then spoke, wool gentle, 'and in Hedda I guess it's stronger. _Jeg_ know your wife, Nina, sometimes speaks with Hedda.

They speak about dark dreams, both day and _natt_ \- Hedda's _Natte-Maritts_. Nina would know ways to help Hedda cope, to a degree. Nina could have told Hedda to give the Second-Voice a name, to try to control it.' 'But what can I do?' asked Geir.

'Hedda has to tread her own path,' Far-Far replied. 'What are you going to do, lock her up for her good? Some call the Second-Voice, the _Liv-Hjelper_. You see our Hung'r, your person-ality has many faces, like the cut of a diamond. The _Liv-Hjelper_ is its reflection; it can be strong when you are weak, brave when you are shy.'

'So, it's a mirror of who you are,' said Geir, nodding to himself, before a dark frown crossed his head. 'But Hedda is, in the main, such a good girl. It means her Second-Voice must then be-'

'Stop thinking too much, son,' said Far-Far.

'But how strong might she have it?' Geir asked, pain on his face.

'Well, the next few years will show, by the time she is sixteen, seventeen, say,' added Far-Far. 'A few will have an attraction over animals, not _alle_ animals but a group, depends which power they _har_. And some very few ...' Far-Far spoke as if saving books from a burning library. 'A very few are the _Hemmin-Gra_ ; they can do far more than just lead an animal, but every time they use their power, their _Liv-Hjelper_ will flex its muscles ... If you use it too much, it will possess you.'

# Chapter 8

### The Post

As the early sun coloured the sea orange and red, Hedda washed her face by the clear waterside, away from the greasy harbour corner. She looked into the still water; she had never seen it so calm.

The reflection framed her young face, oval like an almond, a small pea-shaped nose. Her face had escaped the stone cuts, save for a long scar running from her left ear, down her neck and under her jaw. A jagged line in the shape of Orion's Belt. As she rested back on her boot heels, she saw a small boat nearing the harbour. She knew it was Old Newel's boat from the Holmgang: the stone post, delivered once a year.

On the hill behind her, Einar was speaking to Lisa, both walking down to the waterside.

'No need for you to wait for the stones, Lisa,' said Einar.

'But sometimes Old Newel makes a mistake; they say it's what keeps the young and old from going berserk,' Lisa replied.

' _Ja_ ,' said Einar, 'but not for you - you know the two rules.'

Lisa frowned, speaking out as if from a learning. 'You only get invited once ... either when you are twelve, or if not, when they prefict you are five years from your death.'

'Not _prefict_ , Lisa. It's _predict_ , and not everyone gets invited anyway,' said Einar.

'But how many years of the Holmgang are there again?' Lisa asked.

'Well, that's easy; people go for five years, either from age twelve to seventeen, or for the elders from their joining, until they ...' Einar said, his voice tapering out.

Hedda listened, tried to picture the Holmgang from Far-Far's tales. She knew after the second human war, the Holmgang was extended beyond swordfight challenges to promote understanding between the island nations, aiming to stop the old fighting repeating.

Einar and Lisa were now close by. Lisa was not giving up on the conversation, like a young dog shaking an old rag doll.

'But why, Einar? Why? I don't get it - youngsters and oldens mixed up seems odd to me,' she asked.

'It's simple really,' said Einar. 'The young ones, when they leave at seventeen, have grown like pine trees - the next leaders. They say, if you sit next to a Westerner for five years for porridge you're less likely to stab them in the eye at dinner.'

'And why the old ones?' asked Lisa.

Hedda spun round and joined in, pointing straight at Lisa's nose.

'Don't ever, ever ask Far-Far that,' she said. 'After he boils over, he will tell you, all afternoon, that we Vikings gain depth, _kunnskap_ , from the elders, not from lessons or books; it's sharing their trodden path. They have old truths to share before they leave the world for the greatest feasting hall.'

Einar nodded back to Hedda, adding, 'Far-Far says the Mainlanders lock up their elderly in rows of beds or in tiny rooms in high stone houses. They see the old only twice a year, perhaps just for a few minutes, salmon-pink faced. I don't know if that's the worst of it or that he says they pull their faces like tasting sour berries at all the stories the elders share.'

Hedda's brow felt ember-hot, a throbbing pain. She could hear Marit between her temples.

Go on, just swipe at the olde ones, laugh at them. Have you seen Far-Far dribble his food and stumble?

Hedda couldn't stand herself; she wanted to scream, needed to get away.

'Sorry,' she said, 'have to leave, need to go.'

Running, running, and she was again under dappled shadows, welcomed by the trees, her world patterned with dancing spots of light on the ferns.

'Marit, you can't speak like you did, not about Far-Far,' Hedda mind-said.

_Hush!_ said Marit. _Now's not the time to pick on yourself. Focus on the forest instead, just in case this is our last walk here for a long time._

Hedda settled in the clearing, her breath calm, waiting. She checked her watch; she would need to hide here all day for dusk to greet her. She sat ready to count time, but only an hour or so later, her wait was broken by a voice from the forest.

'Hope you don't mind if I join,' came Einar's voice. 'I've brought some spare scones from yesterday. Bit dry, but the jam helps them out.'

It was clear in seconds why Einar had come to find her. He had paraded into the clearing like a grand king, shoulders back, seeming several feet taller than his self. As he walked he repeated a _ba-babba_ sound as if introducing himself by trumpet. Around his neck was a new cord with a green, speckled stone hanging from it, a whale and mammoth etched on its front.

'Fantastic news for you!' Hedda squealed. 'Now you know, my sweet Einar! You've been chosen.'

'Yes,' said Einar, furnace-face beaming. 'Going to the Holmgang as a young one.'

Hedda reached out and gave Einar a strong hug, then held the stone and turned it; the name Einar S-S was engraved on the other side.

'It's going to be big,' Einar continued. 'Think of all I will see: the elves and trolls, even Scottish fairies.' Einar paused before adding, 'Perhaps even a bit of hidden magic.'

Hedda shook back on her heels, her mind becoming an angry battlefield.

_He knows_ , Marit screamed inside Hedda's brain. _He's spied on you, seen your powers._

Hedda's face began to go red and then darken further.

_Hurt him for that_ , said Marit.

As her brain pounded, Hedda was half unaware that she was now pulling the new cord tight around Einar's neck. Then tighter still.

He was struggling.

Gasping loudly, fighting to speak with the band crushing his neck.

'Hedda, pleeasse! I beg!'

But Hedda did not stop.

She started to twist the cord, tighter.

The skin on Einar's neck started to rip, red.

Einar's eyes rolled backward. He stopped speaking.

But then a jolt of control shook Hedda's body; for a moment her eyes lit bright moonlight.

She let go of the cord.

'Einar, I am so sorry,' she pleaded. 'For a moment I couldn't stop ...' Einar was gasping for breath, elbows on the ground.

Hedda half wanted him to fight back, scream and swear at her, but no, instead he just looked up with sorrowful, sacrificial kindness.

'It's okay, Hedd,' he said, as his face passed through purple on its way back to pink. 'Suppose ... I shouldn't have said it.'

'No, I should be sorry,' mumbled Hedda, stroking his shoulder, there was a long pause as they both looked towards the ground.

'Never seen anything, though; never, in the forest.' Einar spoke in a comforting tone, but did not look Hedda in the eye.

'Suppose it doesn't matter anyway,' said Hedda.

'No, it does,' Einar replied. 'You remember Far-Far's warnings? Any creature - a Viking or an elf or fairies - mustn't show or admit to their powers,' Einar warned. 'He said if you do, you may never be seen back from the Holmgang.'

• • •

Hedda and Einar were soon back at the steps of the Stein-Sun _hytte_. As they entered the open, mud-floored room, they were greeted by her father, Far-Far and Lisa, all cooking. Hedda looked for any changes. It all seemed somehow the same, but there was something: small movements, small, awkward signs.

The room was thick with cooking steam. Far-Far had always refused the modern touch of a chimney. Only part of the smoke escaped through the smoke-hole in the roof. A stone oven sat above embers in the middle, made of sawn soft-stone blocks set above a separate pile of burning logs. An iron door sealed the oven tight, its dull black face set in with a scroll: _Naes Jernverk 1672._

Far-Far greeted Hedda warmly. 'My little starlight, tell me are you too old for games?' he smiled, soft-eyed.

Hedda didn't answer. Far-Far laughed gently to himself and then held out both his hands in front of her, fists clasped shut.

'Choose a hand,' he said.

'No point in waiting any longer,' Hedda mind-spoke. She looked around at her father, at Lisa and then tapped Far-Far's left hand.

In his open palm rested a rounded pink quartz stone.

A whale and a mammoth on its front.

She flipped the stone over.

It said _Hedda S-S_.

Hedda's stomach churned like rolling waters, as if rocks were tumbling inside. There was a pause and all in the _hytte_ went quiet again.

Far-Far was still holding out his other hand.

Still clasped shut.

He opened his hand.

It also had a stone in it, shining, black as charcoal, the same design on the front.

Far-Far moved his palm to Hedda, for her to turn the stone over.

She did.

Etched on the back of the stone was _Tronde S-S._

Hedda hugged her grandfather hard. She knew she must not cry.

Far-Far shed a tear.

# Chapter 9

### Baking

All knew that in seven days the Dolphin Boat would come for the delegates for the Holmgang. The week was full of rich pastry, song and icing sugar. In the days before the baking tournament, sweet steam and smoke and music billowed from the chimney of the Stein-Sun _hytte_.

The shutters were closed tight, locked down with metal cross bars.

Hedda could bake.

Inside, the _hytte_ was busy with laughter, stirring, piping and rolling. Neat hand-piped cakes lined the table, iced with tiny carrots, flowers and crossed swords. Lemon sponges were laid out on cast-iron baking trays and warm buns with marshmallow soft centres piped with sweet custard and sour raspberry jam. Golden saffron buns stood piled in a pyramid, freckled with rum-soaked currants and armoured in white sugar glaze. Cinnamon ring dough sat rising by the side of the stone oven. A tall marzipan ring tower took centre spot, adder-stripe drizzled in icing and almonds.

Far picked up a large, moist, black forest gateau base. He dug a flat-bladed knife in thick cream and plastered it all around, then rolled it across the broad table at speed. As it rolled, its edges picked up midnight dark chocolate flakes. The chocolate dusted cartwheel then spun over the end of the table and was caught by Hedda on the other side. The gateau and buns flew around the table at pace from oven to cooling racks. Einar had greased the table with ox fat to seal it and stop food from sticking.

Geir was taking care and taking his time with his dear eldest, showing her how to cook off choux pastry in a pan on top of the stone oven before opening the glow-warm iron door with a rag and slamming the piped balls inside. Minutes later they were puffed like golden mushrooms, left to cool and filled with Chantilly cream, coated in treacle toasted caramel.

The Stein-Suns had entered two teams into the competition; Geir led Team Stein-Sun with the secret help of Hedda. They worked side by side with Team S-S, led by Einar, helped by Far-Far. The second team secretly included some fine chocolate moulding from Lisa. She had crafted a tiny cocoa Viking ship with a sugar-spun sail.

The eager chaos of baking was mixed in with a loud music soundtrack. Geir tried but was struggling to learn the tunes from the latest 1980s cassettes with his dear girls. Far-Far was singing to himself, loudly, old classics from his favourite 50s crooners.

Hedda stood back for a second to gaze at the room, its smoke from the sweet Cherrywood fire blending with dusted icing sugar

'I would love to freeze this evening,' Hedda mind-said, 'catch it, like in one of Mamma's snow globes, shake it always in our thoughts.'

_No one can take this second, this moment, away from you_ , Marit replied.

Suddenly, Hedda saw her father staring straight at her. His singing stopped in a beat, his face seemed to hold some darker thoughts. Hedda noticed her cheekbones reflecting that milk-light; she shook her head to quickly to chase it quickly away.

Father grabbed a raisin and walnut sweet bun and ripped it in half. He dipped it in butter from a small, open wooden pot and swallowed. He held the other half out to Hedda.

'Here, little one, eat,' he spoke in stumbling hesitation, as if he wanted to talk of something other than food, as if he did not know what to say. 'You need to be strong in the months to come,' he added.

' _Takk_ ,' said Hedda, biting the bun, thinking it's only two days before leaving the island, that the batch, warm from the oven, will still be fresh after she had gone.

Father was still struggling with his words, adding, 'Be careful on the way.' 'Will do,' said Hedda.

'You will ... see so much,' said Father, 'going outside the mist for the first time, new harbours, different people. Could be dangerous.' 'I'll be fine,' said Hedda, speaking cross-armed.

'I know, yes, of course,' Father nodded, adding, 'Well, the Eastern Dolphin Boat, it'll start here, before the islands heading north to Razorbill, the Holmgang, some miles west of the human's port of Bergen.'

'Yes,' Hedda replied, her mind straying. 'Did you know Razorbills are very caring birds, staying as couples all their lives? Shame people think differently, with their sharp name.'

'Well ... yes,' said father, hesitating, 'and the other Dolphin Boats, from the west, from the north, they will be from Iceland, even as far as Skokholm by man's city of Cardiff. Some from ... well Northern Britain.'

'You mean ... the McKennors,' said Hedda, a sour tone seizing her, stamping loudly with one foot.

'Now calm down, calm down. You must have known,' said Father, 'and you mustn't start anything. Anyhow, they are no longer the islands' leaders. The MorkOys, our distant neighbours, they lead now,' said Father, trying to calm. 'You see, it's really only history now.'

Hedda just stood there staring. Father looked like he would have preferred violent screaming to the stillness. Hedda made sure her next words were slowly spoken.

' _Not_ for Far-Far.'

# Chapter 10

### Competition

Clumsy cross-stitched strings of sail bunting, steady drumbeats and the deep smell of cooked sugar greeted the opening of the baking finale. Hedda stood in the crowd, watching over at the men behind their prep tables. If only she were allowed to stand there too, to be judged like an equal.

Each of the teams had laid their cakes out on shining plates on the main table. Under each of the cakes, pushed under the silver, was a wax-sealed envelope, bearing a gargoyle emblem, guarding the secret of its maker.

HalvGronne marched into the _Stor-Ting_ , to a deep honour roar from the crowd. Hedda watched, lip-biting, as the clan chief raised his arms in the air, his bulk coated elegantly in the finest fox-fur lined Viking cape, polished brass buckles on a night blue tunic and thick strapped and studded boots.

He wore an apron, cotton, the purest white.

An apron that would never itself see toil by the fire.

An apron that pennant flagged rights above the working classes.

'Good evening, bakers, _p_ â _tissiers_ , craftsmen of our noble guild,' he began then stopped, arms still raised until his might brought silence to the room, then added, 'Now for judgment.'

The team of judges included two other senior Vikings from the clan.

The tasting was not one of small and dainty bites. Fist-sized ladles of crème-pat were slurped up in one. Half-foot-wide slices of cake were quickly chumbled to nothing. Handfuls of profiteroles were sucked up like a reverse machine gun, giving off a fast popping sound. One deputy judge, Stein, started to attack a family-sized sherry trifle armed with a serving spoon and a pint of cream.

'Don't know how you keep your figure, Stein!' came a chirpy voice from the crowd.

Stein was nearly seven feet tall and weighed twenty-five stone; he was known to lift ponies above his head. He looked up, scanning for where the voice had come from. Hedda could tell by the communal wincing in the crowd that everyone knew he would not leave this comment unturned.

Stein picked up a doily from the table and carefully dabbed a mass of raspberry and sponge from the side of his face. In one fast, practised movement, out of Stein's hand shot his steel headed hammer.

It flew across the room.

A cracking sound.

The sound of a body falling.

A pause was followed by another voice in the crowd. 'He'll likely be alright, well in a few days anyway.'

The last three cakes were still to be judged; Hedda was more on edge than on her first day in class. How would hers be? She knew that one of the three was Einar's. The beads of sweat and lick of lips from Vegard revealed that his was the third.

Hedda's cherry liqueur black forest gateau was first.

The judges cut the broad brown and cream cake into four, each eating a slice quickly, as if breathing in Chantilly smoke. To Hedda it was difficult to tell from their sea-trench appetites if they appreciated the taste.

Then it came to Einar; he had made a tiered, pastel light lemon sponge with a hole pierced in the top and a hollowed-out lemon cheesecake at the bottom. By its side was redcurrant pouring sauce in a white china, miniaturecow pourer.

The judges picked up the warm jug of red sauce and poured it through the hole in the top. It started to make its ruby waterfall. It dripped down, forming a lake in the cheesecake surround below. The small chocolate Viking boat, with four miniature milk chocolate Vikings on deck, started to float. A moment of glory, as their oars delved into the sweet red pool.

Hedda saw that the redcurrant sauce was steaming with heat.

It was far too hot.

She gasped. Some evil soul must have placed the sauce over the fire at the last minute.

'What can I do?' Hedda thought inside.

_Watch_ , Marit added as cold as the sauce was hot.

Hedda couldn't just look on and see Einar's loving work a molten mess.

She moved to say something, shout out, 'Cheats!' As she did, the snarling Vegard twisted her arm behind her, holding her back. He covered her mouth with his other hand.

More of the boiling sauce tipped in and the heat started to sear the butter icing. The whipped cream piping started to liquify. The red torrent ended the lives of two of the sugar-iced Viking gods holding up one tier of the cake. The cocoa Viking boat melted. Four chocolate Vikings were marooned, lost at sea.

Vegard and his friends roared with laughter and spite.

HalvGronne and the other judges tutted, clearly disappointed in amateurs failing in the special craft. They picked up their spoons and ate, quickly finishing Einar's already demolished creation.

Then Vegard's entry, a dark brown tower of shining chocolate and drawbridges, sugar paste men fighting dragons and strawberry blood dripping over ramparts.

The judges attacked the sticky defences with silver pastry forks. Vegard cackled with delight as they ate, releasing Hedda from his grip. But then the judges stopped. The third judge looked at the others and they noted in unison, 'Chocolate is too bitter ... probably burnt.' They put down their forks and started to deliberate.

Hedda had been taught to never gloat. A large part of her wanted to rub shards of the bitter chocolate into Vegard's face. Instead, she walked over to the few remains on the table and picked up a lone profiterole. She started to chew slowly.

HalvGronne addressed the waiting masses.

'In a competition such as this, we must hold together all we know, what is important to us. In our life and our baking, structure, strong foundations mean near everything. We cannot simply be tempted by fantastic taste, texture. It is form, framework that holds us together. It therefore in part saddens me ... to declare that the best baker, due to truly exceptional flavour, and the winner of the 1985 Baking Grand finale, is the baker of the redcurrant lemon tier.'

Einar and Far-Far raised their hands in the air and there was even applause from a few, recognising a brief moment of deserved triumph despite their sullied background. Vegard and his cronies turned to leave.

# Chapter 11

### Packing up

Hours later, Hedda was still clearing the _Stor-Ting_ of icing and chocolate. She pulled the benches back to form strict rows and cleared the plates. She left in the crisp of starlight, through the alleys towards home.

As she neared the Vesper _hytte_ , Hedda heard tones of low, heated argument. She crouched in the shadows of the alley, peering through the home's _vindu_. The Vespers were packing cases and parcels for Vegard. It was no surprise when Hedda had found out that Vegard had taken the other top student place. He and she, top two, would go as of right.

As she watched the bags being packed and strapped tight, she thought of the other top student in their class. Part of her felt sad for that boy, poor Frederik. He was once an A-star student, but was now broken. They said he was still recovering, but not well enough to go the Holmgang. He was still lame from the stabbing injury. Trapped by someone in the dark. Hurt just before the exams.

Her thoughts of the injured boy were broken by Vegard snapping at his father.

'Not again! We've checked my bag five times now. Can't we just call it a night?'

HalvGronne wrapped several slices of buttered, brown rye bread in thin paper and packed them into the side of his boy's bag.

'I hope you do well. I am sure we will be proud,' said HalvGronne.

'Just say,' Vegard replied, 'you want me to leave that foul rat of a girl alone. I just can't! Can't - She. Makes. Me. So. Angry! Because of those Stein-Suns we are all trapped here.' Vegard's words were broken up by kicking repeatedly at his heaviest leather baggage.

'I know, yes, you have reason to be angry,' HalvGronne replied.

'Angry? Angry?' Vegard snapped, shaking from side to side, still kicking out. Vegard stared straight at his father and slowly pulled up the side of his black top, protesting. 'Because of them, every boy gets this terrible mark. Do you know how much it hurt?' Vegard asked.

'Slow, son, I can still feel the pain myself,' HalvGronne replied.

Hedda didn't want to see. She had caught glimpses before at home.

The Ring Burn, the men's mark.

Einar and the others would try to hide it, dress in the dark.

On Vegard's right hip was a rough, deep, purposeful burn. A ring the size of an onion. The Ring Burn was branded the shape of a Viking ship prow, with a rough diagonal line striking through it.

She saw Vegard's father pull up his own top. There again, an identical, aged scar.

Hedda lowered her head further into the shadows and escaped home.

• • •

Hedda crept into her roundhouse, near silent. Even at midnight, the darkness welcomed in a tube of moonlight angling through the roof's smoke-hole. Bed drapes were pulled closed and Hedda treaded softly to her place in the corner. She kneeled by the drawer under her bed and pulled the curved brass handle towards her. Its pine planks held crayon drawings of trees and boats, families holding hands and forest scenes with rabbits and deer. Many were yellowed with browning spots and nearly all had the words _Hedda, Aged_ ... then a number, sometimes 7 or 4 or 3.

She remembered the glow of childhood, of play that once ran with her like an excited pup in chasing circles. Now though, approaching expectations of duty, her _plikt_ , she had to hide her games and toys in this wooden fortress as if they were shameful stains. The little handmade dresses on plastic dolls and stuffed teddies were now shoved under plain linen tops and learning books. Only a few moons ago, these once precious playthings were pride of place.

Each of her family rested above their own brass-handled drawers, defending their troves. Sometimes she would peer through the drapes to watch Far-Far, late at night, pull his own drawer open and scratch his head and sigh. He looked at old, faded maps with red lines running from the mainland to Scotland and beyond. There in his own coffinshaped drawer were sombre peaked caps and hats in a row at the back, some dove blue, some mid green, others black. Each had emblems, some of birds, some letters in their middle. Now and then Far-Far would pick out loafsized plastic models of grey and blue boats. Hedda would try to remember the lettering, names and numbers on their sides. One had the words _Royal Oak_ etched on it, another _The Hood_. Sometimes he would make a plunging movement with the rounded mechanical whale shaped boats, numbers U-181 and 103. Whenever Hedda even gently rustled the drapes, Far-Far would slam the drawer tight and push back to bed.

Now though, Hedda packed her dolls neatly, lying them in rows on the bottom of the drawer, making sure that they were all facing up, with good breathing space above their heads. She tucked them in snug between old teddies. Then as she bid them farewell, she heard a beeping sound from behind the drapes of Einar's bed.

She slowly closed her drawer and sat still.

First there were three or four little beeps. Then a sound like a roaring fire, then a crash, then the beep again.

She could just see through the drapes, a small square of light, bobbing up and down. Einar was chirping quietly, 'Got it! Yes, I got it!' or ' _Nei_ \- that's another life lost.'

No part of Hedda wanted to hold herself back. She crept up to the side of Einar's bed and pulled the drape open. Einar was lying on his back holding a flat, white, plastic case the size of a large book. It had a little lever in one corner that he was moving quickly with his left thumb. On the other corner of the plastic box were four buttons in a cross shape. Einar ignored his cousin and was still prodding the buttons with his right thumb. One of the buttons gave off that beep-beep sound. In the middle of the box was a screen, about the size of large matchbox, on it was a little arrow like row of lights that would fire another light forward with every beep.

'What on earth do you think you are doing, Einar?' Hedda gasped quietly.

'Sssh! This is the new xp70,' said Einar. 'Had to clean old Steinar's horses out for three weeks to get this in a trade. Now be quiet or the others will wake.'

'But it's madness!' Hedda whisper-shouted. 'If Far-Far, if he, if he finds out ... he will go berserk, smash it in a second, shouting, "These imports will rot our brains."'

'So, stay quiet,' said Einar. 'I'm telling you, it must be a secret.'

'Just put it away now,' warned Hedda, now wagging a pointed finger. 'You know he says 'lectric toys will get stuck in our hands all day and we'll never look around us again.'

Einar wrinkled his nose up to Hedda. 'Never heard something so stupid,' he mocked, copycatting her voice as he grabbed the side of his drape and pulled it closed tight.

# Chapter 12

### The Dolphin Boat

In the morning, the Dolphin Boat waited, anchored, lapping against the stale water of the harbour. Hedda dragged her heavy bags down the hill with her family, then she stopped, staring at the giant rowers. Their broad oars were twice as long as those of the longboat.

'Look, the Giants, heads like barrels,' she said.

'But you've seen them before, Hedd. Same ones that come every year,' Einar replied.

'I know, it just feels different, being part of the voyage this year and not just watching, not just a little girl on the side-lines,' Hedda thought out loud.

'Yes, yes, you're such a grand twelve-year-old lady now,' smirked Einar, stretching out the words _grand_ , adding, 'Anyhow, we see these Giants every year, but I wonder what the other delegates will be like, what people are like on the other side of the mist.'

'I know,' said Hedda. 'Remember, now and then, at night, we saw those cloaked figures, all heights, sizes, the ones that rushed up from the harbour to the _Stor-Ting_.'

Einar nodded back. 'Only cloaks from a distance 'til now. Next few days we'll meet more shapes and sizes than a bag of sweets. I can't wait to see the Kelpies from Scottish Isles - they say they look like humans but with horses' heads.'

'Slow down there, Einar,' Hedda grinned and pretend-punched him on the nose. 'Some of that is just Far-Far's tales. He told me once that fairies left the coins for our lost teeth under our pillows. I peeked, yes, I did. Last time I looked fairies aren't over six-foot and dressed in tan leather.'

The path forking towards the boat was only a few steps away. The chance of a new beginning. Perhaps a few of the other islanders wouldn't loath her family as much. A fresh field of people without the rotten weeds and choking vines of home. Just as her heart was starting to lift, just before the new branch of the path, Hedda halted at the sight of that bent-over, bony figure in her clod-covered cape.

She was waving at Hedda, scooping her hand towards her to beckon.

'Go on,' said Einar. 'Far-Far would expect you to say farewell to one of our elders.'

Hedda frowned, eyes piercing towards Einar, adding, 'Easy for you to say.' Then with another kick of the ground, she went to accept her farewell.

'Just wanted to say have a good voyage,' said Old Anna, a crooked grin on her face.

'Well ... thank you, _Gamle_ Anna,' said Hedda, surprised by the simple well-meaning words.

'And,' said Old Anna.

Hedda crossed her arms in an instant.

'And,' the old one repeated, 'a little gift from me, the gift for you to know that your life could come to nothing.' 'What?' was all that Hedda could say.

'It's a gift,' Old Anna replied, 'to know you could live your life and die without any change to this world. Just a few prayers in a lonely church and you'd be gone. You see, little girl, there is nothing chosen about you, nothing ordained that you will come to anything in life.' Old Anna paused, her eyes disturbing, even without their glow. 'And you may just as likely, perhaps more than likely, turn bad,' she said. 'What you become, even with any little powers you have, stems from what you do.'

Hedda's minds were starting to hurt, a deep pain rising behind her forehead. She gave the quick bow needed to be released, saying, 'I hope you keep well, _Gamle_ Anna. I will see you next year.' And then the relief of returning to the path to the Dolphin Boat.

A few steps further, Hedda joined what seemed a pop-up shanty town on the harbour. The waterside had filled with villagers, crammed with piles of leather bags, broad-strapped trunks and simple pine crates. Some of the crates gave off clucking and barking sounds. The luggage formed tight alleys and for the next hour or so, looked like a line of tightly packed market stalls.

'So many people,' said Hedda, catching up with Einar, 'but come back to the harbour tonight and there would be no sign at all of this. Just the old stones again.'

'Well, what would you expect, a monument or something?' Einar changed his voice, something close to a supposed Western official. 'Here marks the spot of the grand leaving of Hedda Stein-Sun.'

Hedda jolted Einar softly with her elbow, looking around to see the leavers readying. About a dozen of their village would be boarding for the Holmgang, split between the young and old. Around each delegate was a hubbub, a little waterfall of well-wishers. Hedda watched presents being shoved in pockets and bags, together with pearl glass jars of pickled fish, large cubes of goat's cheese, sweet and dark brown, wrapped in grease paper and tied bundles of newly knitted socks and scarfs.

Tears and wishes were shared.

Fathers stood tall, telling their younger children how not to behave.

Other men were checking with their older parent delegates that they still remembered how to behave.

Several were being given tips of dos and definitely don'ts.

As the Stein-Suns arrived at the harbour, a gap opened around them as if they had the grey-skin disease, as if the villagers expected imaginary parts of their bodies to rot and drop.

'Just ignore them,' Einar tried to calm Hedda.

Hedda looked away from the crowds, up to the Giants, who stood broadstanced on the deck. They threw over three braided ropes, wide as wrists, that were looped and tied through blackened metal rings on the harbour floor.

Hedda helped tie loose knots in the ropes, looking up and down the side of the Dolphin Boat, looking for clues, perhaps a slit here or a latch there where some flipper or tail might appear.

She saw nothing dolphin-like about the boat at all.

No seal-grey fins.

No rounded dolphin nose.

The boat was far too sturdy to jump out of the water as people rumoured.

Hedda stepped closer to its side, kicked it with her heel, as if halfexpecting the vessel to bite back. Only the dark thud of her leather heel on tar-coated wood replied. She checked the deck, its traditional build with space for up to sixty, along simple rows of benches. The sides were waterboiled planks shaped into long curves, all bound in broad circles of brass banding, riveted together with hand-finished and dimpled bolts.

The four Giants were each the size of a three-storey clock tower. Hedda knew from the tales that they had once lived on the fog-covered central valleys of Gudbrandsdal, but now were boatmen, ever at sea. They wore thick, oak-brown shorts and matching V-neck, cotton t-shirts with the whale and mammoth arch emblem stamped above the left shirt pocket. The Giants had rowed this route for decades and knew its islands better than themselves.

Soon, the boat was secured and Hedda threw out her small hand as if to offer help to the towering Giants to shore. To Hedda, the Giants reflected a time before, a time when people from the protected islands must have been the norm. Even with them, a few modern touches had crept in, each of the Giants, wearing tailormade, fluorescent sweatbands on their wrists, some lime coloured, some bright blue, with matching headbands, wider than FarFar's belts.

The breathing tower next to Hedda introduced himself briefly as TungStein and started to pick up the bags and trunks, throwing them high in the air and onto the deck with clanks, clouds of dust and the sound of pearl glass breaking. Hedda looked quickly over to the row of crates that now started to bark and cluck more wildly. She raced over and sat on the middle crate, wrapping her hand tight around its pine planks, taking care not to be bitten on her fingers.

Tung-Stein moved to launch the crates onto the boat. He stopped just for a second, as if wondering whether to throw the little Viking girl with the grunting crate. He shook his head from side to side and moved on towards the leather baggage.

Far-Far was just a few steps down the harbourside. Hedda waved over to him, still grasping the side of the crate with her other hand. Far-Far squeezed past the heavy legs of Tung-Stein and sat on a crate next to Hedda.

'Little star,' he whispered, ' _vi skal_ get these crates on carefully ourselves.'

Far-Far was joined by an old friend from the village, Frode, an ancient wood _Nisse_ who stood only as high as Hedda's shoulder. The two old ones started to talk about going to the Holmgang together, after waiting for so many years. Far-Far laughed about old stories of childhood, but Hedda could still see Far-Far's eyes crease and fill with unease, like an animal being seized from its pen.

Far-Far replied to Frode, 'Agree, can't wait for the Holmgang challenges myself. Don't mind the risks involved, but ...' 'But what?' Frode asked.

'But how would others view me, Frode? How will they be about the time when I once had power?'

Hedda gulped hard and without thinking plugged her ears with her fingers as the conversation changed colour. She knew Frode was a good listener but a bad talker, mainly as Nisser tend to use awful, foul language.

Even on good days, a Nisse's language is worse than the deep-sea sailors. Frode's swearing was even worse when emotional. Worse still when he felt matters were unfair.

Just now, Frode was red-faced and aggrieved for Far-Far. Frode started to shake and began swearing like a waterfall under his breath, under his beard.

Far-Far would have to keep nudging Frode hard throughout the trip to calm down his language, especially with a boat half full of children.

• • •

The delegates started to bid final farewells, as if some local bylaw banning hugs had been suspended for the day. Soon, at least half of the delegates were on board and their numbers told all it was time to leave.

Geir, Lisa and Einar joined. Geir held his father and eldest daughter by the shoulders, sighing, 'Go on then. You get onboard. I've got no time for long goodbyes.' He pushed them both towards the side of the boat, adding, 'Never thought that I would lose both of you in the same year and I've not even gone there myself.'

Far-Far turned to his Viking son. ' _Kom_ here, _min_ little one. You've not lost us at _alle_ ,' he said. ' _Tenk_ , son, what might have happened. I might not have gone to the Holmgang, and at eighty years old you _kud har_ found me dead in a ditch any _morgen_ ... At least now there is a pretty fair _sjanse_ you got five more years of me, if I don't get killed on some mad antic on way.'

They broke with old ways and hugged before others. The massive men reached out to Hedda. She joined, her arms a quarter around their frames.

Far-Far shrugged, pushing away them both, and turned around to his grandson, Einar.

'Come, my boy Einar, we have got some adventure to take together now,' he said, wrapping his arms around the young boy. Far-Far bent his old knees and with a shallow groan lifted Einar from the ground in a bear hug.

Einar's head fell back, smiling.

Hedda looked over, delighted. Then her smile turned. She knew something had to be said. She moved close to Einar, like a senior representative of the family, and softly said, 'You know we are all proud of you, Einar. I was so sorry, sorry about the death of your father. I know my side of the family feel terrible, causing his death. My mamma wanted me to tell you.'

For a moment, a fold of a wave, Einar looked as if he might run, but he was made from warmer embers and darkness passed. He smiled back. The three Stein-Sun delegates turned and stepped onto the Dolphin Boat.

Ten minutes later, the boat and its crew and students, piles of leatherbound bags and squawking crates, left for the trip ahead.

# Chapter 13

### Voyage

Half a day passed and the Dolphin Boat had docked at four villages, picking up young and old at each rough-stoned harbour, before rowing away from the mounded islands of Sørlandet. The rowers pushed on, a steady wall of fog on each side as the sea turned and bulged dark grey, muscled. The Dolphin Boat twisted in the heavy waves, first from side to side, then from aft to prow in a swaying circle. The waves pushed and rocked like thugs against the boat and started to tip over the sides uninvited, water draining out in white streams from small side holes. The planked floor of the boat was soon wet and seaweed covered. Several of the delegates rushed to the back of the boats, green-faced, cupping their hands over their mouths and then hanging their heads over the sides like living corpses.

Hedda sat, holding tight onto a bench toward the front of the boat, knuckles wrapped around the wood beneath her, lifted off the seat with the biggest waves, hanging on, then forced back down hard, her stomach always a second behind.

She was alone on the bench, Far-Far and Einar sitting several rows behind, trying to calm the greenest passengers.

'There goes it being such a fun trip,' Hedda whispered to herself.

_Don't worry_ , replied Marit's shrill voice in Hedda's mind, _the boat is strong, will carve through these waves._

'Suppose so, Marit,' Hedda mind-said. 'Guess it has to calm down soon.'

But then there was a new jolt from behind, hard metallic. She held her head in pain. Hedda could feel a gash and a warm, thick trickle down the back of her head. She turned to see that sneering boy in his black and silver striped top. He stood there holding his dagger, its hilt smeared dark purple. Vegard bunched forward, together with several of the new delegates, snarling with dirty teeth and bleeding gums.

'No one to save you now, you little Skum-princess,' Vegard spat out.

Hedda had little to say. She was bent over, her palm pushed against her throbbing head. Vegard watched her pain, arching over her. He lifted his foot high, the white shells on his boot like glaring teeth, and kicked down hard.

Hedda's head jolted back and she fell to the ground, panting.

Vegard moved closer, hovering over her like a lost spirit, before drawing his leg back as if ready to launch a ball across field. He struck out hard, his boot slamming into Hedda's stomach.

Hedda struggled for breath as the eager crowd jeered, 'Finish her off!' and, 'Go on! Kick her again!'

Slowly, Hedda pushed herself from the floor, resting on her knees, holding against the pain in her side.

'Stop it, Vee! You don't have to show off to your new little friends.'

Vegard started shaking, fists clenched, as if struck by lightning, before shouting out, 'You will never call me Vee anymore. I am no small child now and anyhow, these are not my little friends.'

The rotten-smelling crowd around Vegard frowned, looked confused and started to turn towards him, fists hardened.

Vegard pleaded to them. 'No, no! What I mean of course is that ...' and,

'Of course you are my friends; it's just you are not that little.'

Vegard faced one of the boys, who was twice as wide as Einar with a head like a greased nut.

'Now listen here, Vegard. Are you saying I am-?' said the boy.

'No, No, Bredberg, far from it,' Vegard interrupted.

The squabble gave a small window for Hedda to stand, still clenching her stomach. She seemed to cower past Vegard, bent over.

'Please do not hurt me, Vegard,' she said like a servant, walking past the crowd back towards her family, all still swaying in the surging sea.

Just as Hedda passed Vegard, there was a strong swell, shaking the ship. Hedda tumbled towards him. Her raised elbow dug hard into Vegard's ribs until there was a dull crack. Vegard fell to the ground, smacking his lip against a bench as he fell, blood dripping down his chin.

'So sorry, Ve- I mean, sorry, Vegard,' said Hedda, smiling softly. 'I must have lost my footing.' Hedda balanced her way to the aft of the boat.

Looking back, she saw Bredberg kick Vegard as he lay on the floor.

Einar was waiting with a large grey plaid. He wrapped it around Hedda's shoulders, lamb soft. Hedda slumped down hard on the bench next to him.

'I saw it all, I did, Hedda,' he urged. 'Just couldn't get to you in time to try to save you.'

'Don't worry. I know you are always there for me,' said Hedda.

'Well, guess you did pretty well by yourself, in the end,' Einar thought out loud.

Before speaking again, Einar looked around like a lighthouse, making sure no one was too near, and that Far-Far was away, talking with Frode.

'Hedda, listen, there is something I want to tell you,' said Einar.

'What, some new recipe for sponge?' said Hedda in the tone of someone trying to cover a stained cloth with good humour.

'You see, I know something,' said Einar. 'I think I know something from the forest.'

Hedda shoulder's narrowed, tight to her neck. She could never let her animals suffer even due to the most good-natured loose tongues.

'What do you have to say?' said Hedda.

'I know why Vegard hates you. It's not just because you're from a disgraced family,' replied Einar.

Hedda looked at him, eyes sharpened.

'Well,' he added, 'Vegard hates you because of your powers.' At this point, Hedda was about to grab Einar's jaw.

'Stay quiet, Einar,' she snapped back. 'Any dumb talk of powers could shorten our lives quicker than napkins on a fire.'

Einar whispered, 'I know why you hide in the forest at the end of day... and why you then run to lock yourself back with your family. I've seen you flee the woods when dusk ends.'

'Hush ... right ... now,' said Hedda.

'I've seen you sit with the dusk animals, and I've hidden behind the oaks, seen your powers fade in the dark,' said Einar. 'Later, Vegard makes for the forest. He speaks with the evening, commanding the wolves ... But Vegard's powers last just a short time. He soon runs from the forest and has no power when it is truly night. I guess there must be another clan with night powers. I am sure Vegard wants your powers too.'

Hedda was about to injure Einar, to snap his flow, but instead their whispers were brought to an end by one of the Giants calling out.

'Ashore! All hands, ashore! We are staying here at Hulderak this evening. Come help us tie up the boat.'

# Chapter 14

### New Islands

The Hulderak harbourside differed neatly from Crop-Skul and from all Viking wharfs. As the boat pulled in there were no rough cut flagstones, no uneven base of jagged A-frame logs. The harbour edge was finely trimmed with cool-blue slate-cap stones, rounded and gently sanded.

As the Dolphin Boat pulled into dock, Hedda let her palm drag against the slate, soft as milk, the tight joints filled with lime, evenly spaced, a regular rhythm under her fingers. The water beneath was clear as a drinking glass, schools of mackerel, military striped, swimming in near regimental lines, as if respecting the order of the village around them.

Hedda looked up to see the village of trim clapperboard houses, gleaming white, some with dark-green window frames, some blue. Not a tuft of grass could be seen in the roofs that were gloss tiled like shiny black glass, marshalled and polite. The roses formed perfect squares of burgundy and sunset yellow in front of each house as if drawn by a young child with a rule. Sat in each square were neatly mown lawns, bright deep green divided by rounded paving stones, connecting each house up like looping, white cords.

'Wow! Just look ...' was all Hedda could say, turning to Tung-Stein. 'It's so, it's so.'

'Pretty,' Tung-Stein finished for her.

'I was just about to say that,' replied Hedda.

'Everybody does, even those who risk their lives here,' said Tung-Stein.

'It's not a word I get to use often back home,' Hedda sighed.

Tung-Stein turned his back to her, tightening the ropes, and moved to check provisions. Then from the village gate, came a neat flock of men and women walking towards the boat along the harbourside. They were armswide, smiling, holding baskets of warm buns and summer fruits, and carafes of water steeped in elderflower leaves.

At the front of the party stood a man perhaps in his forties, his red, puffy face camouflaging his fine features underneath. Over his fitted, black-green, long coat he wore a heavy gold chain, a finger wide, cast in the shape of strand flowers and acorns.

'Welcome! Welcome! Welcome to our simple home of Hulderak.

Greetings from your mayor. Well, I mean of course, me. Greetings from Hakon Søte-mund.'

As he spoke, the delegates bundled from the boat to form a loose line and were greeted with daisy buttonholes and jugs of the honeyed elderflower water. Einar spotted one pretty girl with a basket of warm scones, layered with buttered cream and damson jam. He nodded clumsily to the girl and bit three quarters of the scone, adding within a few eager chews, 'Simply divine.'

As the tired and dirty, shabby delegates moved toward their welcoming party, the Mayor warmly hugged their shoulders and then patted them backwards toward the larger crowd, as if greeting lost goats back to a small holding.

'Yes,' he added, 'we have run warm lavender baths for everyone. And dammed half of the river for the Giants. Yes, all can bathe. Come enjoy and then do rinse by the mineral waterfalls. Here, there is fruit and cake for all our Viking guests. Welcome again. Tonight we have the maypole dance for all and a feast of our finest beef, dripping and baked puddings.'

Hedda stayed back, pretending to have trouble tying the rope ashore.

Marit's metal words came: _Take your time. You can see the picture better if you give it some distance. You know your mamma always told you to hate the Huldra, so sweet and pretty, not what real girls should be._

Hedda continued to labour, slipping her knots and dropping the rope several times into the sea. All around seemed to her normal, normal in a beautiful, abundant way. The only cloud she could see was when Far-Far neared the front of the queue. Both he and Hakon greeted each other with what looked like warmth, but both had their other hands resting on their daggers.

Hedda could wait no more; she was hungry and tired and anyhow, one night with the Huldra was not going to change her. As she walked closer to join the crowd it was clear that all the men wore the finest-cut long coats and breeches with tight, deep-coloured waistcoats, silver buttoned with snowwhite pierced, cotton ruffs topping their shirts. To Hedda it seemed there must be some sort of transforming curse as all the men under around thirty looked lean and thoughtful whilst all the older men were rounded, red-faced and smiling.

Hedda was welcomed by one of the girls, about her age, with hair the colour of baled straw. The girl held out a glass of the drink.

'Come, let me help you find somewhere to change for your baths. Good to meet you. I am Erika,' the girl said, her accent had a marked sway, rising and falling, but with no hard edges.

'I am not thirsty and can find my own way, and my name is Hedda and don't even try to shorten it,' Hedda snapped back, as if speaking to a mangy dog.

'Come, it's lovely and sweet,' Erika added, smiling from her mouth and eyes.

Hedda snatched at the glass and took a large, ugly gulp of the elderflower. It was like drinking cooled gold, rich and giving, as if one taste could wipe away old scars.

'That is, that is delicious, Erika. Never tasted something so,' said Hedda, as if the drink were taking some gentle hold.

'Here, Hedda, have some more. You've had a long day,' said Erika.

Hedda gulped again and as she did she saw her jagged leather and hide clothes reflected in the glass's bottom, and thought she must look harsh and rough cornered to the dainty girls around. Erika and the other Huldra wore fine, traditional national dress with long, black, heavy woollen skirts, matt black, soft like dandelion heads, with black-satin trim. They wore fitted, berry red, felted waistcoats over paper crisp, white cotton shirts crocheted with flowers and stars. On their bodices were heart-shaped panels, decorated with small jewels, Asian pearls and golden thread. The decoration was in the shape of crosses and zigzags, and shone with a gentle glow.

Hedda joined Erika towards the village and knew she must be polite, and started to welcome the greetings given, enjoying fresh cherry buns dipped in egg-white icing.

The Huldra were fine featured, many with blonde hair rolling over their shoulders, others deep auburn, none mud-brown like Hedda's full mop.

Their number were soon at the edge of the village, by the white, wooden, knee-high fences, chevron topped. As a group, the Huldra laughed, giggled and skipped homebound. Hedda started to walk in time with the girls, lifting her heels quickly with a bounce, then came the shrill mind-voice.

Be careful ... you must remember these are Huldra. Not truly human at all.

'Sssh, Marit! Just for tonight can't you just leave me be?' Hedda mindspoke back.

_Fine ... be it all at your own risk, or should I say Einar's_ , replied Marit.

Hedda rounded one of the picket fences with Erika, her arm linked with her at the elbow, breathing in and out in time together, despite the years of breeding that meant Hedda should despise this fancy-dressed girl. They came to a wider fenced area and a building, two Giants high.

'It's beautiful for weddings and christenings,' said Erika. 'Look at the mini copper-capped towers around the main spire. Aren't they charming?'

'And all so fresh and white, Erika,' said Hedda. 'Back home, ours are all tarred brown, full of dragon carvings circling the old crosses.'

'I would love to travel once and see one of yours, too,' Erika replied. 'What do you call them again, stave _kirker_? With all those tiled layers of hanging roofs like a tier cake.'

Hedda went quiet and in a blink, Erika felt wounded over her visitor's red face.

'Sorry, no, yes, you must of course use the English name for them, now, don't you. Yes, stave churches, beautiful,' Erika added.

Hedda looked at Erika with nothing to add. 'Anyhow,' she said, 'let's visit and see. You have so much land around your church here, but back home we build ours tight to the village without any fields.'

As Hedda rested her hand on the latch to open the Z-framed, white gate, she noticed Erika swallow up air slowly.

'Stop!' said Erika, suddenly deep-voiced, placing her hand over the loop of the latch, wrapping her fingers tightly. 'We have such little time, yes, little time. Let's get changed and go for that swim before dinner.'

For a moment, Hedda thought of fresh rivers and dance, but then she dug her nails into the flesh of Erika's hand as the metallic voice came to her from deep.

They lie. Not human. They cheat you.

Erika pulled back her arm as if bitten by a snake. Hedda stared hard, flipped the gate latch and walked in, followed close behind by her host.

The field around the church was also covered in flowers, but here they were in small groups in a grid, lines of flowers dotted every four feet, and each line in a row about seven feet from the next.

'Another one of your neat patterns here,' said Hedda.

'Well, yes.' Erika paused. 'We like to be tidy.'

'But why the large stones next to each flower? Are they markers for the types of plant?' Hedda asked.

Erika pulled back slightly. 'Well, well, I suppose they are markers. You see, one difference is that here we have no burning _baal_ ... when people die. Not like you Vikings. I mean we have no pyres, no burning ceremony on death.'

'But what do you do with the bodies? Surely not leave them out in the forest?' Hedda probed.

'No, of course not,' said Erika.

As Hedda spoke, she moved to one of the closest stones. They were all knee-high and nearly two feet wide, dappled granite covered in moss and age spots.

Hedda's skin was hurting. Halfway on some path to an answer, she dug her fingernails in again, this time into the damp moss on the stone, and pulled a broad strip of the wet, green cover back. There on the stone, chiselled in deep, read the words:

Olav Gulstone ... Much loved ... 16 years old

Hedda turned around, early dawn on her face.

'No pyres, but won't he be, won't he be so cold, so lost down there?'

'It's just what we have always done. It just doesn't seem that odd to us.

Come, let's get ready for that swim,' urged Erika.

'No, I want to see more of them,' Hedda made clear.

With that, Erika dashed for Hedda, wrapped her arms tight around Hedda's elbow and stamped her heels, making a stubborn triangle.

Hedda looked at Erika as if they were on some old battlefield and in a moment raised her dagger with enough speed and height that Erika quickly released and moved several steps back, her legs pressing hard against the wooden gate.

Hedda moved from stone to stone. Some were newer with the engravings clear to read, others needed scraping back with her blade. As Hedda stepped between the graves, she read out from each:

Johan Silverson ... Missed forever ... 17 years

Arne Michels ... Lost to love ... 16 years

Peter Engelson ... Loved by all ... 14 years

Hedda turned to Erika. A vein in Hedda's eye had forced broken, bright orange in the one corner.

'Where are the dead women? These are all young men,' she asked, her hand hovering over her dagger.

'There are some over there,' Erika said. 'You have to just look around.'

Hedda looked again, counting the stones around her. Perhaps one in ten were women.

Amelia Veaversen ... Happy to pass ... 84 years

Erika Elmstock ... A long journey ... 76 years

Hedda looked back at Erika, speaking short. 'Go, Erika, back to your home - I will find my way. I want to see the church for myself.' Another click of a latch and Erika was gone.

The oak door to the church was a body-width open, the white walls of the outer hall forming a screen for the candlelit shadows inside. One shadow was moving, a dark head and shoulders slowly rising and ebbing. She guessed there might be some crisp cotton and black velvet priest inside, perhaps preparing for one of their cold entombing ceremonies. She crept towards the light falling from the door, letting the soft leather heels of her boots pad, near silent. She soon reached the doorframe and peered in. There was no cotton or frills. Instead, there was just one figure in the room, in old tan leather, six-feet-eight, in Viking armour that she had known longer than she knew herself. He was leaning against the stone wall, wiping his eyes and cheeks dry with an old cloth. The wall was covered in plaques, signs and carved names in groups. She could see that the plaque closest to Far-Far had at least five names on it. She couldn't make them all out in the half shadows, but saw that each family name started _Skum_.

Suddenly, Hedda felt as if she were not alone; part of her wanted to go into the church light and greet her elders. But she was shivering, scared to be surrounded by so many bodies. She ran for the centre of the village.

# Chapter 15

### Deeper in the Village

Hedda was running lung-blood hard towards the largest group of homes where she had seen Einar disappear. She ran as if in full battle, dagger held high in front of her eyes. She was growling under her breath like StorBjorn. Her other arm was bent at the elbow in front of her chest to form a narrow shield. She sprinted past rows of well-tended white cottages, sunset-orange roses creeping around their porches, neat allotments of fronded carrot tops and purple sweet peas, waddling iridescent green-headed ducks with their chocolate partners.

'This is the most terrible place I have ever been in my life, Marit!' Hedda shouted inside her mind.

_Well, now you want to speak to me, do you?_ laughed Marit. _I told you these are Huldra, not girls. You should check their backs when they swim._

There's a tale there to tell ...

'I don't care about that,' mind-said Hedda. 'It's the young men and boys ... in the churchyard. What happens to them? Are there Trolls at night that come from the forest, drag them into the woods to be eaten?'

_No need for Trolls,_ Marit replied. _You see, the Huldra once married will be calm and loving, but before that, they have something more than a normal temper, and if I were a boy I would not want to be left alone._

Hedda's rushed around the corner of a copper turreted villa, seeing the same blue glow under its door as back home. She saw a clearing in the centre of the houses. Not a place of rough tumbled ice-age stones and heather, but a lake-flat, trimmed lawn in a broad circle. To one side was a kidney shaped pond with ducks and plump black and white geese bobbing between the pastel-water lilies.

Groups of the villagers were playing a stick and ball game on the green, the stick formed from a small three-legged stool, its seat the head. One of the leather waistcoated boys held a silver and ivory accordion on his chest, playing a jig, bouncing along with the music. He stood together with two other lads on fiddles, moving their bows at pace and in time. Groups of young Huldra were dancing in looping figures of eight, hooking elbow to elbow with their visitors and spinning quickly. All the dancers were laughing, the girls giggling with the pace of movement.

Hedda desperately looked around for her Einar, dagger still held high. 'Where is he?' she thought. 'Is he safe?' Hedda's head spun around; so many people here, all her thoughts mixed, she could not lose him. Then she sighed out hard, seeing Einar lying on a broad bench, tapping his feet to the music. His head was resting on the soft, black cotton of a pretty Huldra's lap. She was feeding him blueberry sweetbread, layered with cream and bright redcurrants.

Hedda gasped again for air and raced across the village green. She dug her heels in to stop right before Einar and halted quickly less than a foot from the bench, the point of her dagger pointing right at the Huldra's nose.

'Einar!' she screamed. 'We have to go now. Quick! Back to the boat.'

'Hedd, what are you doing?' Einar sat up quickly 'Have you had too much sun? Can I help you at all? What's wrong?'

'Look around you, Einar. This place - it's evil. It's dangerous. We have to go.'

Einar moved his head from side to side like a sea lantern, slowly, as if trying to buy Hedda time. His gaze first pointed to the cream-coloured, open marquee covered in coloured flags of all islands, shading tables of pastries and drink. Then he looked over towards the pastel playground where younger children were speeding down slides and rocking in loops in the swings, legs sky high.

'Look around you,' he said. 'This place is just perfect. I could see myself staying here. The girls said I could. I can stay as long as I want. Come, put that dagger down now; it's nearly time to swim.'

A ring of locals and visitors, like crumbs on the rim of a cake tin, hardened around Hedda. Some had their hands raised before them, palms showing. Others were slightly bowed down as if some slingshot were to be cast at them. Slowly, the rim of the ring was starting to shrink, closing in on the Viking filling inside.

Hedda knew she would have only seconds before being covered by the mass around her.

'I need to protect him,' Hedda mind-pleaded to Marit. 'One stab in this Huldra's eye and then run for the boat. We can make it back.'

_How noble. Yes, lots of dead young nobles,_ sneered Marit. _What did the young dead achieve? Did they win a war or save a clan? Let him waste here, let him die. Pull your dagger back._

'But I can't leave him,' Hedda begged.

Perhaps he doesn't want to go, or perhaps he will be on the boat to the Holmgang tomorrow. You never know what words mean until you see the deeds.

Hedda jolted her head back, stamping down hard on the grass to help come back to the world around her.

The ring had suddenly frozen. Hedda could hear some of the crowd murmur, 'Did you see her eyes? They turned all snow white, no colour at all.'

And others, 'Was she chanting? Did you hear chanting?'

A few more grains of a second passed, time ran slow, nobody knowing what would happen next. Hedda's dagger was still raised for attack. She knew the numbers around her could pin her to the ground, even if at a cost.

One of the figures stepped forward. It was Erika, smiling and holding a tray of elderflower water and crystal glasses.

'Come, Hedda, it's been a long voyage for you already, one many here have never taken. I would also be a bit out of sorts myself and would always want to protect my brothers and sisters in a strange land,' Erika said, looking at the crowd around them as if seeking nods.

Hedda could not match Erika's chosen words and could only reply, 'I am thirsty, yes, tired.' She said it like a long-term patient, welcoming respite, and as she replaced her dagger, the ring of people around her loosened. A few of the villagers clapped their hands and tapped each other on shoulders as if celebrating a winning horse.

Hedda took the drink gladly and its floral honey was taken in in long swigs. The gilden drink seemed to rinse Hedda of pains, to wash away some darkness.

'Better?' said Erika in a half question.

'A little. I am sorry, all, I just ...' said Hedda.

'No need to think too much,' said Erika. 'Einar is right; it's time to bathe.

Come, Hedda, come all. Let's get ready for our evening swim.'

# Chapter 16

### Swimming

Erika took Hedda's hand and soon they were past the village green and at the edge of the forest. The fast tumble of water from the stream and falls ahead already calling out. The ferns and birch waited for her like old friends, as if they had travelled from Hedda's home to help cast a veil of dusk for her. There were fewer oaks here; instead, soft green clouds of large elms governed the deeper forest, their egg-shaped leaves fluttering in in the breeze.

Hedda's shoulders loosened again, the muscles in her arms and hands letting go. Her hand was still resting in Erika's and the young Huldra seemed to notice the change in pulse.

'I guess it's a bit more like home here, in the trees, all a bit more natural,' said Erika.

'Yes, it's like home,' replied Hedda, 'but what do we do for swimming?

Do we just all jump in together with the boys?'

'No need to worry,' Erika smiled with a wink. 'Look we have changing rooms and I have arranged swimming clothes for you.'

Hedda sighed out. She had been used to swimming with the boys back at Crop-Skul, but now twelve and in this polite land, some form of bathing clothes would be welcome.

The rooms were private, linked tubes of wood rising from the ground, each the size for one person, their arching walls made from curved planks of cedarwood staked in the soil, each plank held together with tight joints like fish tails.

Hedda looked down at the slatted bench in the room, lit from the forest above. She lifted the bathing costume, heavy, more fabric than she was expecting. It was a thick linen one-piece, covering all the way to the neck with soft frills. She left her tunic and dirt-caked leggings behind for the long linen suit with buttoned arms at the wrist. She leaned down and tied the bows at the end of her balloon leggings, at the ankle.

Marit chuckled. _More covered up than if you had jumped in in your shorts and tunic. I wonder why._

Hedda ignored her and was soon tugged out of her changing room by Erika. All the girls were dressed the same as her. The boys wore long shorts, broadly striped in different mixes of yellows and blues and reds.

'Right, jumping straight in is best,' challenged Erika with a glint.

They ran as a group, picking up speed together across the forest path and towards the rumble of water ahead. Just before jumping, Hedda saw the pool was nine or ten feet below. Erika shouted out, 'Come on, all! Let's leap!'

Several dozen girls and boys launched off, tumbling into the water like paper-wrapped lemon sherbets and mixed bon bons shaken out of an invisible sweet jar.

Hedda tensed as she plunged into the fresh, cool deep. Here at least the water was a few weeks warmer than the sea. Underwater, she looked to see the children dive and twist, circled in a million bubbles like seals playing and chasing miniature fish. She kicked downwards and soon her head was above water. Her ears drained to shrieking and laughing. The infused minerals and sweet lavender soaked her bones, slowly cleansing away grime. Hedda stayed a few feet back as the other children splashed and play pushed, not joining in. She heard deep thuds, splashes every few seconds from across the water on the other side of a raised bank. She swam then pulled herself up the bank to see a small rowboat fly past her face in the air.

The boat was tossed and hurled in the air, from side to side like a halfoval ball. Its bow crashed again into the water of a wide-dammed lake, falling at the knees of one of the four Giants sitting there before it was picked up and thrown again for a catch. The lilac waters of the lake washed against the Giants' heavy bodies, cleansing deep creases and scars. At the lower end of the lake the water flowed into wooden troughs that drained through small groves, leaving trenches of newly rinsed dirt.

Hedda saw two smocked villagers come from the side of the lake, with heavy boots, holding buckets, brass trimmed. They stooped and dredged the buckets of dirt, groaning to pick them up before lumbering to a waterside allotment of vegetables and sweet peas. They tipped the soil on a row of tomato plants, each taller than themselves and propped up with canes to support the apple-sized fruit.

Hunger and chill invited the children out and they grouped back to the wooden changing rooms. Crisp white towels lay waiting with combs and small mirrors. Hedda's tunic and shorts had been washed, still warm as if force-dried on an iron plate. The cowhide was now sharp white and black and her turquoise and yellow leggings soft and bright.

Hedda dressed and Erika knocked and re-joined her, back in her red and black traditional dress. She helped Hedda brush her hair and took time to do so. In Hedda's Viking village there would be no time or understanding for doing more than just tying her hair in a quick knot. She enjoyed the feel of the brush, slowly turning her hair gloss.

'You have lovely hair. Looks like the summer sun has given a blonde fringe,' said Erika.

Hedda scowled, finding it hard to thank anyone for preening.

Erika did not react to the scowl. She straightened Hedda's tunic, tightened the belt and nodded affirmatively, like a sergeant preparing a soldier for parade.

'Come,' she said, 'time to dance.'

# Chapter 17

### Dance

Hedda joined the loud, gurging throng of people on the village green.

Einar was dancing with the same blueberry sweetbread girl.

Vegard stood under the marquee, spitting and scowling.

The evening was warm for early autumn, but the long cornflower nights had now passed. Tonight was dark with no moonlight. Hedda leaned back to see the welcome field of silver and amber stars patterned across the sky.

Eagles, swan and warriors.

She watched the racing stars' yearly tribute to Baldur. Every twenty breaths or so a burning white light trailed across the dark, greeting his floating rune.

The village green was lit by small crystal candle lamps coloured sapphire, cherry and gold. There were more lights than people, flickering, hanging from fine wires in trees, placed in groups in cottage windows and warming marquees as if glowing lilies had been taken from the pond.

The maypole dance filled with turning pace and laughter, like some giant, swaying octopus perched on the tall middle pole, spinning all around.

A young, local, round-faced boy at the end of one of the dancing chains of youngsters reached his hand out for Hedda, ready to grasp hers. Hedda pulled back.

_Look at the broader scene_ , Marit told her.

At first, Hedda only saw the music playing, large roast joints being carved and forked onto deep plates of gravy, the young spinning dance and play. But then she saw in the dark what seemed like a set of new towers between the village green and the forest. She looked around again to see that it was the four Giants from the boat, stood frost-still save for their eyes slowly scanning, surveying like the _Aesir_ at Asgaards gate's. She looked again to see that there were six in total holding guard with Far-Far and Frode each taking a corner to form a protecting hex. Frode stood chest raised, his sword held upright in the grass before him. For that moment, Hedda felt his four-foot frame seemed as tall as the largest of the Giants.

Hedda lowered her head, thinking of her teachings from back home. _Plikt be- før play_ , Far-Far would say to her by the fire. She thought of all those stories of obligation, of the importance of clan. Her head fell even further, her chin nearly on her neck as she marched to her grandfather, the joy of the last few hours left untended behind in the trimmed grass.

'Tell me, Far-Far, where am I to stand?' she said. 'I can guard the areas back to the stream if that gives the best protection.'

Far-Far's sentry stance broke. ' _Søte Stjerne_ min, not to worry her. _Vi kan_ hold control her. _Gaa og_ dance, eat,' he said warmly.

'Please don't mock me. I can fight just as hard as any and have sharp eyes, sharper than most,' replied Hedda.

' _Ja, jeg_ know, _jeg_ know, _min lille_. You fight _vell_ , and you see sharp, _spesielt_ at dusk..." Far-Far replied.

There was a pause, a gap Hedda wanted to fill but could think of no words. Far-Far helped her.

' _Min barn_ , you _skulle dans_ , enjoy. _Der skal_ always be _nye_ fights to defend, _nye kriger_. I have always felt that _vi skal_ need your fight, perhaps more than all know. But perh'ps that's _jest en_ proud Far-Far's words. But now _du_ must allow time to play, or life is just darkness.'

'Well, but, well,' said Hedda, uncertain. 'I can stay. I am ready ...' Hedda spoke whilst looking over to see the dancing and lights, the smell of roast beef a thick tide on the melody of the accordion.

'Go, _min lille_.' Far-Far spoke with a kind order.

Hedda let loose a little smile, gave an over-elaborate nod, like a toy solider to an old stuffed bear, and ran to the dance.

Hedda felt the next few hours had been simmered down and bottled in a second, running past her. The maypole's long, braided topes, twisting from its top, were each covered in coloured pennants and held taut by eight or nine youngsters linked arm in arm, looping in a circle. The boy at the end of one of the chains stretched out again and caught Hedda by the elbow, linked like a boat chain. Hedda, at the furthest end of the chain, moved the fastest. Every few seconds the speed lifted her from the ground and she felt like a sparrow fluttering over a pond, her stomach launching sideways. She laughed out loud and pulled a pin from her hair, her locks falling loose like a comet's tail.

Three songs later and the dancers peeled off in sweet-pea rows, replaced by a new group as the music picked up once more. The boy still holding her elbow gave Hedda a long look and a quick peck on the cheek before running off into the crowd. Hedda held her palm against the slightly moist circle on her cheekbone, which warmed and went. She shook her head and giggled, running off to the marquee for helpings of sweet beef dripping and puddings.

Laughter and half-true boasting filled the marquee.

Hedda was three spoons though her blueberry pie.

When the scream came.

Hedda dropped her bowl.

A chorus of gasps.

Then daggers drawn, staring silence.

'Quick a fight! Blood! Blood! Everywhere!' came the scream, its unharboured terror cleaving the room.

'Dressings, bandages, now!' came another shout.

Hakon Søte-mund was first out of the tent. The others rushed to leave, but a tight row of the elder Hulderak men stood to block the way, their enamelled knives now drawn, no longer signs of ceremony.

The rush and push of the crowd was trapping itself.

Hedda stood back.

She moved to the far corner away from the others. She grabbed her dagger and slit the post knots of the cotton walls. She ran towards the cottage on the village green where Søte-mund and Far-Far were arguing in a small group. 'You promised me, Søte-mund,' Far-Far raged.

'We tried, took steps. Quick, let's clean before the others come,' Søtemund pleaded.

Hedda was now just a few feet from them. She shuddered at the cottage's new evil decoration. It's deep-blue door was pulled from its frame, gaping from its heavy iron hinges. Long twists of ripped timber lay across the front steps and path. The ripped wood was soaking up blood, deep pools of blood. The painted white, planked cottage was splattered with red rows of bloodied finger marks dragged from head height to the floor, as if some struggling victims had reached out for grip or saviour on their forced way to the ground. The streaks on the white walls were still dripping down the wood, like crimson tears.

Hedda could see no bodies now. None of the arguing crowd outside the cottage were fight-stained.

She needed to find some sense, a pattern. She followed the line of the drag marks, the broken rose bushes, deep sets of grooves in the plush grass, all leading to the broken doorway of the cottage. Scraped lines of blood to its hearth. For a second, Hedda just stood there, loose jawed and gasping. Marit then jolted her from inside.

_Sometimes being small leads to great things_ , came the tin voice.

The broken space in the fence, the gap between the severed roses would be big enough for her. She weaved forward at speed, side-stepping the blood pools along the path and through the doorway into the dark of the cottage.

Screams of 'Get that girl!' chased her.

She would only have a moment in that floral wall-patterned front room; she knew she would be seized, thrown back out onto the green.

But she needed to find out.

Two boys, blood covered, were lying on the sofa in the room groaning in harsh pain. The daffodil-patterned cushions were soaking up poppy red. The boys' deep-gashed, butcher-block wounds were being bound in thick, white linen bandages by Erika and two other Huldra girls.

'You must go!' Erika demanded, nurse busy, her arms covered in blood to her elbows, her white blouse spotted red all the way to the collar.

A rough hand grabbed Hedda's mouth from behind. Just before she was dragged outside, she saw the feet and legs of a boy's body hidden behind a sofa.

He wasn't moving.

• • •

The next morning, Hedda woke with a dazed head as if some ground seed had been added to her last drink. She joined the line of other delegates, dragging her bags back to the neat harbourside. She was not certain of what she had seen or what she should say.

The Dolphin Boat slowly filled, surrounded by a low rumble of farewells and rumour. Even with the stain of the fight, many of the departing delegates shared smiles and wiped away tears as if they had known the Huldra all their lives and were being separated by some sour tragedy.

Hedda found a space on the bench on the boat and sat down, then was tapped on the shoulder from the bench behind and heard the voice that had demanded she leave the cottage.

'I have a bit of elderflower water for the journey,' said Erika, 'if you would like to share some.'

Hedda looked back to see the Huldra, knowing that Erika would be smiling softly. She was in a new, crisp, white shirt as if freshly baptised.

From behind Hedda's other shoulder came Einar's voice.

'Come join us! Isn't it great that three of the young Huldra are coming to the Holmgang with us. Should be fun.'

Erika saw Einar glowing like a coastal pyre, sat tight between Erika and another of the red-felted Huldra. A gleeful puppy in a new cotton bed.

Hedda was about to pull Einar away by the ear when she saw Tung-Stein talking in whispers to Hakon Søte-mund behind piles of lobster pot cages on the harbourside.

'Got to get something, left behind,' she said to Einar, followed by a few fast steps back onto the harbour. She pretended to pick up some small, lost trinket from the other side of the pots and was just close enough to hear Tung-Stein's and the Mayor's whispers. They spoke about something, about someone lost.

'Well, it's not all that bad, in the big picture, Tung-Stein,' Søte-mund tried to persuade, like a farmer covering for a poor crop. 'Well, I mean compared to other years, when we lost half a dozen,' he added.

'How injured is he? Are you sure he will live?' Tung-Stein asked bluntly.

'Yes, the young Viking boy Eivind will recover. Some deep stiches were needed, but if you return by Christmas I am sure he will be able to join the others at the Holmgang,' Søte-mund answered.

'You will make sure he is safe?' asked Tung-Stein.

'Of course, on my honour,' Søte-mund replied.

'The other two boys, they have promised to hold their tongues?' TungStein probed.

'Yes,' Søte-mund confirmed. 'We have shown them, explained. They have signed the Acorn pact.'

Tung-Stein looked up and down Søte-mund's puffed body. The pause was allowed to speak for itself.

'I suppose,' added Tung-Stein, 'I suppose there is no other option, with the boy unable to travel as he is now.'

'Well, yes, Tung-Stein,' Søte-mund agreed.

'I require one more promise from you, Mayor,' Tung-Stein asked.

'Anything, just say,' Søte-mund added, as if a too eager to please servant.

'You must make sure,' said Tung-Stein, 'that when we come for him, make sure that he still wants to come, that he doesn't forget his injury.'

Søte-mund's face struggled, 'but what if he wants to stay?'

'You must make sure he does not want to stay,' said Tung-Stein.

Søte-mund looked around to the Huldra behind him and touched his forehead in a downward movement, shrugging his shoulders as if something must be forsaken. 'Yes,' he said to Tung-Stein, 'I suppose, yes of course, I promise my name on it.'

Tung-Stein and the remaining delegate then joined the boat and it pushed slowly back to sea.

# Chapter 18

### Feltspar

Hedda's arm was elbow-deep in her rucksack, the sway of the boat shifting the bag, making it harder to find lunch. She wriggled her fingers through a gap in the greased paper to feel the sharp edge of the food inside.

'Found it, Far-Far,' she said happily. 'I've got the flatbread here.' Hedda pulled out the greased paper and opened the sides to show the dry, flaked bread in front of her.

' _Fantastisk_ , _min barn a barn_ , _jeg_ have the _lutefisk_. I used the best cod _og gravet_ it down in the earth for three months to steep,' Far-Far said, bristling, chest puffed out.

'Lovely, I hope you used the juniper sour water wash?' Hedda asked.

Far-Far nodded, humming a light tune with an expectant smile. He dug his dagger into the fat-stained jar, scraping out two slops of jellied fish from the surrounding pig fat. The fish shivered on the end of his blade and gave off a smell stronger than the stagnant harbour corner at home.

They each took a slice of the see-through slime-cod on a corner of flatbread and with a quick nod and swing of the wrist, gulped it down, licking lips and slapping on their bench as they did.

' _Perfekt_ , _deilig_ ,' said Hedda, risking some of the few old words she knew to celebrate the treat, adding, 'Could we perhaps have some more?'

Far-Far glowed and jostled from side to side, softly singing an old ditty as he dug out another few slices of the jellied slime. Hedda then stopped, looked around, and thought about those with them on the boat, those who had been so generous on Hulderak. She peered over Far-Far's shoulders to Erika, who had been watching the feast. For some reason, Erika was leaning away from Far-Far and the jar, out of the wind and smiling downwards.

'Erika, let us share our tradition with you,' said Hedda. 'It's fine lutefisk, salted in the ground for months to turn to jelly in its juice. Here, I have a big slice for you.'

Erika's lower lip started to shake. She looked either side of her to the other two Huldra as if she were begging for something. The other Huldra turned their heads away to sea and within a moment, Erika was sat there with the jellied fish and dry bread in her hand. The fish juice started to drip around her wrist onto her crisp shirt cuff. The smell looked to be creeping through her clothes.

She was just about to take a bite when the boat jolted and Tung-Stein's voice cried out.

'Delegates, we have arrived at the Island of Feltspar. This stop and one more at MorkOy and then we will be nearing Razorbill for the Holmgang.

Lunch will be served here for all.'

For a moment, Hedda was worried the jolt of the boat would mean Erika would lose the lutefisk onto the floor.

It seemed as if the cured food was slipping from her hand.

But then Erika caught Hedda's gaze.

Erika looked down at the food.

It was nearly falling from her fingers.

Then she steadied her grip to save it.

Hedda saw Erika swallow first at the air. Erika took another gasp again before bowing politely to Hedda and taking the whole slice in one bite.

Erika's mouth churned the jellied fish for several seconds and a slight sage colour built around her cheeks. Her one knee started to bounce up and down. She gulped down hard and then reached for a flask of elderflower water, drinking the whole bottle in one.

Erika nodded again to Hedda, adding with one delayed word, 'Delightful.'

'Great,' said Hedda. 'I have five jars more to share when we get to Razorbill.'

The boat jolted again as it was tied to the harbour. Far-Far started to pack his sack, trying to tighten the lutefisk jar. Hedda saw Far-Far struggling with the jar lid, his right hand shaking, flapping like a newly caught fish. Far-Far wrapped his left hand over his right to help force the lid shut, holding the jar between his knees. Hedda leaned over to him, squeezing the top of his arm in her hand.

'Far-Far, can I help? Have you brought some blue bellflowers with you?

Do you want me to make up some in a drink for you?'

'No worry, _min lille_ ,' he said, 'I have _litt_ of the plant in _pulver_ in my bag, need to space it out. _Kunne_ take some later, I guess.'

'But it's getting worse, isn't it?' Hedda half-asked.

' _Kom, jeg_ am not sure talk will make it change,' he replied. ' _Kom_ , let us see Feltspar. It has been many years _siden jeg_ have _kom_ here last, but _jeg_ still remember it like this _morgen_ 's sunrise.'

Most of the delegates had left the boat and started to make a trail inland. She knew little of the Trolls save for firelit tales at home. Back at home, she had suspected that some of the massive cloaked figures she had watched arriving in the night had travelled from Feltspar. Fireside tales painted beings often larger than the Giants.

Now, Hedda waited to see grand halls and cavernous feasting rooms taller than the trees. She imagined towering wrought iron arches and fire grates higher than her head.

' _Kom_ , Hedda, let's go see.' Far-Far waved his hands towards shore.

There was no stone or wood in this wharf; instead, all was paved with maroon-brown bricks, each a foot long. Like an ordered battalion, the bricks were laid in clear lines, following the natural curve of the bay. The plain harbour had no arches or grand shelter, no scrolled corners or carved images of gods. Hedda saw just one building on the waterside, a brick shed, perhaps the size of a family _hytte_ back home. It had no widows. Its heavy elm door was shut, its sides surrounded by lines of crates and folded netting.

The delegates in front were moaning their way uphill, many hungerarguing about the need for a fine meal. Most walked the smaller, Vikingsized brick steps along the edge of the incline, ignoring the enormous steps in the middle, twenty-feet wide and each over four feet high.

The Giants, though, took the deeper steps with ease, together with Frode. The _Nisse_ pushed off each high step with his sword, scrambling from one ledge to the next. He was puffing, sighing and swearing his way upwards.

Hedda held Far-Far's shaking hand up the smaller steps, looking down to check his dragging foot did not catch on each brick corner. Then, a few steps more and rising from the hill's ridge line, rows of tiled rooftops, perhaps twenty or so houses in all.

'Roof tiles,' said Hedda. 'Wonder how massive the walls will be.'

Far-Far squeezed her hand back, adding, 'No matter about the buildings. There's lots else to see her, _min stjerne_. Some things above this hill might hurt your thinking a bit.'

The town was then before her.

A town sat amongst a half-ring of high, ancient stone cliffs.

Hedda saw buildings that would be workmen of few words: hard, labouring shelters with no daisies in buttonholes or lace-trim collars; every house in the same maroon brick; some older and time-chiselled, but all the same.

The doors and windows were square framed with no trim.

The gardens were full only with vegetables and fruit.

Hedda felt that the rows of sweet peas looked embarrassed, as if bowing to the patch around, saying that they will bear heavy produce to permit their current beauty.

Hedda found it hard to find words. 'But the buildings, the size of the buildings?' she asked.

'Yes, _min barn_?' Far-Far replied.

'But, they are no bigger, no bigger than ours. No, most are smaller, just one level, just small brick houses,' Hedda spoke, looking around for some clue, some massive doorway or window, perhaps carved into the stone cliffs.

'I have never told you of their buildings. _Kom_ let us take a seat, see the dwellers,' said Far-Far, pointing towards the town square like a guide returning to an ancient capital.

As they neared the benches, Hedda noticed the doors of the houses all open at the same moment, then people marching in step, forming a practised line at one side of the square - rows of farmers, families, children, all in dark-brown or black, thick overalls or plain, long dresses.

Each with simple but clean, white, rounded collars.

They stood stiff, ordered.

Then, precisely in the middle of the line, a woman, perhaps the age of a new grandmother, stepped forward towards Tung-Stein. Even the few buttons on her dress were work-sombre, without shine. Her tied-back, grey-streaked hair made her face long and drawn; her skin caved in below the cheeks.

'Giant,' she said, 'I have spoken to my master, Gra-Skifer. I can confirm that our delegates are readying for departure.' She spoke as if reading a list, without life.

'Thank you, _Leder_ Sigrid,' Tung-Stein replied, speaking with a restrained measure, reflecting the lady's tone.

Without further movement, she added, 'I can also confirm we have food here for you all. There will be no spice, no pastries, no sugars. There will be food.'

Hedda's eyes followed the line of townsfolk as several left for the nearest house, returning with plain baskets holding dark whole bread. They were placed out evenly across black-tarred tables. More trips followed to and from the houses, with wooden bowls of oven-cooked potatoes in their skins, boiled sprouts, peas and cauliflower and hard yellow cheeses.

'Thank you for the preparations, _Leder_ Sigrid,' Tung-Stein replied, then added, 'And you last spoke to your master ...?'

Hedda watched as Sigrid's face seemed to harden even beyond the previous blank formality.

'I. Have. Said. I. Have. Spoken. To. My. Master!' _Leder_ Sigrid spoke as if to a poorly trained dog. 'I spoke with him last some nine months ago, in our time. Master is well aware that today is the leaving day. There is nothing more that needs to be said.'

Tung-Stein stood tall, even for him. He held _Leder_ Sigrid's gaze for a good three breaths and bowed deeply.

The townsfolk watched at first, as the delegates sat and grabbed for food, the sombre hosts checking that each visitor had a plate, food and water before them. Then with one uniform turn, the Feltspar folk left, back for their houses, closing their doors behind them.

Hedda squeezed in beside Far-Far and Frode, as far as she could be from Vegard. Still, the vile boy would stop every few bites and stare at her, dragging his finger across his neck and pointing at her.

The food made no effort to impress, but it was warm and provided Hedda's stomach with a sense of balance. As all finished the final slices, picking the last crumbs, a stillness shrouded the group. Hedda had never sensed quiet's grip so strongly before, and wasn't sure if the sudden calm came from within or if it radiated from the cliffs themselves. She looked up to see that Tung-Stein was getting ready to stand.

'Only a few words, delegates,' said the Giant, with the local veil of formality. 'I ask that you stay here. Do not move from your benches. Stay here quiet for perhaps five minutes. It may seem like long, but it is only a moment for others.'

Hedda kept straight-backed, slowing her breath. She glared at the other delegates, struggling to be still as they tapped the tables with their fingers. Hedda knew that in the calm, with no distraction, the metallic voice would return.

_No pretty dances today then? No little kiss on the cheek for you here,_ Marit sour-cackled.

'Hold your tongue,' Hedda thought back.

_Five whole minutes. Well, they say time is a healer, but it might cause some pain for you today,_ came the tin voice.

Hedda's head started to shake, her eyes to whiten, but Far-Far clasped her shoulders, whispering sharply, 'Listen to the trees, the cliffs. _Kan_ you hear the voices building?'

Hedda closed her eyes, her mind bread-soaking up the sound of the forest. Could it be the sound of deer running? Opening her eyes, she replied,

'I can hear leaves rustling, growing wind in branches.'

'No, _min lille_ , don't hear - listen,' Far-Far replied.

Hedda reached a brief agreement with Marit to allow internal quiet. The wind rush in the trees built stronger, like the sound of a child blowing hard to cool porridge.

As the bluster in the trees grew, the delegates around her started to stare towards the cliffs, towards the new noise. As the leaves rustled, they seemed to go beyond noise, as if sounds, words were formed amongst the branches.

' _Patter pitter_ ,' went the sound of the leaves, then, 'Feel free, _patter patter_ , to request more food if hungry.'

Hedda spun, jaw loose, to face her grandfather. 'Voices! Did you hear them? The trees! The branches! They are talking!' Hedda exclaimed.

' _Nei_ , no tree can talk alone,' Far-Far replied. 'Listen, the sound is from the trees that line the cliff edge. Think more. _Tenk mer_.'

Before Hedda could listen again, a hammering din like heavy thunder raged and raced across the stone cliffs above them. Most of the delegates held their ears, wincing. Many looked around, searching the sky. One screamed, 'There must be lightening, too!' and, 'Quick! We must run to the houses!'

The benches started to pulse with the growing noise of the thunder.

The tables shook wildly, as if in the first or last seconds of life.

Plates and knives clattered from side to side.

Tung-Stein stood again, steadying himself with one hand on a bench.

'Hold fast! Do not move ... I said do not move!' he commanded, trying to shout above the noise from the cliffs. The noise grew again. Then came an ear-hurting sound of splitting and cracking from deep within the stone of the cliffs.

One of the Viking children screamed, 'Avalanche! Run! Run!'

'No!' Tung-Stein screamed out. 'Stop! You will be safest here. Sit precisely where you are. You must not move!'

As he spoke, the torrential noise of stone cracking built even louder.

Hedda heard a deeper sound from within the stone, like a long groan, like an age-weary warrior pulling himself from bedrest.

A long line of the cliff face, perhaps thirty feet high and just as wide, started to separate from the hill in a massive, shaking tranche. As the cliff face shook, a liver-shaped cloud of birds took flight from the trees. Hedda sensed the minds of animal herds racing amongst the forest, rushing to lower ground. She couldn't stop gazing at the severed cliff face. The fear of avalanche built in her. Surely, they should run!

Boulders, half the size of the houses, crashed through trees and waterfalls.

Massive rounded stones piled onto the ground, tumbling only a few feet from the benches.

The severed cliff wall took with it its own minor world of trees, life and plants.

Some of the delegates were readying to run. As they rose from the seats, they were held down by the Giants, pinned back down hard on their benches.

Hedda tried to find some pattern or reason in the severed cliff face. At its centre was a core of slate, with broad bands of granite at either side. The join between the central slate and the other stone edges was starting to tear. Long, vertical cracks appeared, running its full height.

'It's going to tear into three,' Hedda shouted. 'That cliff! Look! It's breaking again!'

The vertical crevices started to creak. The stone continued to breach and tear until three pillars of stone formed and stood before them. The central slate pillar seemed wearier, more water worn than the granite towers each side of him.

Each pillar continued to groan and crumble.

Their stone sides started to move, splitting out into what looked like arms.

The arms started to reach and stretch out.

Three stone bodies twisted and creaked. Three sets of broad stone shoulders, each with a large outcropped head. Finally, the Stone Trolls moved their heads, grinding as they looked around and down at the delegates.

'Alive, made of stone,' said Hedda. 'Alive, of stone,' she repeated. 'Made of stone?' As she spoke, a pain raged across her brain, her world of order, of set understandings, shaken, the comfort of what she thought she understood ripped and torn.

On the head of the largest Stone Troll shone two quartz ovals amongst the slate. The quartz eyes stared out, circled pink in the centre.

Lines of grasses sat browed over his eyes and started to sway, followed by the small trees forming a high fringe on his head. As the sway built, the sound of tree-speak grew again. Hedda could start to hear the language more clearly, like tuning towards the accent of a visiting cousin.

' _Patter tip-tap_ , fellow delegates,' said the large central Slate Troll. 'It is time for the Holmgang. I am called Gra-Skifer. These,' he said, turning towards the Granite Trolls on either side of him, 'are the youngsters, Lyda and her brother, Fjell. We all three will be joining for Razorbill.'

The surrounding hills and forest behind the Trolls returned to Aeon's rest.

The village doors opened.

An eruption of controlled action.

The townsfolk each moved to clear positions, armed on their shoulders with brooms and shears. They moved in timed step to form a ring around the Trolls. One platoon of the townsfolk marched off to brush rubble and fallen branches, clearing paths to the forest and to caverns close to either edge of the cliff circle. A central division stood, straightening torn and twisted bushes, on the wrists and ankles of the Trolls. Others climbed higher up in their arms, settling back in birds' nests and splicing together long trails of branches, supporting the deep erosion in Gra-Skifer's joints.

Hedda scanned the Trolls. What were they?

How could they be alive?

What could pulse though their stone arms and brains?

How old could they be?

'But I don't, don't understand,' Hedda said to her Far-Far. 'The Slate Troll, he called the other two his youngsters. But they can't be twelve years old. Look, one of the oaks on Fjell's shoulders must be decades old, even more.'

' _Lille Stjerne_ , why _kom_ to these different islands if you expect all to be the same?' said Far-Far. 'Think now what does it mean to you to be twelve?

What does it mean to be young?'

'Right,' replied Hedda, 'you want me to think what it's like being young, but that's all I know.'

'Now,' said Far-Far, 'once you have thought what is young for you, think of a bug on the juniper bushes back _hjemme_.'

'A ladybird. Yes, I can think of a ladybird,' Hedda replied.

'Well,' added Far-Far, 'A ladybird may live only one or two _sommers_ , so your _young_ goes well beyond the bug's old.'

Hedda looked around her, the regular thud in her neck pacing faster, her breath starting to fall out of time. The shortness of her life attacked her breathing.

Far-Far tapped her on the shoulder. 'Rest, _rolig_ , all is well. Rest, _rolig_ ,' he murmured.

Hedda's head draped over as if she had just run an hour's race. 'But that means to the Stone Trolls, a Viking's life is like a butterfly's.'

Far-Far didn't answer; he just wrapped his arms round his two grandchildren and walked slowly towards Gra-Skifer.

The Slate Troll creaked downwards to speak with Far-Far. Small movements made clear the old men had passed days together before.

'Young Tronde,' said Gra-Skifer. 'I feel good to see you again. Did we not speak earlier this morning?'

' _Godt_ å _se deg også_ ,' Far-Far answered in his most formal tongue. 'Good to see you. Well, we last met in 1944.'

'Forgive me, Tronde,' said Gra-Skifer. 'I lose count of days ... I am sorry for our joint pain when we met last. Hard decisions.'

Hedda greeted Gra-Skifer and gave her name. She stood straight to attention before hearing a rustle to one side of her, from Lyda. There, on a ledge on Lyda's bent arm was a pile of leaves. Some of the leaves were moving. Hedda thought she saw small bobbed tails hopping amongst the brown leaves. The hopping moved deeper, into a small opening on Lyda's arm.

'Ssssh, Hedda! Please don't tell,' came a directed whisper from Lyda's young beech-tree speech. 'Gra-Skifer promised I could take them with me, only if I kept them secret. I know most can't take their small animals with them.'

Hedda would not betray this young girl's trove. Instead, she nodded back at Lyda and greeted the glow from the Granite Troll's near-sapphire, ioliteblue eyes.

Back home, the small warren would circle Hedda with their play in the forest. For a moment, Hedda was reminded of her dusk sermons on Crop-Skul.

'Thank you, Hedda,' Lyda whispered in thankful glee. 'I can show you the rabbits later. You can help feed them if you would like. There is a little brown one with the sweetest flat nose. She has just had three small kits, one the same chocolate, two snow white.'

Hedda smiled and held out her hand towards Lyda's.

'I am worried, though,' added the Granite Troll girl. 'What do you think the others will think of me, all bulk and heavy at the Holmgang?'

'Lyda, you must show me your homeland before we go, the nature,' said Hedda.

'I would love to,' replied Lyda's beech-bush speech. 'A short walk here perhaps, but soon I know we have to leave for the boat.'

Hedda's arm stretched out and Lyda took it in hers, the Troll gentle like a wolf holding an egg in the soft of its mouth.

'Come, let's walk,' the two girls said in unison.

The girls turned towards the forest trail. As they did, Hedda saw Erika to one side, all cross armed, her cheeks paprika flamed. The one side of Erika's face wrinkled up as if scorning a piglet going astray.

Erika stamped the ground hard, clear to all, even from under her thick black skirt. The Huldra then grabbed Einar with one arm and squeezed him tight. She smiled honey-sweet to him, whilst flicking her other hand at Hedda as if shooing her away.

'What shall I do? Why is Erika acting so odd?' mind-spoke Hedda to Marit.

The tin voice laughed back inside. _Let the Huldra fester. Good riddance!_

With that, Hedda gave Erika a frost stare, turned her back and walked the afternoon in the woods with Lyda. The two girls, one over five times the height of the other, chatted, spotted animals and shared plant names until the call came to return to the harbour.

• • •

The Dolphin Boat tapped its prow against the water impatiently, marking out time for all to leave. The farewellers were few, a small platoon of townsfolk, with _Leder_ Sigrid at their helm. They stood at the front of the small brick shed by the water, each of those behind her holding wooden wheelbarrows - aged barrows, heavily dented around the edges.

Hedda knew there would be no speeches, no parades, no bunting. Just angular nods and the control of silence.

The delegates returned to claim their spaces on the benches. A few days ago, none of these delegates knew any nail or knot of the boat, but now their places were defined, as if invisible brass name plaques had been handengraved and bradawled in.

The boat lowered in the water as Tung-Stein and the other Giants stepped aboard. Hedda saw that the three Stone Trolls were still at the harbour, leaving messages and orders with Sigrid and her kin.

'Einar,' Hedda said, 'the Trolls, how are they are going to join us? They are as heavy as, as ...'

'As stone,' Einar finished for her.

'Yes, they must each weigh more than a whale. What will happen to the boat?'

As she spoke, she saw that Tung-Stein was listening in from the prow, giving a half smile as he pulled the harbour ropes towards him. He tugged the boat closer to the ramped slipway, pulling further still so the front of the boat was nearly above the shore. Tung-Stein untied a grey, greased rope that was triple-hitched over an iron lever by the boat's figurehead. He clasped the lever and pulled it towards him with a series of metallic clicks. As the lever pulled back, the bottom of the boat sounded like windmill cogs turning at speed. Hedda moved next to Tung-Stein to watch. The Dolphin Boat's front had turned into a broad opening mouth, not tooth lined. As it opened, a wide panel of triple layered wood was released from inside the boat, forming a ramp to the slipway.

A few more turns of the windmill cogs and then a mound of dust pumped out from the latch. Then came a clattering sound, like a stone shed falling into rubble. As the dust rested, a large new mound of maroon-brown was left on the slipway, a grand pile of foot-long bricks.

Tung-Stein then made one scooping gesture with his hand to _Leder_ Sigrid on the harbour. With a nod from her, the townsfolk formed a parade of barrowers, the wheels scritching down the ramp until the barrows were parked in a circle. They loaded each brick hand by hand, with care, as if they were squares of butter.

Hedda grinned, watching the bustle and flow of the industry before her. The townsfolk until now had been church-quiet. Now, though, there was a soft rumble of chatter, as if they were farmers welcoming harvest. She heard the joy of disagreement.

'You promised a town hall long enough for skittling,' came one voice.

'No, a walled garden, _Leder_ Sigrid had said to us, to protect autumn crops,' snapped another back.

'Well, I am going to ask for a dam for the stream for fresher water,' came a dull, plodding reply from another.

As Hedda watched the first platoon of barrows heave back up harbour, she noticed that the boat, once flat and trim with the harbourside, was now nearly five feet higher than the bricked paving of the dock. It no longer sat heavy and sound, but seemed to shiver with the smallest wave in the dock.

'We need it more stable,' she thought.

Then came the ballast of the arriving Stone Trolls, first Lyda and then Fjell, joining and sitting in the centre. Already the boat was back to its original level, back to balanced.

Hedda then looked to Gra-Skifer, his sun-blocking might moving towards the boat to join.

'Tung-Stein,' she said, 'there is no way we can have Gra-Skifer join. He is as big as Lyda and Fjell together. We will sink here, won't we? Or die at sea?' Tung-Stein looked at her as if he knew the trouble, an old trouble visited before.

As Gra-Skifer's foot planted like a Hulderak church column onto the deck, the boat was pushed down as a bottle in a bath. Those on deck sprang to the sides, like deck rats, some looking to jump. Hedda watched Tung-Stein again. Surely, he must do something.

Tung-Stein's gaze was fixed on _Leder_ Sigrid; she looked back at him as if a wolf for command. Just as the waters started to seep over the sides, the Giant made one clear tap on the acorn chain that crossed his collar bone.

_Leder_ Sigrid then opened the brick shed door, entered and slammed it closed.

Hedda could hear the muffled sound of a deep click, perhaps metal from the shed. There under the door gap came a blue glow, the colour twinned with that on the islands before. The boat then jolted and raised as if pulled to the sky by Odin himself. Gra-Skifer crouched in the middle of the boat like a lighthouse.

Hedda sensed there was nothing more to be said. The heavy panting of the wheelbarrow-pushing townsfolk seemed to mask any trapped noise from the brick shed. With _Leder_ Sigrid back on the harbour edge, and with one exchange of nods, the boat rowed to sea.

# Chapter 19

### Dark Island

The Dolphin Boat turned north, following the coast. Hedda sat with her cousin and Lyda and Erika, watching seals and puffins fight for space on the rocks. Far-Far and Frode sat close with the Slate Troll, Far-Far patting GraSkifer on the side, as if to calm some hurt, or some hurt to come.

Around the next peninsular was a deep cliff-edged bay with a wide beach, a bay that Hedda could see was once never there. Its top edge was covered with firs and oaks of ages. The middle, perhaps going back several hundred feet, was barren.

'Erika, why are there no trees in the bay?' Hedda asked.

'Don't know,' snapped Erika, still half angry. 'Why not ask Lyda? Ask her about the grooves in the cliffs.'

The edges of the stone bay bore war-torn scars, deeper and wider than any cut they could make with Viking hand tools. At home, Hedda felt there was a fair fight between man and nature. Here, though, were cuts in the stone fiftyfoot high, as straight as sunlight, robbing land and creating an unnatural edge.

As the Dolphin Boat passed the next outcrop, it left the shoreline for open sea in a flurry of blue and purple sparks and entered the newly formed tunnel of mist before it. Hedda felt suddenly cold.

'Don't like this new tunnel ... seems less welcoming,' she said.

'Feel suffocated,' said Erika, adding, 'Couldn't we turn back, back to Hulderak? We have lovely late festivals with fireworks and winter-spiced cakes.' 'Sounds perfect to me, Erika,' answered Hedda's rainbow t-shirt cousin.

'Stop! Stop now!' said Hedda. 'We are meant to go to the Holmgang, even if it means docking at MorkOy.'

'But the mist,' pleaded Einar, 'it's not white like before. It's only getting darker.'

As the boat passed onwards into the sorrow dark, Vegard and his ugly group cackled and jeered from behind them. He sneered, 'Little Hedda and her friends want to go home to their teddies, do they?'

'Just leave them,' said Erika. 'Just stupid words.'

'Yes, forget them ...' added Einar, his voice trailing off as he looked to sea. 'Look at the water; it's dark, like black paint, like tar.'

Hedda looked over. The sick sea no longer rolled in waves but instead oozed in folds, dragging against the boat.

'And the smell, like old mushrooms,' said Hedda.

'More like rotting deer in the forest,' Einar answered.

'No, it's not rot. This smell comes before rot,' said Erika. 'It's death's scent.'

Cold silence crept into the boat.

Hedda knew the Huldra was right.

It was the smell before the lighting of the funeral pyre.

Not the rot of the larder nor the acid of soured milk.

Instead, to her the taint of death carried its own presence, close to old books, the release of life's history.

The stench grew violently and the delegates covered their noses and faces with capes and rags, gagging as they did. Even the young Stone Trolls seemed to suffer, the leaves on their branches drooping and wilting.

The Dolphin Boat entered the mist ring surrounding MorkOy. Hedda knew that the Morker were famous traders, always able to find some trinket of gem that only on meeting them did you realise was the core of your heart's desire. As she watched the cliffs, she could see that trade was their only option. Across the whole island there seemed to be no fields or trees, no flowers, wild or kept. There was not even barren soil - only saddened, scraped, lonely stone. If the island had been made of Trolls, they would have stood without speech for generations. Even the stone had no life or colour, having lost the enjoyment of its grain.

The main port of Dudren was lit by pale-green lanterns that seemed to soak up more light than they gave. In this icy haze, it was still clear that Dudren had ten times as many towers and gables as the largest of the capitals of the other islands. Hedda looked at the precise bow joints and diamond-sharp lines of the houses. They were hand-decorated with pained-looking dragons and sickened gargoyles, the streets peppered with statues of hanging sinners and lost souls.

'Such tight joints and square lines, Einar. In some way, it's beautiful,' gasped Hedda.

Einar had no time to answer. Erika butted in harshly, salmon faced.

'At what cost this foul beauty? And if there is horrid beauty here, there is no love,' she said.

'What's wrong, Erika? I know its eerie, but just because its different-' Hedda replied.

'Different? Different! No, it's not that. It's far worse than that,' Erika stomped. 'Perhaps the Morker left you and the other Vikings alone, but someone had to build these trim buildings, and the Morker themselves would never deign to pick up a nail or saw themselves.' 'What do you mean, Erika?' Hedda asked.

'Money slaves, that's what they made us,' said Erika. 'They come with their trader's sloops, pretty gold thread and pearls they knew we simply had to have. And then the price of payment, losing so many of our men to the building sites and mines. They don't even need all those grand houses. Most are only half filled at best.'

'But your men, they come back, don't they?' Hedda asked.

'Most, after a time. Some stay trapped in the ale houses, some come back never,' Erika sighed.

Hedda let the comments pass for a second before serving her sharpened barb. She wasn't sure if it was her or her second soul shining its lure.

'But I thought, Erika, that there was plenty of danger to be had for your men simply back home in Hulderak?' she asked.

A torrent behind Erika's eyes swelled. She jumped to her seat in one movement, hands stretched out towards Hedda's neck, pretty white nails hard and sharp. She was about to lurch for Hedda, but as she did there was a gust of wind like a large bell tower clock ringing an alarm. Behind the wind came Lyda's arm, at pace, crashing into the side of Erika, knocking her across the boat like a young beagle kicked by a horse.

Erika pulled herself up slowly.

'Fine, just fine, little Viking rat! You have your girl mountain there to protect you,' Erika huffed. 'I have only been nice to you, only ever looked out for you. It might be next time you need some help from me, well, let's see what happens then. Anyhow, I have other things I need to focus on just now.'

Hedda wished she could make some speech back, be it kind or threat, but again her words were fewer than her feelings.

Erika moved back to the end of the boat to join her two Huldra cousins as they docked in the clutch of the black crab claws of Dudren harbour.

Einar looked straight at Hedda. 'You know how very glad I am in you, my cousin,' he said, 'but sometimes even I don't know if I always like you.'

The dockside was full of pushing louts and stench-filled hawkers and touts at least three men deep, shoving and fighting for the front line, all dark hooded and bowed over.

'Bracelets! The more you buy the better our price!' shouted one, a bony wrist overhanging the boat, heavy with bangles and beaten beauty.

'No, buy from me!' screamed another, swiping the ankles away from the first. 'I have bracelets of gold and amulets too, opal and Asian green jade.' Tung-Stein stood and acted out a large swipe at the vile vendors.

'Back! Back! Make a path now or there will be no purchases today,' he stated.

This grave threat created a small passage of hope between the trinkets. Tung-Stein then turned to the delegates on deck, with a new tone as if sending spies to some desperate mission.

'Only those who have obligations, duties or require settlement may leave. You have one hour and then the boat must leave. Let me make clear that in sixty-one minutes the boat will be gone, regardless of the number onboard.'

Hedda turned to see her Far-Far struggle with his dragging leg towards the pine gangway. Frode was lodged under his arm, supporting him. Hedda didn't want to leave the boat but would, if it were her duty.

_Stay here. There is no fight for you to take here_ , now came the tin voice.

Only a handful of others dared to join the shore. Hedda saw Far-Far speak with the three young Huldra, who had pulled their long black capes over their crimson and gold glory, the capes resting on their black skirts making them lost to the shadows in the dense dark. Hedda saw a coin exchanged. From under one of the Huldra's capes came four blades of whites - new-cut, tall, open-mouthed lilies, their stems fed from a small wooden mug, their petals four bright stars in the empty night.

Far-Far, Frode and the three Huldra walked through the tunnel of sellers before the Huldra went their separate way.

As Hedda waited, the new delegates arrived. Vegard was wide faced and eager, as if a novice tradesman waiting for a master craftsman. Five new, black-hooded students joined, walking in time, heads bowed, bowed apart from the first.

'Look!' said Vegard, glowing before his small henches. 'Look, it's him!

It's him, the young MorkOy prince, Kaldtehjerte.'

Kaldtehjerte sat at one edge of the boat where he soaked up the light from around him, leaving no shadow. He only kept a blurred shroud of darkness around his figure. To Hedda, it seemed he bore his regal power with pride and sadness, seemingly envious of the other children around him. He sat there quietly on his bench without movement.

Tung-Stein checked that the new cases and crates were strapped down tight to the deck with leather bonds and brass buckles. He then stood to address all again.

'Fifty-five minutes gone so far. Giants, prepare the ropes, start to untie.'

For Hedda, the next three or four minutes felt longer that the whole voyage from Crop-Skul. But then, welcome movement stirred from the hawkers' tunnel and the returning parties appeared from the dark. Three first, they pulled back their capes to reveal their red and gold, cuffed in white. Two of the Huldra turned back to their seats at the back. As they walked, Hedda saw that their cuffs were stained with small speckles, iron brown-red.

Erika took her seat close to Hedda and sat down heavily.

'Do not worry,' said Erika, 'I saw your grandfather. His one foot is slow, but I think he will probably make it in the next five minutes or so.'

'Thank you, Erika, but I think it's getting too late.'

Hedda stared at Erika; she could see that her face and mouth had been wiped clean, a fresh pink circle on her mudded face. Erika tapped her hand on Hedda's tunic as she spoke. Hedda gave a quick shrug back, looking down to see that under Erika's nails were the same iron red-brown, dried marks. Erika pulled her hand back under her cape.

'Yes, soon time to leave,' Erika added.

Tung-Stein was watching.

Had he been listening?

What had he seen? Hedda wondered.

She looked up, but Tung-Stein turned his gaze away as he was pulling in the last of the ropes. Suddenly, he stumbled for the first time on the voyage and fell to the ground. His fall pushed one of the young Vikings to the edge of the boat and the boy tumbled over the side. He held on above the water with only four fingers.

'Quick! Pull him back in!' someone called out. There was a rush, a minute or two of people tugging at the dangling boy. Just as he was pulled on deck, there was the sound from shore of a dragging foot. The gangway was being untied, about to be pulled up, as Far-Far and Frode re-joined.

Hedda looked over towards Tung-Stein to show some gratitude, but the Giant just moved towards his rudder and started to push off.

Far-Far stepped over toward Hedda and Einar as the boat pulled from harbour.

'Far-Far, we nearly lost you, and Frode. You can't go on like this,' said Hedda.

' _Vel_ , _min barn_ , you are going to lose me at some time in any event,' FarFar replied.

'But please, not now. Anyhow, what were you doing in that dark place?'

'Paying respekt, _min lille stjerne_. Laying flowers at the altar,' said Far-Far.

'Respect, Far-Far?' queried Hedda.

'Well, yes, of course, _din_ mamma herself was born here, and she would _har_ wanted those white _blomster_ to remember her mamma with,' Far-Far said.

# Chapter 20

### Approaching Razorbill

After half a day rowing, Tung-Stein called out, 'Three to four hours from Razorbill,' and the rowers began their song:

Row deep, row strong,

Row to the place where east is west,

Enjoy these days,

For those at sea, there is a new start,

Enjoy these days ... for old and young at heart.

Most started to join in the song, save for the Vesper and Natte Clans, who instead created an unintended harmony with their hisses.

The young Trolls joined in the song, the trees on their shoulders building to a forest's harmony, greater than any practiced choir.

Hedda's voice waivered, she was uncertain how grand the Holmgang would be or how much her anchored views might be dredged to one side.

The singing was still growing when one of the delegates lost their words to an open-mouth drool, his eyes fixed on the mist wall ahead. Hedda followed his stare to the sparks appearing in the mist and rough windows of blue to the horizon outside. The protection was petering until, with a few more rows, they were just a small boat in the open modern seas.

'Tung-Stein! Help! We can be seen! What are we going to do?' Hedda shouted out. 'We need to hide, and the boat, the weight of the boat; we are sinking.'

'Stein-Sun, calm!' called out the Giant. 'We are too far away from island cover, and not close enough to Razorbill. This is how it is; this is prepared for.'

The Giant raised himself to his greatest height, giving a five-star order. 'Keep singing! All sing!' he shouted.

Einar looked at his cousin, saying, 'Has his brain gone for a dry valley day trip? He wants us to sing 'til we are found?'

Tung-Stein's eyes were now darting from delegate to delegate as if searching for hiding holes for a house-trapped family.

'You must sing! Hear me now! If you want to make it to Razorbill ... start singing!' he commanded again.

A few sung, hushed at first.

Row deep ... row strong.

The four Giants whipped the noise louder, louder still and more, until the song was ear wrenching, loud with ugly melody.

Hedda thought she could hear some new accompaniment to the music, a deep vibrating ring, not made from wood or stone but from soft metal. The vibration built and started to travel from either side of the boat, squeezing the deck planks underfoot.

'That sound, the rhythm, it's coming from the boat's edge, Einar. Come, let's look,' urged Hedda.

The two rushed to the wooden bulwarks and peered over, pivoting on their bellies.

'I can hear it, Hedda, but there's nothing to be seen,' Einar replied.

'I am just a fool. What should I think would be here?' said Hedda. 'It's just the curved planks, some old rivets and the brass banding.'

'It's the brass, the brass strips,' said Einar. 'Can you hear the metal rhythm? It's from them.'

Hedda closed her eyes tight, took it all in and held her breath. There it was; the hand-wide brass banding around the boat was shaking with the song, giving off its ring, turning its inner hold from boat to bell.

'Open your eyes!' cried Einar. 'Look, it's creating its own wave.'

Hedda looked to see that the waves were no longer hitting up against the boat like unruly crowds.

The water instead was repelling outwards.

It travelled away from the boat's centre.

Strong, regular water rings rang out like a giant stone being dropped into a sleeping lake.

The rings from the boat started to discipline the sea around it, creating an oval of peaked ridges the breadth of a good village.

'Look at the far edge of the rings. Can you see it?' shouted Einar over the shout-singing of the crew behind him.

'No,' replied Hedda. 'What is it? Have you seen mackerel schools, or a whale?'

'No whales,' said Einar. 'Look at the streaks of bubbles, the water breaking. It's too fast for whales.'

Hedda could see the fast lines of white water now, foaming shots of power breaking through, diving and matching the speed of the boat. There were eight, maybe nine trails, like a family of comets tearing the water's skin.

Not on some straight, unthinking star track, but instead in play. Here the streaks were crossing over, ducking and gybing, racing to see who could be first, just for an instant.

'Look, they are getting closer. Can you see them breaking through the water?' Hedda shouted.

Hedda saw their arched backs, dark-grey sides rising, jumping half clear of the water, rounded noses diving back down.

At any one time there were four or five sets of soft, curved fins in the pod breaking through. Then the group was alongside Hedda and Einar, racing and chirping in time with the beat of the boat, their fins splaying through the stream.

The streaks of white water built stronger, creating their own waves.

At first, only handfuls of the dolphins raced alongside the boat, diving and dipping. Hedda thought that there must have been about thirty doing the same and within a few minutes at least seventy or eighty light tunnels raced and twisted in front of them.

The numbers grew still, until the boat was surrounded by a violent, exciting foam, hundreds swimming with the boat.

The grey parade of power raced with the boat and seemed to be pushing it forward, even lifting its heavy bulk from the sea. The sea was full of snorted whistling, strong blue-grey bodies arching and leaping and squirting water at the students. The boat and dolphins sped on at a faster and faster pace until the dolphins seemed to cause a thick mist that surrounded the boat, hiding it from view.

'Must be nearly a thousand dolphins here now,' shouted Einar, his hair full of wet spray.

Hedda slapped her head with her palm, as if she had needed someone else to tell her what she knew. She lowered her arm and patted the side of the boat like a duty-proud Labrador.

'So now we know, old boat, where the tales about you come from.'

Hedda saw that the Giants had stopped their rowing and were sitting in a tight group, resting and sharing aged laughter together with sweet goat cheese and rye slices.

'Look,' said Hedda, 'the Giants have laid down their oars, but the boat is still moving on.'

'Not just moving on; we are gaining pace,' replied Einar, his pitch lifted with wonder.

Tung-Stein did not move from his food, adding, 'Onwards all! Start to prepare your baggage. We will soon be at Razorbill.'

# Chapter 21

### Razorbill Island

Still royal iced in spray, the Dolphin Boat slowed, declaring it was reaching harbour. The Giants moved to their unspoken set places, ready to dock. Hedda listened to the other new delegates chattering around her, all words and no weight, but even she couldn't hide the gentle steam of excitement building.

Erika was with Einar, speaking with a sway.

'I've heard there are hundreds of hearths burning through the night and small shops where they sell just dresses, all linen and cotton and handbroidered flowers.'

'And open-fronted bakeries,' came Einar's voice, filled with cream-piped dreams. 'Some sell only custard flans. Imagine, just custard! Custard in flans! Only custard!'

'I think,' came the young branches of Lyda, 'we have the full picture from you, when it comes to flans.'

'Sorry, big Lyda,' Einar agreed.

'Who are you calling big?' the branches snapped back.

Hedda turned away from the chatter to see the field of dolphins around the boat had turned to sea. She watched as they neared the line of coastal mist that protected Razorbill. A few seconds more and they were within the island's cloud. The Dolphin Boat was now in harbour, tied taut, sat low below the curve of tall, grey-block seawalls. It was shaded further by a long wooden building that stretched across one side of the wharf, old and made of horizontal, nailed, white-painted and deeply peeling wooden planks. Outside its gate were circles of wide, braided, strong ropes greyed from the bite of the sun and salt.

Hedda climbed the boat's prow and looked over the rope house roof.

As she looked, she felt a coldness poured on her with more chill than any February night. She saw that most of the houses' roof lines were broken or burnt. Gaping rounded holes, as wide as cart wheels, saddened the buildings.

Walls were severed and twisted as if toy blocks scattered by a child's hand. There were no lights, no laughing in the streets, no people for laughter; the whole town lay broken of its pride like a bare-boned elk skeleton, rib cracked, scattered on the forest floor. As the others peered at the other end of the harbour, they could see the same broken-down dream of a town. Einar and Erika's excited chatter ended, replaced with empty sighs.

The gangway was soon secured, leading onto a narrow pavement between the sea and the rope building. Hedda still looked for some signs of life around her, but it was all stone and decay, then a smell came to her from the near pavement. It wasn't a smell but a stench, something slimy, maggot filled and rot softened. Hedda knew the smell from cleaning and gutting the fish at Crop-Skul and falling from the harbour wall at home. There beside the boat the ground was piled with guts and gills, perhaps two weeks old.

Tung-Stein shouted out from near the gangway, 'All, follow the side of the building, behind the houses and through the forest to the edge of the mountain. I and the other Giants will take the luggage and stores after.' He pointed to an ancient Viking, sat near the bow of the boat.

'This is Ferdig. He is a returning student and will help to show you the start of the route through the town houses. Tronde, you will also know the way. It is the same since you were here last, whilst much has changed.'

Ferdig bowed to his name as if in an end of season ceremony. He wore an old, faded, red Holmgang neckerchief with neatly kept war leathers.

Hedda watched Einar rushing to be first to step on shore. He was going to step right into the fish gut pile. Could she stop him? She thought about shouting out, but she stalled, saying nothing.

Einar's foot collapsed into the pile, into nearly a leg-deep of slime and innards, turning over the rot. Flies lifted like crows from crops, an army display of hundreds of maggots' tails boring into the heap. Hedda saw Einar covering his nose with his wide forearm, a trail of slippery fish intestine slipping into the top of his boot and sliding down inside.

'Great!' he groaned, tight fisted. 'This was not how it was meant to be.'

Erika and the other Huldra tilted their heads to one side and tutted softly for him, before joining the line of delegates forming on the narrow path. They all tried their best to avoid the disturbed pile, readying to try to pass through the town of Alke to the Holmgang.

Hedda was towards the front of one of the student groups and nearing the end of the long rope house; she peered around the corner, wondering if those who had gutted the fish were close by. Ferdig was just behind her and pointed out one of the several routes through the town. But then came a loud noise, a loud noise that ripped Hedda's thoughts out of her time and place and threw them back to the village path back at Crop-Skul. It was that metallic clanging sound that made the villager's huddle, fearful.

There it came again.

Clang clang dang! Clang clang dang!

Hedda turned around, mouth gaping, the tail of delegates behind now fixed in aspic peril. Far-Far and Frode were looking at each other as if haunted by an old ghost that had broken free.

Ferdig placed an upright finger over his closed lips, pointing out again the small alleys and paths leading towards the forest.

Hedda slowly crept around the corner of the rope house, towards the noise. There, perhaps a hundred feet away, were raging metal Giants that Hedda had only heard of in tales from her mother's raids or half-mentioned histories from Far-Far. She never thought they would be so massive and power hungry. Back home, Einar and a few other children used to play with miniature versions; raiding presents, small metal models about the size of a mouse, with rubber wheels. The most sought-after ones you could pull back with a clicking sound, release and they would sprint off across the _hytte_ floor.

Here were four of the metal machines, thick-black wheeled. Hedda guessed these must be full size. Surely there could be no bigger. They must have been twenty feet tall and towered over the group of brightyellow-helmeted men that walked around them in blue trousers and glowing tunics.

Two of the machines were moving, their fat, rubber wheels spinning, low pipes behind them giving out rough smoke. They were all bright colours; the two moving ones were yellow and there was one red and one a mid-blue.

Each had large white letters painted across them.

Apart from the three lost boys that grew up on Crop-Skul, who had practically transformed into Vikings themselves, Hedda had never seen a human before. 'They look so much like us,' she thought. Neat, trimmed hair, yes, thinner, less strong, but if they dressed in warrior clothes, they could be confused to be Viking.

'What can you see, Hedda?' Erika asked from behind Hedda's shoulder.

'Four big metal carts. Think they call them trucks,' answered Hedda.

'One of them has a long lance, with perhaps a ten-foot metal spiral at its end. There's a flat-faced metal ship there also, docked against the open seawall, its mouth open directly onto the town square.'

'How did they get through the mist, Hedda? What are we going to do?' asked Erika.

'Well, we can't just stand here like young deer,' replied Hedda, 'and wait for them to find us when they come to gut their supper. Come, let's move quickly.'

'Yes, Hedda, and I guess there will be no dress shops on the way?' Erika asked in lost hope.

'Will you just stop about the dresses, Erika?' said Hedda. 'We need to get the sixty of us up this hill and out of sight. There might be other men across the town. We need to be quiet and keep low.'

With that, Hedda looked to see who would form their group of five or six to break for it. Here stood a couple of delegates that she hardly knew, and of course Erika together with Frode and Lyda.

'Right,' said Hedda without thinking, hands on her hips like a proud urn, 'so we've got a _Nisse_ that swears loudly under pressure and a very sweet Stone Troll in Lyda who happens to be thirty feet tall.'

'Twenty feet when I crouch low,' came Lyda's birch branches, trying to help.

Erika looked at Hedda. Hedda knew what they were about to agree.

'Hedda,' Erika said, 'we are going to need a diversion. It's the only way to get the Trolls through.'

'Agreed,' said Hedda. 'Look, we can get Lyda and the others as far as the tall church spire over there without too much risk, then the two of us can run across to the other side of the town square, perhaps break some of the windows that are left, distract the workers.'

'Okay, Hedda,' Erika agreed, 'yes then the others can make the final dash for the high forest.'

It was agreed and Frode, swearing furiously about the machines and what he would do with them, led a small group, including Lyda, towards the church as Hedda and Erika forked right, nearing the town square. At first it was easy for the two girls to pass down the narrow alleyways between the backs of the terraced wooden cottages. They crossed a small lane and spotted more alleys to the right, seeing another group of five delegates, including Einar and vile Vegard, making their way across the town.

The girls moved quickly, the tightly packed houses providing blind spots of tall wooden fences and easy shadows. Hedda smiled to herself, running through the lanes and gardens, hiding behind sheds.

They were soon nearing the town square and the houses became grander with large gaps between them. This part of the town was filled with the remains of fine white clapboard houses with carved, scrolled decorative edges around delicate, small-paned windows and roofs topped with black-brown, shiny, curved tiles. The villas formed the north edge of a road marked Broad Street.

They would need to get across, to make it to the far side of the square.

Hedda could see the sense of loss in Erika's eyes, looking at the faded and injured mouldings and décor of these once-fine homes. Erika's fish bowl eyes began to swell, but Hedda needed her to keep alert.

'Come on,' said Hedda. 'Regretting old losses is going to get you nowhere.'

Hedda looked around the corner, down Broad Street, and decided she would make the first dash, turning to the Huldra, making clear, 'Erika, you stay here and guard the way from this side. I will make it to the other side and see what noise I can make there.'

'Guard the way?' Erika answered like an unwilling student.

'Yes,' said Hedda.

'Not go with you?'

'No, just stay here and guard,' Hedda snapped.

Hedda raced across Broad Street amongst the ruined villas. She looked around for a large pane of remaining glass or iron piping she could hit against stone, but the houses on this side were only barren shells.

A new noise came from behind her, a noise Hedda had not planned for - soft eighties rock music, all drumbeat and lost love, and how someone simply couldn't be without someone else. She spun around to see where the music was coming from.

'Oh no, Marit ... what are we going to do?' Hedda mind-asked.

_Hedda, you must stay quiet, watch for a second,_ said Marit.

Hedda's hopes perished and cracked like sun-baked plastic. As she looked back down Broad Street, on the one corner, spliced between her and Erika were three navy blue, long squared boxes, each as big as a large room, standing on cut blocks of lava stone, each with two windows, each with a door. There were lights inside and the sound of glass on tables, roughened laughter and the same soft pop rock. The one door had been flung and pinned open and small groups of workmen walked down the road toward Erika and the Dolphin Boat. They were in the same blue trousers, but now with ribbed jumpers, padded quilt jackets, a few just in white shirts. Some of them walked with black glimmering fishing rods against their shoulders, towards the rope house.

Hedda looked around. There were no early evening animals here in a dead town to help her now.

'Marit, they are going to find Erika, they will find us all,' Hedda mind-pleaded.

_I can't help you here, but I sense there will be a loss of blood, a need to act_.

'Just give me a second, I will work something out,' Hedda replied.

Hedda looked to see where Erika was and started to worry; she couldn't see her anywhere and knew listening was her only tool.

At first there were only rubber footsteps, laughter, broken song, but then she could hear a struggle from where Erika was waiting, something hitting the ground like a horse or body, and a muffled groan tumbling across the air. There was a scream, a male's and a girl's voice mixed in a cocktail of struggle. The sound of cotton ripping, someone wailing in pain.

Sweat trickled down Hedda's forehead, thinking quickly how to save poor Erika, that slight soul all on her own there.

Hedda checked to see for some side path or alley behind the main street that she could race down, towards Erika, drag her to safety. Just then, her eye was caught by a familiar, rounded face. Hedda's darkness deepened as she saw Einar in the middle of Broad Street, poking his head stupidly from behind a corner of one of the villas.

Just twenty feet away from him, one of the group of workmen was walking Einar's way. They were humming tunes, joking, swigging from brown bottles, their own noise seemed to make the struggle from Erika's alleyway go unnoticed. Soon those humans would see a plump face, poking out in front of them, from a side alley. They would see a young boy in a deserted town, someone unknown to them, dressed as a Viking.

She could not lose her cousin to the men; he would be captured, questioned, locked in a cell, never to return, turned into sofa-waste. She didn't know what to do and was about to rush to protect him, even though it would put her team at risk and leave Erika stranded.

Just as she was about to sprint behind the villas to save Einar, she saw Vegard in the distance running in the shadows toward her cousin. Vegard dragged him to the ground and into the protection of the alleys.

'Vegard probably did that just to save his own skin,' she muttered to herself.

Hedda had nearly forgotten Erika, but moments later there was another pained groan, stamping and struggle.

Hedda cut north behind the villas. Three houses down it must be; here the first, yes second and now around the corner to the third. There in the path amongst the old houses from where she and Erika had come was a body lying in the shadows in a thick Morello pond, seeping. Hedda gasped to see a coarse cut on the body's white shoulder, pumping into the pool in which it was lying.

Someone was ripping at the body's back, wailing, maddened.

She needed a better view and risked getting closer to help choose a path forward. A few steps more and the body was clearer. The young man was face down in the ground. Kneeling on his back was a Huldra.

Erika was forcing her knees into the man's back. She had tied her hair back to protect from stain. Her arms were tearing wildly at his shirt, ripping strips of it like thick red-inked paper, digging deep. His back was an angry red mess of five sheer plough lines.

The Huldra's face was shaking without any veneer of control. Her mouth was wide open, rows of fanged teeth splayed out like enamel razors. Erika had cleared the man's clothing from his neck and shoulder and was arching her back to swoop downwards, teeth first.

Hedda knew she had to gain speed, to give power to her weight. Against all her training, she rushed forward, not caring if she would be seen or heard by the man or others close by. Hedda made sure she picked up the pace and by the time she was a few feet from Erika, she was at full sprint. Then she leapt, one leg raised forward, the flat of her foot a flying clubhead, landing hard into Erika's ribs, knocking the wailing Huldra fast onto the ground.

'What in Odin's Gate are you doing, you mad Huldra? You're a lunatic! You cannot kill that young man!' Hedda screamed.

As Erika hit the ground, a mad possession fell from her face. Her razor fangs sunk back into her gums and she winced on the floor, holding her side like a colicky babe. Suddenly, there on the ground was a kind, fragile, young, hay-baled blonde, mid-summer party girl in sweet national dress. Erika's rough jolt had for now knocked the Siberian-toothed mania into a hidden spider web, wrapped and tossed in the wind.

Erika spoke in a shallow pant, as if her lungs were part liquid.

'Sorry, Hedda, I let you down ... I beg you never to let me alone again like this. There's nothing I can do to stop myself.'

Hedda, in that instance, could not understand who or what Erika truly was. Left to herself, a dagger of virtue would have been raised that moment, stabbing hard to bring this horrid risk to an end. But there was Marit, now coming without asking.

Wait, Hedda, wait just for a second. Don't stab her.

'Why?' Hedda spoke out loud.

Don't always make the decision when the iron rod glows white. Let the burn fade.

'But the Huldra,' Hedda spoke to both her metal girl and the girl on the ground, 'she has to die now.'

_Hedda, we can all love the clearest diamonds,_ said Marit, _the finer path is to see beauty in the flaw. Perhaps the flawed gemstones have greater inner strength._

Hedda needed more armour, more weapon for the battle in her head. The Huldra had only been seconds away from killing an innocent. How could these actions go unpunished? Hedda's dagger was so close to her palm, to be set free from its rune-covered scabbard.

Hedda's choice, the space through which she would move her hand, would only differ by a smallest turn, but would change at least one life. Her hand, still hovering over the dagger's hilt, hesitated for a moment before twisting at the wrist to form an open palm, offering to help the Huldra from the ground.

'Come, Erika, let's see what this Holmgang is really like,' she said.

They pushed the young man into the light of the street and the path of the oncoming people, checking first that he had a fair pulse. Then they hid in a side alley. Hedda could hear the men in the street quickly run to the bleeding body, their focus on him allowing the sound of movement in the surrounding streets, the running of Trolls, to go unnoticed.

The girls took a chance and sprinted to the next alley, then across the road, joining up with their team, and made their way to safety.

# Chapter 22

### The Holmgang

It was a half-day walk from the harbour up through the forest. Hedda and Erika had kept butterfly silent about the bleeding boy in the alley. Their group trod steadily upwards, uneven boulders and loose stone straining their calves. As Hedda looked back, downwards, through the few gaps in the tight branches, the sea below was like a distant relative, bidding them on with its regular tumbling rhythm.

The broken townhouses were shrunken by the distant view. Hedda peered hard, checked for life in the harbour, and sighed with relief to see that the Dolphin Boat had departed.

The Elms and broad-leafed trees kept themselves to the lower slopes. Now, higher still, they walked amongst hardened firs, dark evergreens with deep, near-black branches. Circles of snow huddled, protected in northern shade, lined behind trees roots. As the group trudged on, the sleeping polar mounds grew, boldly greeting the sun in the thinner air.

'Thank you, girls, for risking yourselves to protect me,' Lyda spoke, sapling soft, to Hedda and Erika.

Hedda replied, matching the softness at first, 'Think nothing of it. People are meant to go to the Holmgang together, not as lone ravens. Anyhow, down in the town, Erika, she really got stuck in.'

Erika answered by looking at the ground, and kicked an imaginary branch on the track. She looked up, just for a second, to say, 'Well, I suppose I might have got a little carried away.'

Half an hour higher up, only a few tufts of long grasses remained. Tiny orchids, sad eyed and purple, hid amongst the crop of snow. The trees began to thin and then the small group stepped out and left the forest behind to a heavy field of ice and frost-crackle white.

'How are we going to get up that?' Hedda spoke without thinking.

'I have no idea,' gasped Erika. 'Those cliffs must be five times taller than Lyda. I can't see any paths at all, all flat-faced stone.'

Hedda looked for some way through. The snow fields formed a wide gent's collar around the heavy grey neck of the cliffs ahead. The only grooves in the stone were from runs of narrow surging waterfalls. Fifty feet or so above them, the waters joined, as if under some hidden direction, forming one barraging curtain of foaming white.

Hedda leant her head back to look to see where the cliffs might end, but the upper reaches were shrouded in a crown of heavy mist; the shroud was thick, grained, and now and then crackled with small sparks of purple.

Hedda wanted to be able to stride forward, chin high, with some inbuilt map tattooed in her mind. But she just stood there with the others in a fragile silence, lost. They formed a natural ring, together stamping feet for warmth, blowing cold smoke through cupped hands. Lyda watched on at her warmblooded friends, the fringes of her beech leaves curling and crisping under winter icing.

A few blue-lipped minutes later, the forest branches moved with the rustle of groans and half-friendly argument.

'There must be a door in one of the trees,' came a young, sniping voice from the woods.

'That was a mile back, you fool. Why tell us now?' a lower voice scuttled in reply.

'I did, I said it by that broad oak,' replied the first voice.

'No, you never did. You've pretended to be right since you first joined the boat, you dung-rat,' shouted back the lower voice.

From the direction of the argument, two Viking boys tumbled out behind the trees, rough punching and pushing. They were soon followed by others, poking out from branches, bickering, stretching their backs, some kicking others in the shin.

Ferdig led one of the groups towards Hedda and her huddle. Soon a ring of delegates three deep formed. Most were panting, as if after a hard week ploughing, longing for fires and baths.

Hedda dropped her shoulder to push into the centre of the circle, looking around for her cousin. Einar was plum bruised under his one cheekbone, bramble scratches down his neck. His muscles were shaking tired and his trousers were ripped at the knee, chocolate dark with dried blood.

Hedda tried to catch his eye, but he was not looking back. He looked like a kicked horse, ready to bolt. Hedda turned to Erika and said, 'Look, look at Einar's eyes, on fire with rage.'

'I know, Hedda,' said Erika, 'he never looked like that in my village.

Seems to me he is going to blow.'

Einar stomped into the centre of the ring. He stood as tall as he could; the ring of old and young fell quiet.

'I have some'thin to say... and you may not like to hear it ...' Einar spoke, forge-red faced.

'What is it?' asked Erika.

'What is it? What is it? I've just about had enough! I'm not doing any cliff climbing today. I am not going even a flagpole high. I am just going to stay here, or go home, yes go home,' Einar protested.

'But listen, Einar,' said Erika, trying to calm him.

'Listen? I have been slapped by Vegard, and it hurt. Nearly held captive by those men with their metal machines. And. My. Boots. Are. Full of. Fish guts,' said Einar, shaking his wet boot to demonstrate.

'But, Einar,' said Ferdig.

'Stop _but Einar-ing_ me!' Einar snapped back. 'I am not going up that stupid cliff. And, and ... and to be frank, it's been nearly two days since I've had any decent baked bread or any fresh cakes at all.'

Einar held his nose in the air, the end of his frustrated speech splitting the crowd between agreed sorrow and hidden smirks. Hedda's face glowed for her kin. How could she help him? she thought.

'Don't worry,' said Ferdig, 'the Holmgang is not a metre higher than here. It's just ahead. A few steps and a cold shower and you are at its gateway.'

The delegates looked around, each trying to find some roofs or spires in the snow around them.

There were none.

Then Hedda's eyes were dragged to something that was always there. In the snow was a path of water-rounded flagstones.

'Look, the dark flagstones,' said Hedda, 'they lead directly to the cliff edge.'

'Look again, Hedda,' said Ferdig, 'not just the cliff edge, straight to the waterfall.'

Ferdig led the delegates without talk along the flagstones. As they neared the curtain falls, the sound built louder than wind bellowed furnaces. The water fell in tonnes each second, down into a dark pool beneath. Close up, Hedda saw that the waterfall formed an arch, creating a high gap between the water and the cliff.

All followed Ferdig, one by one, as they slipped and stumbled behind the crashing spray.

Hedda watched Ferdig's careful progress, checking his pace and footing, trying to make sure she would not tumble into the murder of the water to her side. At home she could track rabbits, beetles, nearly knowing which way they would turn. The spray made it hard to see, though, and Hedda had to keep wiping the water from her face.

She wiped her face again and looked up. There was no Ferdig. He had vanished.

She looked into the pool, her heart hitting hard from inside. Had he drowned?

Then others in the line ahead of here disappeared also.

A few steps more and Hedda came to a stone arch, taller than Lyda, in the cliff. As she turned, she entered a high passageway that lead deep into the mountain. Only the grey light though the falls lit the way as Hedda caught up with Ferdig and the others. A few minutes further down the passage and Hedda saw a distant beam of sunlight. The same distance again and they were in full daylight. Her mouth opened like a skeleton's jaw.

Erika and Einar also stood slack mouthed, foreheads wrinkled. Far-Far stood smiling, looking as if he had just revealed a _fjell_ pony for a birthday.

Hedda couldn't make this new world fit her thinking, as if she had a mental jigsaw in her thoughts and someone had just taken a dozen of the central pieces.

'But, but,' she said, facing Far-Far.

' _Ja_?' he asked.

'We are not on a mountain slope at all,' she added.

' _Nei_ , not at all,' Far-Far replied, still smiling.

'But, it's a valley, a snow valley surrounded by the cliffs,' said Hedda, looking around. Could it be a mile across? Perhaps it was more?

' _Jeg_ know,' said Far-Far, 'and the valley here of snow and grass was once just molten rock, back when Gra-Skifer was just young.' Einar's face was starting to bulge, like an October tomato.

'Valley, valley, but what about the rest of it?' he said.

'I know,' Far-Far said, patting the back of Einar's neck, 'quite a bit to take in.'

'Take in?' Einar spoke slowly, as if trying to calm himself. 'But how did they get everything up here?'

'Most of the buildings are made from local stone,' said Far-Far, without convincing Hedda at least.

'That doesn't explain that though,' Einar exclaimed, pointing directly in front of him.

The crater around them had an outer rim, mainly just of snow, but here and there were small groups of Viking, rough-beamed cottages. The _hytte_ gave off the steam of baking or small iron works.

Einar's finger pointed straight beyond the homesteads to the inner circle. It took up a little under half of the valley's land. The circle was formed by a massive ice-block wall, rows of blocks, layered perhaps sixty feet in the air. It was as if a god-sized crystal yolk sat in the valley's circle of white. In the ice-wall centre were oak, cathedral-sized doors that reached as high as the wall, framed in a broad iron surround.

As Hedda walked through the valley, she tried to peer through the depth of the ice-block walls in the last of the evening light. Its crystal veins threw a ghosted veil over the world behind. High triangles of roof ridges could just be seen through it. The grey silhouettes of spires and turrets reached up towards the top of the wall, together with the outline of a tiered building, wider and taller than any Viking church. Halfway down the track to the oak entrance, Hedda felt something missing, a rounded shoulder no longer nudging her, a rainbow t-shirt gone.

To her side was a spur off the path, leading to a hamlet of four cottages in a loose square. One of the homes had shutters open wide, with crates of cakes steaming with yeasted sweetness. She saw Einar moving at some pace to the bakery. He was about to be lost in a sea of fresh pastry and custard. Hedda thought about following him, then saw a shot of red velvet and black satin run down the track first.

'Come on!' shouted Erika to Einar, tugging him with a strength that threw surprise on Einar's face. 'We are nearly there, nearly at the Holmgang.'

Hedda watched the two tumble-fight. Behind them in the baker's cottage, she saw an old woman. The old one was part hidden behind crates of croissants and custard buns and was looking straight at her through her white gloss-moon eyes, a blue light around their edges. Her hair was long and white, in tight curls. Hedda could not stop herself whispering out loud.

'There lie three groups of captives, and you have the chance to make one dark decision that will not save them all.'

• • •

Hedda gave her cousin a jolt of her shoulder as he re-joined the Huldra. They saw that Gra-Skifer had moved closer to the door, his enormous frame like a child at a gate. He knocked the door with two hardened blows, shaking the snow from the ridges of the cottages nearby. With the blow came movement on six raised ledges, three on either side of the colossal gates. On each ledge stood a cloaked Viking, heavy helmed, all in the black of the MorkOy guard. They stood with the pride of the current ruling class, chests lifted, spears held tight towards the sky, their black cloaks marked with glints of gold chevroned on the shoulders.

The guard in the greatest gold looked towards the mass of Gra-Skifer and said, 'Delegate, from which of the Dolphin ...?' He then looked at the crowd before him. He stopped and faltered backwards. His bowed head revealed a move from guard to humble liege.

Hedda followed the line of the guard's gaze, directly to the blackcloaked boy in the crowd - Kaldtehjerte. The boy's face was still burdened with sorrowful power. The dark, shrouded boy nodded once back to the guard. Nothing more was said. The guard gave one sweeping motion with his free arm, followed by the sound of heavy chains tumbling in circles. The oak breech doors pulled slowly open.

The snow-covered path inside the gates was lined with the same black and gold edged Viking guards, standing in two straight rows to the town ahead. If Hedda framed her view with the square of her hands, this would all be fairly customary and common to her, the fish tailed-joints of the logged buildings, the fine stave church at its centre. The town, though, was grander than any at home, the storerooms lifted tall on stone corner pillars higher than her head. The faces of the wooden dragons guarding the rooftop goyles and gulleys were painted deep red and gilded, bright in the sun.

'The town makes sense, but what about the rest?' said Hedda.

'Well, the rest is an odd mix,' Einar replied, scanning around him. 'That building behind, it's like a massive stone insect, but bigger than a row of barns ... And beyond that some hot forest in the snow, with tall buildings surrounding it I have never seen ...'

'Like three worlds pulled together,' Hedda ended for him.

Hedda looked again at the comforting norm of the old town. The strange insect building that towered behind it though was as large as a machined cliff, a range of angled roofs, zig-zagging waves, their highest edges easily higher than the Stone Trolls could reach. Its towering walls were made of something close to stone. Not individual blocks, but a mix of grey rock and what looked like hardened lime, as if the building had been poured and dried in broad panelled sections.

Hedda focused on the building to try to make some sense of its bulk. At its centre was a see-through dome made of triangles of what she thought must be glass, with a six-sided watch tower resting above it. The dome was wider than the wheat fields at home and its centre raised high above the town's church spire. It rested behind the church like a setting glass sun.

'Could _har_ been prettier, I know,' Far-Far agreed with himself, having slowly caught up with his clan. 'But _vi_ had to build quickly, after the human's war. Needed to get the Holmgang started, start to heal the sores.

We, well, we used a traded skill from the humans; they called the mix "Konkreet".'

'But why the dome, why the arms of the buildings?' Hedda asked, blank faced.

'The dome,' said Far-Far, 'sits over _den_ charcoal quarry, the stepped seats inside deep enough and small enough to sit the Trolls and the Fairigs also. Same reason for the zig-zag roofs, the lower roofs for the smaller, the peaks for the Troll and Giants.'

Hedda was still rubbing her forehead with the heel of her palm as Einar spoke.

'But the third part,' said Einar, 'the forest and the towers over there, make no sense at all. It's like from another world. How is it here?'

On the far side of the crater, on the lower south-facing slopes, was an expanse where thick plumes of wet smoke spiralled high into the air. Snow and ice was held at bay there. Instead, there was a violently bright forest of green and scarlet and orange. An oasis of ferns and firs. In front of the forest were tumbling gardens layered with a fury of competing flowers. Not just small Scandinavian alpines, rhododendrons and roses, but tall spiky red stems, fronded like cockerel crowns. Dark-green bushes surrounded the gardens with an arsenal of bright purple and yellow trumpet flowers. In the gardens was a semi-circle of buildings. None of their styles were known to Hedda. There was the massive ridged building, perhaps two hundred feet wide, a hundred tall. Its height made up of three layers of curved roofs.

'What about all these strange buildings?' Hedda asked.

' _Vel_ , we have visitors from far places,' said Far-Far, 'mostly learners, leaders, who stay and build their own places of learning.'

'But how on Baldur's hounds do they keep a hot garden and forest here?' asked Hedda.

The returning student, Ferdig, was stood close behind and saw Far-Far enter a daze.

'Well, Viking girl,' Ferdig replied, 'I guess, perhaps, it's the steam rising from deep in the mountain, the plants and flowers, but also there is conservation area, of sorts ... One of the ideas for the Holmgang was to help protect plants and animals, though some of that ... spirit has been lost over time.'

Hedda still looked lost.

Ferdig continued, 'Well, the islands, the UIC, agreed after the war to alter their ways. They agreed to steal \- sorry, _liberate_ \- plants and animals from zoos in Northern Europe. The idea was that the animals could grow stronger here, be cared for and then returned to their home countries.'

'So, the Vikings from UIC are actually conservation Vikings?' asked Hedda, thinking of her mother, Nina. The tower of pride she tended for her mamma surged higher still.

After another pause, Ferdig added, 'Yes ... the Vikings work hard to steal the animals, but sadly ...'

As Ferdig was trying to find his words, Far-Far snapped from his thoughts, butting in.

'Ferdig, no need to talk further now. Come, let's make it to the Holmgang Centre.'

# Chapter 23

### Direction

The delegates passed through the Viking town centre, through its narrow alleys before the view opened onto the glass and concrete insect building.

'Don't care if its ugly; any form of rest would be welcome now,' Hedda moaned to Erika.

'I know. We haven't even started our first day and I feel I have seen my fill already,' the Huldra replied.

The narrow alleys and uncommon surroundings split the delegates in different directions.

'Just let's get inside,' one shouted.

'Which way? Which door?' asked another.

'We don't care!' came a chorus back.

The path to the front of the insect building split into two, one leading towards a western concrete arm, the other to the opposite. Hedda could see the crowd ahead of her spitting roughly into two streams. As she arrived at the fork in the road, one of the black-suited MorkOy guards asked, 'Rigel? or Centauri?'

Hedda, without hesitation, said, 'Rigel,' and was pointed to a door of the eastern wing, the guard shouting, 'Girls, young dorm!'

Erika followed straight behind. 'That will do for me too,' she said and followed on the eastern path.

The concrete block of the eastern arm had two doors, one perhaps eight feet high under the lower end of the zig-zag roof. At the other end, another door, of maybe forty feet. Inside were bunk beds lining the walls. On the shallower side of the room, they were simple, dark oak against the concrete with white cotton duvets, each decorated with the same pattern of twisting blue summer plants. At the other end, the beds were the length and strength of boat docks, covered in several feet of wet, fresh moss, patterned in between with real flowers. At the top edge of the outer wall, a broad, angled window ran the full length of the room, interrupted by concrete girders, creating a broad mural of the snow crater edge outside.

'Well, it could have been worse,' came Lyda's beech voice from the other end of the room as she pressed down on the moss to check its spring, like a Crop-Skul child on a cushion.

'Hey, Lyda,' Hedda snapped, seeming angry, 'who said you were getting the big moss bed. Come on, we should toss a coin for it!'

Lyda's branches shook as if a chilled breeze passed through them. She dropped her head. Erika had gone all arms on hips, tapping her foot under her skirt. 'Surely you cannot want her bed, Hedda. That's just, just ...' she said.

'Stupid,' Hedda answered, starting to smile.

'Yes, stupid,' said Erika, starting to laugh.

Lyda leant back, her purple eyes shining like a jeweller's window. 'Ha!' came her rustling, chuckling leaves. 'I can drop some handfuls of wet moss on you in the night if you like'. As she spoke, she picked up a handful of moss large enough to hide a cow in and threw it at Hedda and Erika. They dodged the heap and hid behind the bedpost.

• • •

'Hedda! Hedda, wake up! You were screaming in your sleep, something about falling, grabbing for the edge.' Erika whisper-shouted, shaking the young Viking by the shoulders.

'But we have to win, win for the clan,' Hedda murmured, eyes half closed.

'Learnings have not even started,' said Erika, confused. 'It's our first day. Come, it's time for breakfast. I can hear people in the dayroom. I think more delegates came this morning.'

'Dayroom? Have you been exploring?' Hedda asked.

'No,' Erika replied, 'there is a safety map of the building by the door. It's in six languages. Come see.'

Hedda stretched until she felt that morning crack of bones between her shoulders, and pulled her tunic on over her night vest. She wriggled her toes down into her rolled-up, turquoise leggings.

'Look,' said Erika, pointing, 'there, in the middle of the chart, a corridor that runs down the centre of each of the six arms.'

Hedda soaked up the detail from the labelled map, chiselled into the stone, some of the wording on small brass plaques. It showed key terms like _Exits_ and the _Fire Assembly Point_ , all listed in six languages, including English, Celtic and Norwegian.

The words made Hedda ache; she wasn't sure if with sorrow or not. Here she saw for the first time the first permitted use of her banished Norwegian tongue. Before her birth, she knew that the books had been burnt by the Northern Celts. Far-Far told that all were forced to watch the fires, and the Celts made them gouge out the dedications from the walls of their churches, scraping off the well wishes for weddings, the honoured memories of fallen fighters. Now these few Norwegian labels formed a peephole telescope into her history. Hedda thought there would be other signs and plaques around the Holmgang, perhaps even manuals or guides. Perhaps she could start to piece together some of her forbidden spoken culture. She could maybe use Far-Far's broken English as a loose foundation, maybe even understand her clan's sagas in their own voice.

Without control, she found herself roughly speaking out some of the words: ' _Nodutgang_ ... _Brann_.'

A second later there was a sharp pain in her ribs and Erika pulled her to a shaded corner at the end of Lyda's bed.

'Shssh!' said Erika. 'Stay quiet, you stupid Viking. If they hear you speaking your old words you could lose your tongue with a knife, possibly worse.'

Hedda's face turned, a curtain of deep sadness, like a child who had waited so long, near breathless, for some electric toy pony to be brought back from a Viking raid. As if for a moment she had just opened its packaging on her home harbourside. As if she had smelt the sharp tang of the newly unpacked wrapper and stroked the pony's purple mane just to learn that there were no batteries on the island to fit in the chamber under its belly.

Hedda looked to see Erika close her eyes and breath out, as if she had agreed to release a long-trapped prisoner at personal risk.

'Fine ...' Erika said, adding, 'read the words yourself, but make sure no one sees your lips moving.'

Hedda's head lifted a little higher.

'And,' Erika hesitated, whispering, 'I've had four years of Norwegian lessons on Hulderak, not taken an exam or anything, but its not far from my home tongue, if there are any words you are unsure about, ask me. But not in the open. I will translate if I know them.'

Hedda squeezed Erika's hands before reading from the map again. 'I can see now why there are linked blocks of rooms in each of the six arms now,' said Hedda.

'Yes,' Erika agreed, 'the first block is the Rigel young ones' dorms, girls in this room, boys on the other side of the central corridor. It links to the dayroom.'

Hedda ended, 'With the old ones' dorms further down, near the sickness and respite room ...' Hedda stopped for a second, thinking of the age of the old ones, like fading petals, finding their own way on this first day on a new adventure.

Erika tapped Hedda on the arm, adding for her, 'Well, better that they can rest somewhere close by, if needed ... Come, let's get some food.'

A step through the door and a turn right and they were in the wide, high corridor, lit through apex skylights along the ceiling. The central corridor was not angled but was a good sixty feet high throughout, raised like a spine down the building, allowing Lyda and her kin access with ease.

At the entrance to the next room there was again one small and one massive door side by side there. The noise grew with each step and even before they opened the door, Hedda could smell freshly baked breads and pastries. There were new voices too. Some accents they had heard on the way, but others Hedda had never known.

'Others must have come already,' Erika added, nodding to Hedda as they pushed the wooden door open.

There in the dayroom, Hedda saw fifty or so delegates surrounded in their own noise of first day greetings and chatter. They sounded like a large cart of pigs newly tipped into a fresh sty, rooting for treats and new friendships and danger.

Hedda looked around - no Einar to be seen, no Vegard. Perhaps they were still sleeping. She hoped that Einar had not taken the left turn into the Centauri dorm.

Who else was there amongst the melee of greetings and first impressions? Even in the throng of people, Hedda could see that the room was clearly split into three sections. First, there was the large, dark, oak dining table next to a strong, steel-fronted, industrial kitchen. Then there was an open space near a horse-broad fire, raging with beauty and boxed in by a concrete hearth. In another corner, sets of soft, two- and three-seater fabric chairs, daisy patterned on dark blue, curved around a small iron wood burner.

'There must be some of our, some of our group here,' said Hedda.

'Yes,' Erika added, 'look, both my Huldra cousins, Clara and Hannah, are here. And look there, at the end of the table, I can see Far-Far with Frode.'

Hedda calmed a touch, seeing at least some of her clan, but then she saw that there was something different. Frode seemed red faced and swearing - nothing new there. Far-Far, though, was bowed over, hunched over the table as if he were shame-hiding his frame. Now and then he would half cover his ears and was staring only at Frode, catching no one else's gaze.

Hedda scanned the room for some cause of Far-Far's changed way. At first there was nothing odd to see, just groups of people half boasting or pretend laughing. Then she saw through the crowds, a few feet behind her grandfather, there was a group of four men, split young and old, talking with spite. She had never met people of their kind before, but her instant hatred for them had been fired through the shameful tales, told from the elm stool of her childhood home.

The foul group of four were rolling their ginger-haired heads back, laughing, making sure they looked over to Far-Far with cruel grimaces as they did. Their daggers and ebony truncheons rested amongst the folds of their heather- and lavender-dyed, checked kilts.

'Did'nae expect they'd let old scum int'ae the house also,' one of the younger ginger heads laughed in an accent that Far-Far had often copied in his tales.

'Aye, it's aboot time we got to teach his stinking clan another lesson. We been biding our time too long al'reddy,' came an older one, adding, 'An can you not smell the reek still on 'im, just like when uncle Greg pulled him out'ae the pit.'

'You're right,' added the young one. 'He smells bowfing rotten.'

Every word said darkened Hedda's reddening face. Erika tried to catch Hedda by the back of her tunic, but Hedda had already started to charge forward. Hedda had only twenty feet or so to weave between the crowd, but she could still pick up good speed. She reached for her dagger, pulled it out, ready for one violent stab. She was nearly there. No one was going to stop her this time, no time for thoughts, just stab, stab for her Clan.

As she neared the four Celts, they quickly turned and stared at her. They formed a half ring. They readied their weapons. All of them were strong; even the smallest was over six foot. Hedda was ready to avenge, but as she neared, the older Celt had already raised his ebony beating stick high in the air. He was ready, ready in good time to hit the young Viking girl like belting at a practice ball. Those close by in the room pulled back their heads and winced, as if they could see into the few seconds ahead.

The reach of the old Celt was three times that of the little girl. All saw he could have just kicked her to the ground, or chose to knock her off course, using only little might. Instead came the grunt and sinew of his heaviest swing, smashing with full battle might against Hedda's cheekbone. The crowd gasped and split in an instant as the force of the hit turned the proud little one into a rag, her eyes closing towards a bludgeoned coma.

The spite and power of the hit cast Hedda across the floor and her head dented into the stainless-steel side of the kitchen cabinets before she slumped on the floor, barely breathing.

The old Celt moved to tower over Hedda, not stopping, pulling out the sharp blade by his side. Hedda's eyes were half opening, falling back closed as if fighting some painful sleep. She couldn't see straight and could only just make out the sounds around her.

'Now what d'wee have here?' the Celt spoke, spitting his words. 'Aye, by the dress, another of Tronde's lasses prepared to give up their lives when the old man should be fighting his own fights.'

Hedda could hear, but could not move; her cheek felt in two parts, the pain in her head pinning her to the ground.

'Well, now I am gonnae leave a mark with this blade,' said the Celt, 'straight down that broken face of yers, so all can see you are from the clan banished from honour.'

Then Hedda sensed movement, shadows around her. Just a moment of pause, her eyes opened just enough to see through her lashes. She saw the tan, olden leather of her Far-Far stood between her and the old Celt.

Frode also stood, weapon ready, in front of the younger Celt and Erika and her two Huldra cousins had formed a triangle before the two remaining Celts. The Huldra were starting to hiss like caged snakes. The rest of the crowd had pushed to the sides of the rooms, opening up a fighting circle.

Far-Far spoke first, long sword in hand.

'McKennor, _du_ _horer_ me now, just listen. I've known you as a young _barn_. I know you were there when I was pulled from the pit, laughing at my sores.'

Far-Far pulled up his one sleeve, showing the deep un-healing pockmarks. The crowd gave off gasps, their history on show.

'And if you do want to _drep_ someone,' Far-Far continued, 'then kill me now and finish _meg_ , but you cannot take another of the Skum-Ronde girls.'

The room shook with a greater force than any fight could bring, many whispering amongst them, 'He did, he said it, he used their name.' Far-Far's words drew the point of McKennor's blade from the ragdoll girl, straight to his own face.

'Ye cannae use that name, Viking scum! My uncle banished it from you.

You will pay for this.'

'Then kill _meg_ ,' Far-Far replied, 'but when you do, know that in _den_ terrible war, the one _jeg_ am still paying for every sunrise, tell me one clan, one village who did not make sour choices. If _du kan_ say that any here have snow _hvit_ hands then you can drive that blade into me, untarnished.'

The veins on McKennor's neck looked ready for bursting, sweat rolling from his eyebrows. He turned the sword, pointed to all around, and then threw it down, screeching across the stone floor.

'This is nae end, Stein-Sun. Don't think this is an end at all. My clan will end yours, kill your roots and branches, cut out the rot you have brung on us all.' McKennor turned to the other Celts. 'Let's get us some air from this stench,' he said, pointing to the outer door. They crossed the room, picked up the cast-out sword and marched to the snow outside.

Erika rushed over to Hedda and felt her forehead. 'She is going to need more than local herbs. She is at the edge of falling away.'

' _Jeg_ know, _jeg_ know!' said Far-Far. 'Fast, get her _til den_ respite room now.'

• • •

Hedda awoke in a white cotton bed, propped up behind her back at an angle. The room was lined with glass cabinets along the walls, holding brown jars and rows of small white boxes with different printed labels. Her cheek throbbed, felt hot and when she moved there was a pinch in her forearm. Hedda looked up to see that there was a metal rail above her head. A plastic bag of a gently glowing liquid fed into a clear tube that led through a metal head into her arm. She then only just noticed the two quiet bodies sat on low stools beside her. A Huldra and a rainbow t-shirt boy.

'It's been two days,' Erika spoke calmly, 'and you will be fine, back with us in the dorm tomorrow.'

'Don't worry,' Einar added, 'only really missed a few gatherings. The training for the Holmgang challenges are still to come and I am sure to beat you Rigels.'

'That's good to hear, cousin,' Hedda spoke in pain, 'but I didn't think I would make it when he hit me, hit me so hard. I was sure, sure that was it for me.'

Erika and Einar looked at each other. It wasn't clear who would speak next. Einar half pointed to Erika, she pointed back to him. 'You see,' Erika started, 'here there is a mix of treatment.' 'Yes, the best of all worlds, so to say,' Einar added.

'There's the old ways and also chemicals and drugs,' Erika jumped in. 'On the Viking raids, if they can, they raid the shops for the human drugs and steal medical books. It's a limited supply here, very limited, but the nurses here can work wonders.' Erika nodded over to a stern-faced, white-starched nurse, standing by the doors to the room like a prison guard.

'But can it really be? I mean my face ... it must have been smashed in?' Hedda asked.

Erika rose from her seat and gently rested her palm on the bruise that reached from Hedda's eye to her chin.

'Good fortune, yes, that's what we can say. The break was clean and it's settling back on its natural line. A few weeks and no one would ever know.'

Hedda's eyes drooped with the effort of fighting pain and she fell back asleep.

# Chapter 24

### Breakfast

The next morning, Hedda re-joined the others in the dayroom for breakfast.

The long table was lined with breads, meats, chopped vegetables and fruit. Erika sat at the bench with a space kept beside her. Lyda sat across from her, towering over the table, making a tree-like shadow.

'Morning! Good to see you,' rustled the beech leaves.

'Good to see you, Lyda,' Hedda spoke, some energy back in her voice.

'They are staring,' Lyda rustled back.

'I can see,' said Hedda as she stared straight back at the Celts at the end of the table. 'Well just forget them, for now,' Hedda said, stabbing a knife down into the wood. 'Anyway, am hungry now,' added Hedda, reaching over to Lyda's side of the table for sweet milk-bread. As she did, Hedda seemed to stumble and knocked over a bowl of carrot batons. The carrots rolled towards a gap under Lyda's arm. They rested there, hidden in the shadows for a second, before Hedda watched them get pulled behind a small heather on Lyda's arm. Then the sound of keen munching.

'Thank you,' Lyda whispered.

'Are we not going to be formally introduced?' came a cool, slight voice, spoken in a tone of over-polite formality that seemed to Hedda to be learned rather than reared. At first, she could not tell where the voice might have come from. Then, in the shadow, to the side of Lyda, she saw a new delegate, smaller than her.

He had a fine, sharp nose, a lightness about him. He was petite even for a twelve-year-old. Hedda thought he must be small enough to sit in a Viking armchair, still leaving space for another of his kind.

'Er, sorry, my name is Hedda, Hedda Stein-Sun from Crop-Skul. Pleased to meet you.'

'My name is Dai,' he replied, 'Dai GreenFlask, and we will surely not know if it is a pleasure until after we have met.' Dai spoke with pomp but no inkling of humour or warmth.

'Well, yes, sorry, Dai. Sorry, Dai GreenFlask, but I do like your clothes, such a fine, green, light cloth, nearly with a shine,' Hedda spoke, trying to reflect Dai's formal tone.

'Yes, indeed they are attractive, gossamer-silk and that is simply a fact. You may call me Dai,' he said and shrugged back his small shoulders, nose high in the air. As he moved, Hedda saw a glint of silver on his shoulder. It was something embroidered. There it was, the letters GFF. Hedda was already wondering what type of soul Dai was when she caught sight, behind his shoulders, of a gentle double arch of his moon-glow wings, tucked in together tight.

Hedda was about to speak when Erika kicked her on the shin. Hedda shot her a look to see the Huldra mouthing, 'He's born with no sense of ... sees everything literally.'

'Young Viking,' Dai asked, 'why have you stopped talking halfway through your introduction? you see, no doubt, you can tell from these silver letters, I am ... a Grand Fairig.'

'Oh, yes, well,' said Hedda with no idea what made someone a Fairig or that there was any ranking. 'Nice to meet you,' said Hedda.

' _Why_ is it nice to meet me?' Dai asked, his face blank of understanding.

'Just wanted to ... welcome you aboard,' said Hedda.

Dai replied, 'So you have a boat down in the port - perhaps we should wait until after breakfast before we visit it.'

Erika quickly leant between the two, reaching for currant jam. 'So nice,' she said, 'so nice to see a Fairy and a Viking getting on so well.'

Hedda noticed a sudden change; Dai's back seemed to stiffen at the word 'Fairy', his silver-purple skin taking on a deep damson glow around the cheeks.

'Fairy?' he snapped. 'Fairy? I am not a Fairy. I am a Fairig, a Grand Fairig from our proud land of Fif.'

Hedda was intrigued, asking, 'Just to be sure, what makes you a Grand Fairig? Would you be bigger or stronger than the other fairies?'

Dai puffed out his green _treron_ chest, replying as if surprised to need to, 'My clan has led our island for five generations, our capital city has a fine view of the sun setting over the ocean and in our forests are the sweetest blueberries.'

Erika's face did not move before playing back to him, 'So you are normal Fairies ... with a nice view and good fruit?'

'Normal Fairies!' Dai shot back with a cold look. 'Are you not listening?

We are Fairigs and your words dishonour our leader, the Great Grand Fairig.' 'The Great Grand Fairig of Fif?' asked Erika.

'Yes, precisely,' Dai confirmed.

Erika was biting her lip.

'Anyhow,' Hedda interrupted, dropping a large spoon of jam straight onto Erika's soft skirt, adding, 'Did I miss the opening address from the Holmgang leader?'

'No,' Dai said curtly. 'We are to be addressed this morning.' As he spoke, the Fairig pointed his knife up towards a broad window running along the top edge of the room. The window pointed back towards the dome, the hexagon room above it.

'Should be any minute,' Erika confirmed, as if she had been talking, checking with others. 'People say he is a hybrid, had to escape his lands from the eastern ports of the warm middle-sea. They say other Holmgang learners also escaped, some from farther still.'

'So, they are hiding here, just as much as leading?' Hedda queried.

'Yes.' Erika spoke as if some minor, step-ahead functionary. 'People say there are other places like this Holmgang, spread far away, many weeks by sea, all fortress retreats.'

'Must be hard being a hybrid. Where would you fit in?' Hedda wondered, her speech coloured by her own outcast days. As she spoke, several stopped eating mid-bite, those around her suddenly quiet.

'Just to be sure,' Dai asked, 'did you knowingly try to offend the young boy over there?'

Three seats down sat a fine V-shaped boy. He was all long, elegant muscles in a short-armed, navy-blue t-shirt. His dappled white hair ending in a human-sized, delicate horse's head.

'Sorry, sorry,' Hedda said, 'didn't mean to offend you. Sorry, horse-boy.'

'My name,' he replied, with the tone of being immovably unimpressed by her, 'is Hestor, and I am not a horse-boy. I am, you will find, a Kelpie.'

Hedda did not know what to say next to the dashing boy she had just offended.

'Marit,' she called in her thoughts to her metallic other half, 'what should I do?'

Just keep quiet, silly girl, give it time, give life space then it will choose to use it.

Hedda turned to her plate, filled it with drop scones and sliced fruit, and started to eat without speaking, the next few minutes passing as slow as growing grass. Then a loud noise from the corner of the ceiling rang out, like church bells but without a natural ring. In the high room corners were two large metal funnels bolted into the wall, at the back of each a lead fed out towards the dome.

They were thin leads which hummed and glowed softly in the shadow under the ceiling.

'Welcome, delegates,' a low, loud voice came from the funnels. 'I am your Holmgang leader, Philos. Welcome back to many and for our new joiners we hope you soon feel at home,' Philos said, his voice clear, but with strong, double rolled Rs resting within his faraway accent.

'I am sorry for the simple buildings. This idea of a new Holmgang, place of challenge, was built in difficult times.'

Hedda looked through the windows to see that Philos was stood atop the six-sided Watch-Room, speaking into a circular tube of metal in his hand that led through another lead to the ground. He looked, in the main, like a man. His massive barrel chest, though, heaved out of proportion from under his camouflage-patterned shirt. His hair was swept back. Hedda saw the glint above his ears of horns.

Philos looked down to his side to an aide, only half his size. The aide nodded back. Perhaps a distant cousin of Frode, Hedda thought.

'Yes,' Philos continued, 'the Holmgang is here to bring together those who would normally fight.'

As Hedda listened, she held her cheek, still butchered raw. 'Great,' she said to those around her, 'all getting on like a house on fire.'

'Tell me,' Dai asked, cool-faced, 'I understand from Erika that you hate those from MorkOy, can't stand Western Islanders, which includes both me and the Kelpie, have long despised the Celts and have a blood feud with many on your island?'

'Yes ... and your point?' Hedda asked.

'No point, just checking,' Dai replied, mathematically.

'You forgot,' Erika added, together with a tutting sound, 'she had been taught to despise Huldra too.'

'Thank you,' Dai nodded, seeming to add this to some mental tally.

The speakers rang with power again.

'Delegates, before I turn to the challenges,' came the Minotaur's voice, 'I will explain for new joiners the six arms of the building around you.

First years, young and old, will always stay within either the Rigel or Centauri dorms. That leaves four arms.' As he spoke, Philos pointed to the rows of building in turn. 'These first three we call the Arms of State, the first is the political arm called _Dogma._ The next is the legal building _Jus_ and third enforcement _Polis_. Depending how you act and who you are, then over the next few years you will slowly migrate to one these buildings. The last building, _Resten_ , is for the remainder, those with no direction determined, but, rarely, even there greatness lies.

'Just to add before I leave you for today, the Holmgang is where we learn to gain and use political power. As such, the winner of the first year's Holmgang is granted the chance to propose one minor law. With that, your learnings will begin,' ended Philos with a deep bow before returning with his aide down the steps to the Watch-Room.

'At last, I wonder what learning we will start with,' wondered Hedda, trying to impress with a swagger of her shoulders. 'Pretty sure it will be sword fighting.'

'Stop, young Viking,' Dai added, still emotion-free. 'Mortal fighting is left to later years, logical, otherwise very few would reach the end.'

'Right,' said Hedda, shoulders dropped, 'so what boring sessions do we have? Someone save me from having to learn the glory of Celtic history.'

'It's not that bad,' Erika added. 'It's mainly practicals, craftsmanship from ancient guilds. They took the idea from the humans, who still choose leaders from the guilds, the trades, masons. Our end of year challenge will be from one of our first-year sessions.'

'Craftmanship? Guilds?' Hedda asked.

'Yes, Erika is right, even back from medieval times, from the guilds came power,' Dai said, nodding with the comfort of fact. 'There will be carpentry, gunpowder skill and-'

'And baking,' Erika finished. 'My Hulderak learners had a chart. Baking is one of the oldest of the guilds, guarded since 1482.'

# Chapter 25

### The Learnings

The group rose after finishing breakfast to read the chalked agenda at the back of the kitchen. Just by sitting at the table with them that morning, Dai was starting to enter their group, by some unspoken convention or pact. Hedda tried to move away from him by the kitchen bench. He followed like a family dog. She tried to nudge him towards another cluster of delegates. It was as if that one unplanned moment of sitting to eat formed a bond stronger than the concrete around them. Hedda was not certain if she wanted this blunt-worded Fairig in her life. She wasn't sure whether he wanted to be with them and chose not to ask him.

By the chalked board, there was a pile of t-shirts, headbands, Viking leathers and belts, most with the whale and mammoth emblem, all with the belt of Orion, the star of Rigel, marked clearly as the brightest.

'I am not putting any of that on,' Hedda protested to Erika.

'Guess they just want to create a group, a team,' Erika added, kicking at the bottom of the clothes pile, as if it might reveal something finer.

Hedda sighed out. She had been told to follow the clan all her young years. She had been desperate to try to be herself, even if only in stolen, quiet moments.

Did she really have to join this group, another clan?

Hedda gave a stamp on the ground and then grabbed a wide, black leather belt. It had the Orion stars set in stones on a broad iron buckle. She swapped it for hers.

Erika picked through the choices for a few seconds before pulling out a black, oversized, hooded top with the emblems and stars stitched on in white.

She tied it over the shoulders of her national dress.

'Okay,' said Hedda, looking back up at the agenda, 'woodwork and gunpowder today, tomorrow baking.'

The group of four walked along snow paths, following signs towards the conservation zone and its array of odd foreign buildings. Hedda read each sign with care, soaking up each detail of the Norwegian phrases and grammar. As they walked, others sharing the same session started to join the track with them, first Einar and vile Vegard and eventually a group from their old dorm, some from the Dolphin Boat, even two of the younger horrid Celts.

'Right,' said Dai with the curt certainty of a primary class teacher, 'this is the building we need.'

Standing close to its foundation, Hedda had to arch her neck to see towards the top of this massive wooden-framed building. This was the wide building that she had seen through the glass fortress walls, grander in scale then even the largest tythe barns. It was nearly three times as wide as tall, with layered roofs, each with an upward arch at the corners that could never be Viking design. The outer walls were painted white, large panels with square, dark-wood frames.

'Hedda,' said Erika, 'look here, there is another brass plaque. Want to read?'

Hedda answered quickly, but loud enough for people to hear. 'Yes ... I would like to know more about the building.'

The six-language plaque provided a short history, a near-precise replica from a country called Japan, the temple of Todai-ji, Nara.

'Says here,' Hedda read out, 'the building is seventy-seven centimetres shorter than that in Nara as a mark of respect. It is still over one hundred and twenty feet high.'

'Pretty sure,' said Erika, looking at the finely jointed beams, 'that a previous woodworking lecturer must have travelled from there. Looks like they were busy.'

'Guess so,' Einar bustled in, 'but what on earth will we be making in woodwork that needs a room that big?'

They walked closer towards the grand wooden building, ringed in green grass amongst the snow from the steam vents in the ground. The main entrance arch had two large doors. One had a window, grey with dust. It had a sign pinned on it:

General Woodworking

Closed due to lack of interest

The other door shone with the hand-grease lustre of heavy use. A large sign on it read:

Kuuku's Spectacular Coffin Class

Hedda asked the others, 'I am not sure what all the interest is in coffins.

What's the difference between pine and oak, iron or brass trim?'

'Come!' urged Erika with a want-to-get-started interest. 'We love our coffins on Hulderak, even if you Vikings have no use for them on your death fires. let's go in and have a look.'

As the first-years walked into Kuuku's studio, there was a sudden sense of uncontrolled craze and awe that seized them. Even Hedda, trained in the security of being underwhelmed, could not control her wide eyes and dropped jaw.

'Whoa! Whoa!' she said without thinking.

Dai, trapped in his world of logic, seemed impressed with the wooden projects in front of him. 'But these can't be coffins, can they?' he asked.

'Well,' answered Einar, 'at least that explains the need for the large building.'

It was clear from the sights in front of them that the Japanese woodwork learner had long since retired. Instead, stood in the middle of the room, was a slender, middle-aged man with young eyes. He was wearing an old Holmgang t-shirt with the year 1967 on the lapel. His grey climbing trousers were patterned with zips. He had short black curls of hair and a leather necklace with pastel, square beads spelling out his name in capitals.

Dai, looking at Kuuku's maddening eyes, spoke without thinking. 'Can't you tell? Don't you know? He must be a spirit talker, a West African Nganga.' ' _Salamu_!' shouted Kuuku. 'Good morning! I am so happy to see you.

_Misisimko_! Yes, let's put the fun back into funeral!'

None of the delegates moved, most still had their mouths gaping open.

'Yes, I am your woodwork learner,' Kuuku beamed. 'Yes, travelled here some years ago, and yes, young Fairy, I am also a Nganga, spirit talker!'

Dai was about to answer back before Hedda stopped him, whispering,

'Dai, I don't know what's more odd, Kuuku or his coffins?'

There, behind Kuuku, were maybe sixty or seventy projects in rough lines. Directly behind his left shoulder was the painted glaze of a wooden rabbit about twelve feet tall, sitting on its back legs with an open-front hatch, finished in gloss, metallic, grey paint and black polish on the nose. Immediately to its side was a giant cake, eight feet tall, made of balsa wood with plastic raspberries bigger than footballs resting on top. They formed part of a manic, frozen, oversized army of animals, food, vehicles, anchors and weapons.

'Have you seen the longboat?' Erika asked, pointing with her finger.

There, stood a replica wooden Viking boat with space for perhaps four rowers. In the middle of the boat was a nine-foot-high, wooden teddy bear. The smiling, chubby body was covered in bright pink. Hedda thought polyester. It was topped off with a satin yellow ribbon around its neck.

'Yes, a longboat,' Hedda mind-said to herself, 'with three proud warrior maidens stood on deck. That's what I will build. They can be called obligation, pride and courage.'

The largest work stood in the middle: a tower of circular, white-painted wood, perhaps seventy feet tall, with a coned, pointed top and broad fins at the bottom, creating a stable base. The pointed tower poked towards a wide vent hole in the top of the building. Its white sides were circled with black panels at its base and middle. A series of letters ran up its side. The whole tower was held about four feet from the ground by a wooden, cross-jointed frame.

'What on earth is that white tower?' said Erika.

'It can't be a church spire, can it?' Hedda asked.

'I think I know,' Einar gulped. 'My mother brings back science and space magazines from her raids, all those exciting human missions in the sky.' Einar paused, gulped again and finished, 'I think it's a model rocket, probably a Saturn Five.'

Erika looked as if she wanted to the break the spell of the gaping group, walking up to Kuuku and holding out her hand in greeting. Kuuku gave her a bone-shivering handshake, slapping his fingers on the side of her hand.

Erika smiled. 'Kuuku, it is ... lovely to meet you ... and these are all ... coffins?'

'Yes, indeed, my clever Huldra. And we make them as realistic as we can. Why not have a carnival of death, a celebration day, fireworks all the way? Yes _Ajabu_!'

Kuuku leaned over to her and in a whisper said, 'Don't worry, my Huldra, we always work in big groups here. No risk of you accelerating one of your friends toward their death celebration.' Kuuku leaned back and smiled to all.

Erika nodded to him, looking grateful.

'Realistic? Nonsense!' sniped Vegard. 'You can't get any of these things to work. You can't send a spruce Saturn Five to space, flames couldn't lift it and it would just burn up.'

'Ha ha ha! That's where you are wrong,' the Nganga boomed, eyes swivelling freely as he spoke. 'In fact, today, today!' Kuuku added with spinning laughter that on most islands would end with time spent in a locked room with no hard edges. 'The Stone Troll who is making this rocket, to a perfect one-fifth scale,' said Kuuku, pausing and looking around, arms wide, 'has especially asked me to show you a test run today. It's true we have never made it to deep space, yet.' His eyes sparkled. 'But we will one day get this rocket into a low orbit. You see, it's a reusable rocket and will come back by parachute.'

Einar quickly asked Hedda, 'Why would someone's coffin need to be reusable?'

Hedda did not answer, but instead just stamped down hard on her cousin's foot.

Kuuku started to race around the room in a wild swaying motion. He pulled a flaming torch from a log fire in the corner. It looked like he was going to light the Saturn 5 straight away.

'You are mad!' cried out Einar.

'Mad, mad!' laughed Kuuku frenetically, like a spurred stallion. 'Did they call the laughing swamp man of Svelger mad? Or the one who speaks to trees? Noooo!'

Several of the students started to slowly walk backwards.

Kuuku pounced like a man-sized frog over to the wooden rocket with his torch now fiercely alight, singing to himself a local song about happy elves in the forest. He turned to the students and in one motion swung the torch down onto a thick, greased cord at the bottom of the rocket and shouted, 'STAND BACK!' and 'GOGGLES!!!'

The cord spat with fuel-soaked fire and sped up into a groove cut under the rocket. Sparks started to fire from the rounded exhausts, that seemed protected by some thick tar, at first just a few sparks, blue and orange, as if they themselves were setting off other fires inside. A cloud of grey dust started to build, and the smell of burnt egg started to fill the room.

Hedda looked at Erika and they both said, 'Joint woodwork and firework project.'

The fire under the five exhausts surged from idle to crazed. At their centres, five blue, raging cones of fire shot downward to the floor, a torrent of sunset-orange furnace flames rumbling and forcing down to the ground. Clouds of steam raged out like a super-heated mist. Hedda had not seen that the rocket was hanging above a broad pool of water, which was now bubbling and overheating into steam as if desperate to escape.

The noise had built to a continuous thunder, echoing through the solid rafters. Hedda looked up to see Kuuku had jumped about six coffins away and was now perched on the shoulders of a twenty-foot, light-green, painted wooden lady in a flowing dress and tiara crown, holding a model flaming torch.

Hedda shouted to Erika, 'There must be more power in that than just fireworks. We have to hide, quick!' Hedda was now screaming over the thunder in the rooms, adding, 'Where ... are ... the goggles?'

Several of the delegates had already made for the edge of the room. Others were fixed to the ground, like roebucks staring at a flaming hay cart racing down towards them.

Hedda spun around. 'We all have to find cover now!' she order-shouted.

'Move or we will be fire logs. Erika ... where are the goggles?'

Erika was hunting through cupboards, a tall, solid chest of drawers and crates. Nothing! Nothing there! Then she saw a broad brown rag over an untidy pile, nearly like bricks. She pulled back the cover to see the mound of tinted, squared goggles with their elastic backs.

'They're here!' she shouted. 'I will throw them over - then all hide!'

Erika started hurling the goggles to the others. The fine gold wires on her antique jewellery were glowing hot as she stood there, closest to the rocket.

'Erika, you have to run!' shouted Hedda.

'Just a few more, a few more googles, or people could go blind!' she screamed back, the white on her one cotton cuff starting to catch with smoke and ember in the heat.

The power of the engines was violently shaking its tall wooden cradle, the jets were wailing to be released and the pin bolt latches started to buckle and give. Then a set of pinging sounds as the bolts gave way and the rockets started to crackle and taunt the gravity holding it down. Slowly at first, the rocket lifted, but with every moment its rate of speed increased and then the rate of that increase itself grew.

Most of the hall was starting to fill with fire.

Erika was still standing on the mound of melting plastic, directly in the face of the rockets. Hedda was the last of the delegates left in the centre of the hall.

'Move, Erika! Move!' she shouted.

Erika picked up two more sets of goggles and threw one to Hedda before struggling to get hers over her long hair.

Hedda could wait no more.

She was surrounded by fire.

She ran to one side and slid behind a six-foot pine duck.

Others had raced behind a massive beer tankard, some behind an oversized school of fish and sharks.

The engines were now so loud that Hedda could only hear pain, fingers in ears, head pressed to the ground.

She didn't see Erika run to safety.

The last she saw of her, she was still struggling on a melting pile of plastic.

The one cotton arm of her national dress had been fully on fire like a flaming torch.

There were no coffins near Erika to hide behind.

'I should have done more, should have done more,' Hedda sobbed out loud as the room became a fireball.

Hedda thought the searing heat would never end. It was only seconds, however, before the sound of thunder was outside the building, growing distant.

The students were shaking, covered in hot black soot, looking at each other as if they had been through some military ambush, checking for cuts and burns, giving nods and supportive thumbs-up signs.

Kuuku stood tall on the shoulder of the green-robed model lady, waving his arms backward and forwards.

' _Voila_!' he shouted with bursting glee, but the room was now quiet apart from the sound and smell of polyester blazing on fire. 'Aah!' Kuuku said, taking off his goggles, looking at the large, burning, rounded model bear.

'Regretfully, we are going to need a lot of pink fur.'

Hedda pushed herself up, struggling to stand straight. 'Pink fur!' she exclaimed. 'Pink fur? You nearly burnt us all to death, and Erika, she must be burnt to a cinder, you mad, mad man!'

'But the bear took a long time to build and ...' Kuuku cut his sentence short as Hedda and others started to circle him below the statue, some fists clenched.

Hedda was nearing the model's foot, hand on dagger, when she heard Dai's light voice from behind.

'Look, her arm, her burnt arm, under the heavy chest of drawers.'

The drawers had fallen and crashed entirely over the young Huldra, only her arm splayed out from underneath, once a fine and tender limb, now bloated with deep red sores, just lying there motionless, bloodied, oozing.

Dai was tugging at the one end of the chest of drawers.

'I cannot lift it, cannot lift it!' he cried out.

Hedda tried but could not push the heavy wood bulk from the ground.

She smelled burnt, singed beech trees drawing near. 'Let me try,' Lyda said.

The Stone Troll leant over and with one hand, tipped the solid drawers to one side. Erika was lying there in the shape of a broken cross. Hedda and Dai kneeled by her and checked for any signs of life.

'Erika, Erika, can you hear us?' Hedda pleaded, close to crying.

'She's not breathing, not breathing,' said Dai.

'Chest! We must push on her chest, with a rock-song beat. My mamma taught me,' said Hedda, kneeling closer, wrapping her one hand over the other, arms straight above the red felt.

One minute of chest compressions.

Two ... three minutes.

'She's still dead,' said Dai.

'I am not stopping,' Hedda snapped back.

Four minutes.

Then five.

Suddenly, a rapid shake seized Erika's body, a heavy breath pulled in quickly by her, desperately. Erika's lips started to quiver.

'Fine,' she spoke, shallow, weakly. 'Yes, fine, I will be okay.'

Hedda looked to Kuuku with her most frosted stare before turning back to Erika.

'You were so brave, Erika. We are so sorry about your arm,' said Hedda, holding Erika's better hand.

Erika looked down at her arm, shock on her face. Hedda knew that for the Huldra, beauty has its own virtue.

Erika started to cry, then gave a deep, eyes-closed sigh.

'It's okay ... some of it will heal and ... anyhow, I always wear long sleeves.'

Hedda tried to hide a kind smile.

'But,' Erika asked, 'and I am sorry to ask this, is my face, is my face untouched?'

Dai answered first, as ever unable to filter the basic truth. 'It's very pretty indeed, just as pretty as ever, Erika.'

'Thank you, Dai, that means a lot to me, coming from you,' Erika replied.

'Your arm, it needs treatment, now,' said Lyda. 'Come, I will take you to the respite room.'

The group helped Erika slowly up and rested the Huldra on a soft patch of moss in the crook of Lyda's arm. Lyda made for the door and was gone. Hedda stared up towards Kuuku, her hands on hips.

'Well, yes, ha-ha, yes,' said Kuuku to the ugly, sneering crowd around him. He stumbled over his words. 'Well, all's well, just a few bruises, cuts ... and, yes, deep burns I agree, deep burns.' Kuuku looked around him at a row of piercing faces. 'And, yes sorry, sorry, a little too much fire, sorry, but we can't change that.'

'I want to stab him, show him some pain,' Hedda mind-spoke to her half-self.

_Hold back. The Huldra lives still. You will only spread the blame to you if you injure him now,_ Marit cautioned.

The crowd left Kuuku clutching at the top of the statue.

'Tomorrow, tomorrow, yes, let's start our designs then,' he shouted as the delegates left the hall.

• • •

During lunch, Hedda, Lyda and Dai sat next to Erika in the respite room. Erika was propped up in a high-backed chair, her arm in a crisp white sling, eating currant suet pudding and custard. Nurse Grimskal, with her cold look of strict care on her face, joined. She confirmed that in few days her wounds would start to heal over, that they had advanced bandages and dressings to help force the healing process. Then with firm politeness, she made clear that they were to leave.

# Chapter 26

### Clearing

As the lessons finished for the day, the delegates started to pack up and think of the free time before dinner. Most would be returning to their beds to rest or to the old village centre to meet up at the evening pastry stands or taverns. Hedda instead walked quietly away from the pack. She needed time without people. She had been too long from the forest, as if she needed the dusk animals as much as they might need her. The day started to turn into dusk. She needed to explore the conservation area; the rounded, broad patch of green had drawn her eye since she first walked through the ice walls. She thought it could be a lung for her, supporting her in the barren cold.

As she walked towards the trees, the snow track receded. Hedda could start to feel the warmth through her soft-sole boots. With each step through the small fields, then tall grasses, the temperature grew a notch warmer. The roasting power from the ground built and as Hedda entered the canopy of the trees, she was met with heat more intense than the hottest July on her island home.

On the path just ten feet or so before the trees was another six-language sign, but this with large angry text, orange underlined.

_No Entry!_ it stated in English, followed by _Forbidden to all delegates!_

_Immediate expulsion for any delegate passing this point_.

Hedda read the English out loud: _The animals here are free to roam, choosing to stay in this tropical forest for its heat. Please respect their liberty. Risk of death to all that enter, signed Philos, Holmgang Leader._

Between the sign and the forest there was a deep, encircling trench, perhaps twenty feet deep with dank water at its bottom. The path became narrow with steep sides and was covered in a metal grid, like the wooden one back home to keep the cows from wandering. Hedda stepped beyond the sign, into the forest.

'That Minotaur is not holding me back,' Hedda mind-spoke with Marit, with no reply.

She was greeted by familiar groups of ferns huddled in the shadows, by her proud uniformed silver beeches, the power of the oaks, but as she walked deeper amongst the trees, the forest spread into a land she had never seen. The long-leaved bushes were taller than she was, a deeper green than any at home, spiced with rich orange, drooping trumpet flowers. At her feet were rows of spiky plants with flower-like, red, shiny leaves. Trees with black and magenta berries. She stopped to catch her breath in the heat. The air seared her nose. Sweat trickled down from behind her ears.

She was soon in thick forest, under a hundred-foot canopy of broadleaved, towering trees. She explored the forest floor for perhaps another half an hour before discovering that it contained an inner circle. It was walled in and surrounded by another deep trench with wide, wooded branches thrusting out of the ground, sharpened at their tops. The vegetation on the inside of the circle had been trimmed back creating a gap between it and the wall.

The wall was twice as high as her, made of tightly bound planks, with metal spikes, razor sharp, running across its top edge.

She could see a small drawbridge. She tried to pull it down, but it was bolted upright and locked with a large brass padlock.

'Nothing will stop me getting in here,' she whispered to herself.

The trees on the outside of the circle were still relatively close to the wall and Hedda dug her heels sideways into the bark of the nearest tree and climbed ten feet. She tightrope walked along a branch then counted to three and jumped, landing in a ball in the dirt on the other side.

The forest was identical to that outside the walls; it was lush and vibrant. Even so, it felt like a green prison to her. Hedda remembered words from her mother: 'Comfort alone does not mean freedom.'

In the dusk she could see glimpses of movement behind the trees, sometimes thin, furry arms and legs, sometimes large spotted necks reaching to the sky, other times a powerful, dark-black fur head with cat-like ears. None of these beings seemed to be dusk animals; she sensed no connection or say with them. Hedda felt heavy inside; she sat down and leant by a large tree and wanted to just to be herself, not think too much.

A long minute or so passed. Hedda started to release the knot of worry in her shoulders, but then a sound, a few feet away - a crack, a careful crack of a small twig, just behind that tall bush to her left. The plants by the side of it were swaying in the wind, but that bush stood stiffly, as if someone were holding its branches from behind. Was there someone there? Was she being watched?

An uncomfortable, short truce. Hedda stayed stone still and the bush waited patiently. Then behind the broad leaves, a pair of eyes, maybe Viking? As the wind rustled, moving the leaves, Hedda could see a heavy, black forehead, deep creased, frowning, curious, seeming pained.

The wind lifted and curled the bush's greenery. As it did, Hedda started to piece a picture. The strength of neck, broad shoulders; it had to be male, she thought. She could see that he was not covered fully in fur, not like a bear. There were furry arms, yes, but his rounded mouth and deeply set nose were instead covered in shining black skin, like his chest. His face was close to that of a human, save for that heavy overhanging forehead, always looking like he was troubled, thinking.

Hedda saw that he was trying to move closer, but as he did a wince of deep pain crossed his face, as if something were tying him to a set range. As he moved, there was a sound of metal wire links hitting against the ground. He turned down towards his ankle. His body declared his age from his slow, careful turn and the colour of his back. It was muscular, heavily V-shaped, stronger than the hardened blacksmiths at home. Any black coat of youth had gone from his back. Now, like some old sage, he was heavily greying, his back near white, almost silver.

Hedda moved closer to him. He was not quite as tall as the Viking men at home, but still much taller than she was. She knew he could crush her with those thick arms, but she still came closer. He was tied by that chain on the ground after all. She thought, _would he really hurt me?_

She approached the bush, pulled back a branch to see his face fully. As she did, a sense of deep loss, a new uncertain doubt, joined deep inside her. What was it to be a person? What did it mean to be a Viking, or even human? she thought.

'Marit,' Hedda reached out in her thoughts, 'can it be a man? His eyes, it looks like there is deep thinking, reflection behind them.' _But_ , Marit replied.

'But there is still something, something of the forest, of nature in him, something raw,' Hedda added.

_Something that perhaps we have lost, that people hunger without knowing?_ Marit answered back.

'Yes, I suppose,' Hedda mind-said.

_Does it really matter_? came Hedda's metallic second half.

'It must do, must do somehow. I mean, if he is a person, has a mind like a Viking, then how could anyone be allowed to tie him up, trap him?' Hedda asked inside her _._

_But who around us is free? Wasn't Grandfather locked up? Are you sure that people aren't trapped by others, by chains, debts due, history_?

Hedda had no answer for Marit. She was just a young girl dressed in Viking clothes without her choosing, caught in the protection of this island, made safe by her jail of mist.

_Ask yourself, little one_ , Marit added, _if you cut his chains, would that make him truly free?_

Hedda rubbed her face hard with the palm of her hands, dragging the skin around her eyes as she did. Through her fingers she could see that the black and silver one was moving his arms and fingers, not jabbing, but passing his hands through the air in a controlled, repeated way. At the end of each motion he would touch his left ear. The first movement he made was to hold his hands out, side by side, and point with his forefingers, towards each other, so the tips of his fingers would touch. With his second motion, he would raise his one palm flat and bring the fist of his other, thumb up, into that palm. The last movement again was to his ear.

'I think he is trying to say something, speaking with his hands,' Hedda mind-whispered.

As she followed the final movement, Hedda saw there was a thick leather tag pinned into his left ear, as if he were some unfeeling luggage. Hedda moved closer, the branches still separating them. The gold writing across the tag was still fairly clear; the first word was _Tumaini_.

Hedda pulled back, looked at him and said slowly, 'Tumaini?'

He lifted his head, and started to point to his chest with the fingers of his right hand.

'So, you are Tumaini,' Hedda confirmed. 'I am Hedda.' She pointed to her tunic in the same way. 'Tumaini, let me read the rest of that tag.'

After his name, in smaller type, there were two more lines, the first reading, _Tribe: Gorillini, Species G. G_., the last line, _N. E. Zoo._

Hedda wondered if she was a danger to him, stood there with her blade by her side. She could see with each movement the suffering on his face; he must have some rest, some escape from this. She put her hand out, slowly, palm up towards him, through a gap in the branches. Tumaini watched, looking at the hand with care. He then reached out and touched the end of her fingertips before taking his arm back and once more returning to his series of gestures.

Hedda wanted to help find a way out for him. She wanted to act. She moved between the two bushes and she was in a clearing, stood before Tumaini. Here the ground was a trodden-down soil, a light-clay circle, its radius the length of the coarse chain that was staked into a large concrete post in the centre.

Tumaini point towards the far end of the clearing. Cuffed to another identical chain sat another of the Gorillini, a woman. She was aged like Tumaini, head bowed over, shaking from side to side, sobbing.

Tumaini moved to the other side of the circle, holding his shoulder high between the female Gorillini and Hedda, as if to protect a fading flame. As Tumaini moved, he lumbered with an ugly limp. At first Hedda did not want to look at the metal cuff, tight around the Gorillini ankle. But she couldn't turn her eyes away from the thick, seeping blood caking over the rough iron clasp. The cuff was grooved deep into the flesh, thickened with layers of blood and rusting in wet. As Tumaini moved, Hedda's anguish built at the sound of iron, rubbing not just against flesh, but scraping with each step against bone. Then he stumbled and Hedda ran to force her shoulder under his falling side, her knees grinding with the weight of his body.

They slowly made it over to the other Gorillini. Her lacerated, weeping ankle was as bad, perhaps worse than Tumaini's. Hedda looked at her saddened face; there was something more than the suffering of pain there, her near-glazed eyes holding a deeper sorrow.

Hedda leant over to her, patting her on the shoulder and getting closer to read the matching tag in her left ear.

'Hu-ruma,' Hedda spoke out. 'Huruma, I am Hedda.'

Huruma pointed to herself at the sound of her name. She held her other hand tight against the wounds on her lower leg.

'I will be back, back in a few minutes.' Hedda spoke in a soft tone to try to soothe. She then moved back into the forest growth. She knew the plants at home better than most her age; she saw the power of the blue bellflowers for her Far-Far, watched in her round house with care as herbs were boiled or pumiced for their oils, in deep stone pots. There must be something here, she thought, amongst the wild and bold flowers, something closer to home, something that could help.

Then, low down under other bushes, in some cool and shade, Hedda saw a broad-leaved plant, its leaves like wide hearts, a plant similar to one that would bring some relief to blood cuts and stings at home. She snapped two handfuls of leaves and quickly returned to the clearing. She laid the leaves out flat against the base of the central tying post and pressed hard with the blade of her dagger, bruising the leaves and releasing a light white oil. The next minutes were filled with Hedda packing a crust of the crushed leaves around Tumaini's and Huruma's sores. Both Gorillini winced and pulled back at first.

'Calm, calm,' Hedda said. 'This should help a little, only a little I know. I will come back, come back to bring more other days.'

Both Gorillini tapped their chins with their hands and then waved their hands forward, palm open.

'I must go now,' Hedda added. 'I have some safety in the half dark, but I need to leave soon.' Hedda was not sure if the Gorillini understood her, but she hoped they would still take comfort from her tone.

Hedda was about to find her way back to the track to the Holmgang when there was another rustle amongst the greenery at the edge of the clearing. Another rustle, just behind, as if two small puppies were playing under leaf.

Huruma's face changed. Hedda had seen that look before, the one of a sow losing their piglets to the table, of a parent at the harbour as children go to sea.

Huruma straightened her forefinger and placed it vertical against her lips. Tumaini did the same, tapping his finger twice against his mouth, pausing and tapping again. As they did they were joined by the tumble and roll of children. Two small Gorillini, only three hands high, rolled out of the green onto the ground, pretend fighting and bundling into a circle. Then the little ones looked up and the sight of Hedda broke their play. Their arms dropped and one ran to tuck under the leg of Huruma; the other hid under the arm of Father. Hedda checked quickly to see the small ones as they moved, no cut marks on their ankles, no tags in ears. Hedda didn't want this moment to be like a snowflake in her hand, lost by her presence. She gave the smallest of bows to the four and ran back into the forest to find the trail to the dorm.

As she followed the forest trail, still within the inner bamboo jail-zoo, there was the sound of heavy paws pacing behind her, branches cracking, the splash of water; eyes were circling her. Amongst them the long tails and angled looks of wolves, late-evening vespers. She knew, just like home, those wolves would hunt for her, for blood.

'Marit, what can I do? Dusk, dusk has gone,' Hedda begged.

If there were any hidden guardians, any direct sway you have with them has gone this night.

'What can I do?' Hedda mind-pleaded, looking around her, as the eyes circled behind branches.

_Nothing. Run! Keep running!_ Marit urged.

The padding of the animals, their heavy breath was just a step or two behind her. There was also the sound of footprints, a pair of boots, fast running, light, like a Nisse.

Hedda looked up, she needed to climb one of those trees to get across the inner bamboo wall. Within a second of her climbing, they would lurch forward and be at her ankles from below, biting and dragging her down. She had no choice; she had to make it to the branches, where she could jump the wall for safety.

She found a sound tree, ran up to its stump, dug her nails into the deep bark and started to climb. She was about three feet up, just a touch more and into some form of safety. Then her fears bit into her, a deep bite, jaws locked into the back of her ankle, just above her boots, the sounds of growling, snarling. Her fingers started to bleed against the rough bark.

'I can't be pulled down; they will tear me to shreds,' Hedda mind-cried to Marit.

_I cannot help you, cannot help us_ , came the tin voice.

Then a second wolf jaw clamped around her other foot. She was starting to be dragged down, inch by inch. Hedda closed her eyes, head tight to the bark, not knowing if anything she had done in her short, senseless life would grant her even the lowest place in the great dining hall of the gods. She could do no more; this may be her time to leave this _jord_ , she thought.

Then, a few feet back, there was the sound of wolves whelping, like scared dogs whining. She heard the thump of their bodies hitting against the ground. Then the movement of different beasts, a roar, deeper and longer than from any bear. A second later and the one jaw on Hedda's foot released, followed by the sound of the wolf running away.

The last wolf hanging on her leg suddenly shook, hit as if it were a clock's pendulum as Hedda clung onto the tree. She felt it let go, heard it run.

Hedda's face was still close to the tree bark. She needed to make it as far as that first branch, get safe before looking down. She struggled up, her ankles weak and bleeding, and eventually slumped onto the branches. The wolves had gone, the ground below now looked void of life. She couldn't understand what had happened, who had protected her. She started to edge towards the end of the branch, along the top line of the bamboo wall. She looked back one more time, a movement, a new colour, catching her eye. There, a few trees back, behind the tall bushes, she saw something large move away into the forest. Only a glimpse, it was hard to see, its heavy frame still light footed on all fours, a white stomach, black stripes along its sides, its back and head covered in deep-orange fur.

She knew she had to leave, to get back; her bleeding ankles would need dressing. Then with a painful leap, she just bundled over the bamboo wall, missing the trench spears below with only a foot of safety, and limped down the trail towards the snow.

# Chapter 27

### No Respite

She limped heavily, back towards the Rigel dorm, a trail of blood in the snow behind her, dragged dashes of darkened red punctuating her struggle back. As she walked in the dark alone, the pathway became confusing; she thought she was on the right track, but the snow made each path seem near identical. To the one side of the path, she noticed an oak door, Viking sized, inset into what seemed to be a wall of snow. Its build seemed just like any of the many doors across the Holmgang, perhaps just the entrance to some cold store or standard supplies room, nothing to notice, easily passed.

But there was something there, under the door, a glow that she had seen elsewhere. Part of her wanted just to get back, get her ankles treated, but she had seen this blue light too many times now. Too many worries unanswered.

Could there be something veiled here?

The door was plain oak with a simple brass, rounded handle. The brass trim on the keyhole formed a strong design, cast in the shape of an acorn. She tried to turn the handle. The ice-cold brass stuck to the flesh of her fingers. Just one gentle turn and a soft click and the door was open.

Straight ahead was a wide ramp leading downwards to a poundingblue glow below. Hedda guessed the light might be thirty feet down. It was brighter than she had ever seen before, its rays bouncing up the light-grey walled tunnel towards her.

She started to limp down the steep, iced incline. If she had to turn, if there were a chase, she would be slow prey. The walls of the tunnel were concrete, like some deep underground bunker from the war tales. Halfway down were lines of small windows that pierced the concrete, heavily barred with iron.

A strained, coarse voice called out, hurting. A cry from one of the windows, 'Young girl ...! Yes you! _You must run_. The evil ones are both down here. If they find you, you will never see sunlight again. Young girl, run!'

'Are they prisoners? Who are they? I must help them. What can we do, Marit?' Hedda mind-asked, rushing her thoughts.

_How, Hedda, how? You have nothing, no cards to play. Now run, run if you can_ , Marit stressed.

Hedda trudged up the ramp, still in pain. She closed the door softly and made her way back, still leaving a trail of fresh blood behind every step.

Stood in the Rigel corridor, facing the entrances to the respite room, she could hear the busy sound of feasting in the dayroom. She reached for the door to the respite room, but it started to open before she touched it. The tall, young, ginger frame of Greg McKennor appeared on its other side. Hedda swallowed hard; she was in no state to fight; she needed to rest.

'Aye Aye,' McKennor mocked. 'Cum'n for your daily dose in the respite room are yee? Well, I guess you could just move your things in for good.' 'Just let me past, McKennor,' Hedda snarled back at him.

'Go on in, yes go on in, and this time you won't be the only SteinSun scum in there; ye will have some old company with you,' scowled McKennor.

Hedda pushed past him, pulling the door tight behind. She was again surrounded by the cabinets with their jars and pill boxes, the white, metalframed beds that lined the walls. Erika was asleep in one of the closest recovery beds, connected to one of the glowing drip bags.

Hedda took sore steps towards a ceiling-height, white, plastic curtain, hanging on a hooked sliding rail. The curtain was now dividing the room roughly in half. She could not see beyond the white divider, but heard movement and heavy sighing from several people on the other side.

She dropped her body down heavily into a wing-backed chair close to the curtain, pushing its wooden legs along the white, tiled floor with a heavy screech as if asking for help. Then the face of Nurse Grimskal poked from the other side of the curtain. She saw Hedda and gave of a loud tutting noise, together with a, 'Not again! You know we don't have endless supplies here, Viking girl.'

The nurse stepped into Hedda's half of the room, making sure that the curtain was kept tight behind her. 'What have you done now, girl?' she asked, spitting her words out.

'Hurt my ankles,' Hedda replied.

'Well, I can see that. I can see the mess on the tiles too, and I don't suppose you will tell me the truth even if ask,' the nurse sighed, her whole body lifting and falling in one motion. 'Right, right,' she added, 'I will get some bandages and some purple _jod_ solution, but that's your lot. There's only so much glow plasma, you know. Erika needs it more than you, and it's the devil's work to get it, even if it does cure.'

'Thank you, Nurse Grimskal,' Hedda answered politely. 'Purple _jod_ solution would be fine. We have _jod_ at home, the one with the sour metal smell you can't wash off?'

Nurse Grimskal's face was getting redder. 'Did I say you could butt in, girl? did I? Do you think I care if you have _jod_ at home? And for another thing, don't go thinking that you can have any of the other medicines around here. People like your good mother fight hard to liberate those from the human shops. We only have small amounts to start with. And, making matters worse, too many of the tablets go missing in the night. I know, don't tell me - I know people aren't taking them for medicine; they take them for the thrill, the kick they get from the green drug. I can tell you one thing, Little Miss Viking, if I ever see you taking even one half of a green tablet, you would have more to fear from me than from any Celt.'

Nurse Grimskal suddenly stopped, like a pot boiled dry, and just stood, tut-tutting away.

'It's alright, Nurse,' Hedda tried to calm her. 'I didn't mean to disturb.

Will leave for my dorm as soon as we've bound my ankles.' 'Fine,' came the curt reply.

'I just wondered,' Hedda asked in a low whisper, 'if one of my family might be on the other side of that curtain. Is it Einar, maybe Far-Far?' 'Ssssh!' Grimskal whispered back. 'He asked me not to say, wanted to see if he got better, your grandfather I mean.'

'Far-Far? What's wrong?' Hedda asked, fearing she knew the answer.

'The thing is ...' Nurse Grimskal stopped to correct herself. 'I cannot be certain ... he will get better. He told me you already know full well of his dragging foot, his shaking hand; it was only ever going to get worse.'

'But the illness was only growing slowly.' Hedda spoke as if begging that things would be different. 'And we have some of the ground-down flowers, the blue bellflowers.'

'Calm now, little Viking,' Nurse Grimskal's tone warmed, targeting a pain in Hedda far deeper than any cut to her ankles. 'The flower paste,' Nurse Grimskal continued, 'it does help a little, mostly in the early stages. But your grandfather suffered a fall this morning. He fell in the dayroom. It could have been due to a shock, perhaps some new stress. But you see, his shaking disease, it's got a lot worse, a lot worse and quickly. Just now he's confined to his chair, cannot walk. We are trying to teach him how to walk again, but it won't be the same.'

'Can I see him? I want to see him. Let me see my Far-Far,' Hedda begged, still in a whisper.

'Not quite now,' said the nurse. 'He has asked me not. He's not alone. We always have at least half a room of people here, comes with their age. It's part of their journey I am afraid.'

'But the green tablets from the humans, the glow plasma. I have seen what you can do. I have seen so many people, across the islands, healed from deep wounds. We must be able to do something,' Hedda pleaded.

'I said, young one, I said we are nearly out of the human's tablets. We would have more, but for the addicts. And the glow plasma, well, I don't really like to use it unless I have to.'

The nurse stopped herself before saying, 'Anyhow, I should not add more. Doesn't really matter as your Far-Far has rejected all medicine, says he trusts the old ways. And when I mentioned even the half chance of glow plasma, he tried to pick the mug up next to him, tried to throw it straight at me. Now, let's get your ankles bound and get you back to bed. I promise I will do what I can. I hope he will agree to speak with you soon, perhaps in a few days.'

The nurse left for a few minutes and when she returned, Hedda accepted the sting of the hot water, steaming in the deep, broad bucket before her, the stain of the _jod_ and tight packing of the bandages.

' _Takk skal du har_ ,' Hedda said to the nurse, in thanks and half defiance to the buildings around her.

'Be careful using your old speak, young lady. Seems like you have been taking lessons somewhere,' the nurse cautioned. 'Anyhow, go now, off to bed.'

# Chapter 28

### Wake-up Call

A week later, with dawn reflecting across the dorm walls, Hedda sat in a huddle with Erika and Lyda at the end of the Stone Troll's bed. Erika was back in her national dress, which covered her arms. Hedda thought her burnt hand looked to have healed fairly well.

Hedda hoped the thick moss would deaden their talk from curious ears.

'Look, both,' Hedda whispered, 'what I have just told about the forest, you have to promise, swear that you will tell no one. Don't tell Dai. I am not sure I can trust him, yet. He has not discovered the power of lying. He would tell anyone if asked.'

'What makes you sure Philos is behind it?' Lyda asked.

'Must be,' said Hedda. 'He signed the no-entry notice, and I heard a Nisse run in the forest. I have only seen two Nisse at the Holmgang.'

'And I saw Frode in the dayroom all evening that night, sometimes visiting your grandfather in the room next door,' Lyda replied.

'But I don't understand,' said Erika, 'why not just stand on a table now in the dayroom? Why not just say they have animals trapped there? If they have Gorillini trapped, I am sure they have others too; they must be freed.' 'Yes, why not tell?' Lyda joined in.

'Someone ... sorry some _thing_ ,' said Hedda quickly, 'is telling me not to. I was not meant to go into the forest. I would be evicted if I stood up. And if I did shout out the truth, wouldn't Philos just kill the chained animals before we made it back to the forest? He's always watching, listening from his tower. He'd leave his tracks nice and clean. We would have got nowhere, would have just killed the ones we want to protect.'

'You sure it's not fear?' Erika challenged.

'Have you seen me pull back from a fight?' Hedda snapped back.

'But there's more isn't there?' asked Erika.

'Well, yes,' said Hedda. 'You know the two baby Gorillini cubs? Well, so far they have a freedom of sorts, being unknown. If our protest kills or moves their parents, the hidden babies would perish.'

'Or maybe worse; they might then end up in a zoo, Viking or human,' Lyda added.

'Yes, I wonder,' said Hedda, 'perhaps their mother, Huruma, is willing to accept her fate to improve that of her children.'

Their conversation was broken by a knock at the door. An older delegate walked in, saying, 'Hedda you have two visitors, in the dayroom.'

Hedda left the others behind, ankles still tender. She dragged her hands on the rough concrete on her way through the corridor, her tin voice joining her.

_Well, well, keeping secrets to yourself?_ sniped Marit.

'What do you mean? I told them everything,' Hedda mind-replied.

Did you, though? Did you tell of Old Anna and the braided hair you still have in your pocket?

'Stop it, Marit. I am warning you,' mind-replied Hedda.

No, you didn't! You forgot to tell them you are to meet three sets of captives, that even if you succeed, you may save only one group; you might choose to let the Gorillini suffer.

'Marit, it's not that I want anyone to suffer. I just ...' mind-said Hedda.

_You just want to decide where to place your favour?_ Marit asked, dancing around the truth.

'Shut up, Marit! We have a meeting,' Hedda mind-replied harshly as she opened the door into the dayroom.

The breakfast table was empty, apart from a large Minotaur and small Finnish Nisse. Rows of still-steaming mugs of tea and half-finished plates of toast were mementos that others had left in a hurry.

'Welcome, you must be Hedda,' came a treacle-warm bellow. 'I know you will have seen my speeches from the tower. I do not think we have met formally before. Come, sit by us for breakfast, let me introduce Matti.'

Matti gave an ugly grin and in a shallow, scratching voice, slowly added,

'A plea-sure to meet you.'

'Tea?' Philos asked as if a low servant.

'Yes,' said Hedda.

Philos picked up the pot and cup in front of him, looking like a toy set in his oversized claws.

'Is there anything I can help with?' Hedda asked.

'No not at all,' Philos beamed, his eyes cold. 'We just thought we would visit some of the older delegates in the respite centre. I mean, you never know how long they will be with us.'

Hedda said nothing, just stared ahead.

'I am sorry,' Philos continued. 'Yes, of course, your grandfather, he is in there, yes? Well, he didn't manage to say that much, but I am sure the good nurse will care for him well.'

'Talking about caring,' Matti added, again speaking slowly, as if some stifled actor reading out the Sagas.

'Yes,' said Philos, 'yes, we heard from the nurse that you have cut your ankles, that it was seven days ago. Sorry to hear that.' As Philos spoke his tone remained warm on the outer surface. His eyes narrowed and wide nostrils flared.

'Tell me, young Hedda, I am interested to know what happened. How can we make the Holmgang more secure?' Philos asked.

'I-I just caught my leg on something, something climbing a tree,' Hedda replied.

'Yes, of course you did,' Philos spoke as if a doubtful tithe inspector. 'It's odd, you see, seven nights ago we found a track of blood in the snow all the way from the forest. We have this week checked all the respite centres, made enquiries, and it seems yours was the only injury that night. We know it could not have been Erika, as she was carried back to Rigel.'

'Right, well ...' was all Hedda could say.

'Indeed, yes, right, well,' Philos half-mocked. 'You see, we could guess your every move that night last week, and we wouldn't want your time here coming to an end, would we?'

'Coming to an end?'

'Indeed, a girl like you, if banished from the Holmgang, can protect no one, not even a grandfather,' said Philos.

Philos and Matti then stood and left for the snow outside.

Hedda looked down at her cup of tea, wondering if any pattern or sign might appear in its steam. There was none. She sat there silent, until two doors opened at the same time and Erika and Lyda walked in.

'Come,' said Erika, looking out to see Philos and Matti walking in the distance, 'come let's get moving to the Learnings, ready for the end of year challenge, whatever it will be.'

Hedda slammed her cup down. 'Sure,' she said, 'sure, why not.'

As they moved to leave, the small figure of Dai stood up from behind a wing-back chair that had concealed his frame. 'Do I get to come too, or are you trying to exclude me?' he asked, ever frank.

'You get to come, Dai,' Hedda confirmed, equally directly, 'and why are you wearing that cook's apron?'

Then Hedda realised Erika was also wearing a cream apron, with a small emblem of a croissant in the corner. Lyda had also come prepared, with what looked very much like a ship's sail wrapped around her body.

'We have one for you,' said Erika.

Hedda took the apron from the smiling Huldra and followed the group towards the foreign buildings. Hedda kept a few steps back from the rest of them, scowling even though no one was looking. She tucked her hand into one pocket of her tunic, found the plaited ring of hair, twisting and turning its soft rub against her fingers. As she twisted the ring of twine in her hand, she felt her blood surge grow, as if a pathway for that tin voice.

_Morning, Hedda. Having a good day?_ came Marit's mind-voice.

'Very funny,' Hedda answered in her thoughts. 'This island is, well, it's held together by rot.'

_And so?_ Marit asked. _Isn't life a series of sour cherry choices?_ the tin voice posed in an open tone.

'But there are chained animals, bleeding out there, that seemed pretty human to me.' Hedda mind-replied, 'and the medicines, they could free the ill trapped in their sickbeds, but others are stealing, swallowing them in some dark habit.' _And yet there could still be worse in life_ , Marit posed.

Then, a growing rattle of chatter shook Hedda from her thoughts, as the group reached the shadow of the next learning building.

The _Ecole D'Patisserie Blanches_ stood tall and alone, two buildings along from Kuuku's coffin classes. A group was already waiting for the glass, brass-framed door to open. Einar stood, chuckling coyly, arm in arm with the Huldra cousins. Clara tickled Einar under his wide chin and Hannah squeezed his arm, squealing softly as she did.

Hedda pulled Erika to one side. 'Look, Huldra,' she whispered, 'you promised in the town harbour; you swore you would control yourself and the other Huldra, protect Einar.'

Erika's face pinched up, like a child begging for sugar. 'But, but,' she whispered back, 'I haven't hurt anyone. I could have bled one of the McKennor boys on the path one night, but I didn't. But how do I control my cousins? He seems to be enjoying the attention anyhow.'

Hedda whisper-screamed at the Huldra, 'Don't think I can forget you, down in the harbour, knees in the back of the man. I mean, he could have drowned in his own blood.'

'I know, I'm not proud, but these things happen,' Erika agreed.

'Look, Erika, I have tried to show a little friendship to you, had breakfast together, but when it comes down to it, you are a Huldra,' said Hedda. 'I've been warned to hate your type. Now I know why. Remember our young boys are not your blood sport.'

Erika pleaded, still in lowered tones. 'Sport? Sport? You don't understand, you will never know the tears, the days of crying and sorrow when we bury one of our young boys in Hulderak. Many times, our girls wake up in the morning, next to one they have loved for years, cared for, to find their hands caked in blood, their sweetheart killed by a side of us we cannot control.'

'Listen, Huldra,' Hedda warned, her hands gripped tight around Erika's white cotton collar, dragging her up from her heels.

'Stop! Stop! People are starting to watch,' Erika cried out softly.

'Listen,' Hedda added in a near-silent voice, 'there must be some way to protect him. Your mayor, the older men on your islands, it seems some are marked out to survive even if you don't know or admit it.'

Erika spoke quickly, struggling for air. 'Alright, alright, I will tell my cousins, tell him he is a _lendmann_ , someone of high office, a person with powers. It will give some protection. But you must know, if they suspect he is just a normal boy, they will madden with rage.'

'Fine, tell them, tell them later today; we'll take our chances,' said Hedda, letting go of Erika's neck.

'It's alright,' Erika said, looking to the crowd around them. 'Just a slight misunderstanding, all alright now.'

A few puzzled looks, a few words of gossip and then the crowd seemed to lose interest and turned back towards the bakery.

The bakers' building stood proud, as some altar or throne, not the seat for making pies and buns. Over six floors high and only two windows wide, it looked as if it had been picked from some tight-dwelling town and dropped on its own in the open without its normal row of family. A crisp-edged Mehir in its snow surround. The full stretch of the lower floor was made from a central glass door with two wide, single-pane windows on either side, all framed in wide bands of gleaming brass.

Hedda jostled Einar, jolting him away from the red and black danger of the Huldra.

'Not like the bakehouses back home,' she spoke with a forced chuckle.

'It's a bit fancier than that,' Einar agreed, neck tilted back. 'It's so fine, flat-fronted stone, all lime grey, and the windows ... look at the neat arch of stone work around them and their flower-patterned, black- iron balconies.'

'Excited?' Hedda asked.

Einar replied with a smile, before adding in a tone like a concerned parent, 'My sweet cousin, please tell me you haven't ... gone mad, have you? You're not going the way of Old Anna?'

'No no,' Hedda replied, looking down to her cheeks. 'No, not mad, not yet at least,' she added with a small laugh. 'Anyhow ... look at this place.'

The ground floor windows shone out. Above them a long sign in painted glass, tall gold letters, under-painted in dark red. _Patisserie Blanches_.

The windows were so clean; seen from far they were a mirror on the snow. Now, close up, they revealed, rows of golden pastries, and sugar-glistening treats, neat towers of flaked croissants, regimented rows of brown and pink eclairs, and pyramids of small, baked, shell-shaped sponges.

Each window was decorated with a wide arch of gold, hand-painted letters. The first read, _P_ â _tisserie_ ; the second window, _Confiserie_.

'Come on, let's not waste time,' Hedda spoke up. 'Let's go in.'

The door pulled open, smoothly greased. It gave off a little brass ringing sound as it opened, tapping the small bell fixed to the top of the wall on a dark iron spring.

The crowd funnelled through the doors, full of excited gasps and greedy winks. Lyda and the two other Stone Trolls looked saddened, never able to pass through this delicate glass gateway. Instead, they followed the enamel path-sign and treaded their way to the back of the building.

For Hedda, the gleaming brass door frame, the deep, dense orchestra of smell, built a bridge to rare glimpses of happy, hidden days at home. The heavy bass of the golden caramel, the high notes of sugar-cooked strawberries and the comforting chorus of baked pastry all took her mind back to her roundhouse, to feasting and song.

'Look at the ganache,' she said in wonder to Einar, 'the shine, the piping, work of masters.'

'Yes, it is amazing,' said Einar, before suddenly stopping, a gulped pause, adding 'Look ahead of you.'

There, stood straight and proud in front of a gloss black door at the back of the baker's shop, was a lady. A lady who would never need to be introduced ... Dame Blanches.

'Welcome ... _God Dag_ ... _Bienvenue_.' She spoke with long, drawnout, elegant vowels. 'I will be asking you all to join me in a mystery, an adventure that is patisserie, and once you have known this world, once you have known its majesty - _Oui, c'est_ ç _a_ \- you will know that this is one of the finest crafts, skills, one of the grandest challenges we will know,' she declared. Her crystal-white face scanned the room, her pure sugar-coloured hair and powder-grey, long dress floating gently in the words around her.

'Well, you, my fine Viking boy,' said Dame Blanches, pointing to Einar in the tone of a soldier meeting a lost comrade. 'It is clear that you have tasted the many delights of this sweet world. I am sure you will be a fine chef.' Einar smiled back, rosy cheeked.

Dame Blanches grinned, but with no colour to her face. ' _Oui, Oui,_ formidable,' she said, raising her hands in the air for no clear reason, her dress flowing and folding like a flag, adding, 'Come join _moi_ now, join me to a land of experiment.'

A turning, whirring sound came from behind the wall and then the tall door behind Dame Blanches opened. The room beyond was a world far distant from the antique-style front shop. The high-ceiling, the white walls rose all the way to the top of the six-floor façade. The cooks' benches were set out in precise rows on the black slate floor. The clean lines, not a drip of fat, gave a look of some bakery beyond Valhalla's gates. There at the tall back door, Lyda and the other Stone Trolls waved and joined them in the cavern-high room. The only other marks puncturing the room's field of white were two rows of black-iron oven doors, lined along the walls. The oven doors hissed, pounding with the heat they guarded.

Hedda daydreamed, perhaps the next few hours would be filled with the finest, intricate skills and flavour. She knew she would have to pretend, pretend that her baking skills were very limited; the higher art of baking was a preserve for the men of Crop-Skul. The last bastion of injured pride. Even under this pretence she could still explore the glories, the recipes from Dame Blanches' past.

However, in minutes it would be clear that this was just their first learning. Lyda and the other Trolls didn't even eat food and had yet to boil an egg. Dame Blanches placed a range of core ingredients at the front of the benches and pointed to the white-doored cold rooms.

'Here,' she said, 'the simple ingredients. All you need to impress. I would like each of you to bake a special dish, so I can assess, test your skills.'

The delegates threw themselves into the challenge with keen and willing. Clouds of flour-smoke filled the room, broken egg shells were cracked in great lines, sliding off tables. The smell of burning sugar filled one corner. Hedda watched, not permitted to show her skills to help, or questions would be asked. She felt like a colonel at the brow of a hill, watching a barrage of ill-prepared soldiers running into the valley of some desperate battle.

Untrained hands worked pastry for minutes until it became a grey, hard putty. Others kneaded bread for only a few seconds then tried to bake it after two minutes' rest.

Hedda would focus on her own task; it would have to be average, plain and simple, or her secret background would be out, embarrassing her clan. She would be taunted for living like a boy. Lemon meringue, she thought; that would be fine. She would make sure not to include any zest, to leave the taste short of a full palate. Worse, worse still, she would make sure a small drop of yolk would be mixed with the white, enough that its peaks would never truly rise.

Einar was singled out by the dame; she floated over to him and spoke in an excited whisper. Dame Blanches then bowed and left through the door to the shop. Hedda rushed over to Einar to ask, 'What did she want? What task did she give?'

Einar looked confused. 'Not really sure, Hedd. Something special she wants me to bake, something in French, I think. I think it's a dish to celebrate the end of a war. She called it the "Peace and the Resistance".'

When time was up, Dame Blanches drifted elegantly back into the room to the cooks' tables. The first to be judged was Lyda. She stood there bowed over with worry after the long challenge. Dame Blanches looked down at Lyda's table and shook back in surprise, saying after she regained her breath, 'Ah yes, Stone Trolls, not so used to food, this is sure.'

Hedda looked up at Lyda and gave her a kind wink. There on the table the Troll had presented a bowl of oats in cold water, with a pretty pansy flower on the side for decoration. Dame Blanches picked up a small silver spoon and scooped some of the uncooked gruel to taste, the end of her spoon quivering as she did. The dame swallowed hard then looked up to give judgment. Hedda was so worried for her friend; a few sour words today could sit with this young Troll for centuries.

Dame Blanches, however, poured no scorn or spite on the young Troll's efforts.

'Well,' she said, 'quite, quite pleasant, in a simple way, not too complicated, perhaps a little salt next time, step by step.'

Lyda gave a grateful backward bow and looked to the delegates on either side of her, the glow from her iolite eyes seeming gently proud.

Einar was next. He brought forward a four-tiered mousse, layered with delicate _mille feuille_. It was topped with chocolate warriors fighting for peace on a meringue battlefield. A precision, crafted sugar-work castle formed the resistance to the cocoa wars outside it.

'Dame Blanches,' said Einar, 'here is the fighting scene, just as you asked.'

Dame Blanches looked ice-cold blank at Einar as if separated by a common language. She then took a slice of the _mille feuille_ and tasted a dainty forkful.

'Ah, _tres bien_ ,' said Dame Blanches. 'For you, you can enjoy the lessons accelerated, front of the class. But I am not sure we need the fighting scene next time?'

Hedda sighed out loud at the back of the class. She had secretly sat in the cold room, helped make half of Einar's dessert, mixing the fine mousse and creating the sugar castle.

Dame Blanches turned to Hedda. 'Do not be sad, young Viking girl. I know back home you cannot learn the ways of this art, but here, here you are free to learn to bake with no restrictions.'

Hedda gave a genuinely grateful and frustrated smile back as she pushed forward her deflated lemon meringue. Dame Blanches looked at it saddened, like a teacher hoping a child might have some skill for maths or language only to come bottom of the class.

'Non, _non-_ ç _a go_ û _t pas_ ,' said Dame Blanches, chewing the tasteless pie. 'I am seeing that the skills are not running in the family genes. You will be cooking at the back with the Trolls.'

Hedda watched the others being judged, to find out that Erika and Dai were truly awful cooks. Dai had a rule to put three times the stated amount of sugar into any mix. Erika had her own style, which was to mix up sweet and savoury. A highlight of the day's baking was when Dame Blanches tasted Erika's steak and kidney sherry trifle.

• • •

The weeks that passed followed a pattern that soon structured a new life for Hedda. Whilst many still despised or bated her, the Celts and Vegard in the main, there were now a few who accepted her for who she was, not her birth line.

The dayroom food was generous and well prepared by the Holmgang staff. Sessions in the three core areas were taken throughout the week, including learning the craft of fireworks with Madame Hzu. Still there was plenty of time for the delegates to learn songs and new histories and explore the village centre.

Hedda visited the forest at dusk at least twice a week, making sure to reapply the ground broad-leaf paste on the Gorillini sores. Slowly, the deep wounds showed some small degree of healing. The continued deep grating of the iron meant they would never fully mend. Hedda could not just leave them be.

Every time she left the Gorillini, she went home via the right-hand path. She knew the wooden door in the snow would be locked, but would check it every time just the same. She would check the path up and down, before quickly trying to turn the rounded brass handle. Each time the handle would move just a quarter before being halted by the locked bolt inside.

One clear evening, she had left the forest when she heard something being thrown across the ground. Then that sound again. This time a stone hit her hard in the back of her calf. She turned around to see the snarling CropSkul boy in his black top with the silver stripe.

'Don't pretend you haven't been in the forest,' Vegard snapped.

'What do you mean, Vegard? And anyhow, where have you been?

Following me, like back home?' said Hedda.

Vegard's sickened face tinged pink. 'I have never followed you, in the forest or anywhere.'

'Sure?'

'Well, it doesn't really matter does it, not with what we know you are hiding,' Vegard sneered.

'Spit it out, Vegard! I have nothing to hide from you, you vile slug.'

'Still charming, aren't you,' mocked Vegard. 'I should have killed you already, but now I'd rather hedge my bets. I have seen the two small runts the adult beasts hide.'

'Don't you even think about touching them, or ...!' exclaimed Hedda.

'Or what, Hedda? you are banned from going in the forest, not meant to know about them anyway. If you tell Philos about them, their fate is sealed. Whereas I, I just want to win the Holmgang, want to pass a law that promotes the honour of my clan.'

'Well, if you win the challenge then of course you get your chance. Up to you,' Hedda replied.

'No, you don't see,' said Vegard. 'If you win the Holmgang, I also win.

Because you, Skum-princess, will pass the law I want, and ... if you don't I will walk up on the same evening and I will kill those two babies, do so with joy.'

Hedda was biting her lip, so close to her milk-white eyes lighting, taking hold of her. She kept biting until her lip bled. The pain shook her. She leant to pick up the stone by her foot. She threw it at Vegard with all her might then ran for the dorm.

# Chapter 29

### Path Home

The wolf-bite marks in her leg still stung, running down the path, leaving the vile one behind.

That horrid boy would not stop her new pattern.

She would always see the Gorillini.

She would check to see if the snow-framed door would open again. She would fight to win the Holmgang challenge.

'I will win any challenge. I don't care. No one will stop me,' Hedda mind-said to Marit as she ran.

_Success at any cost?_ Marit queried. _Wouldn't it be better to lose the challenge, if losing saves the lives of the two Gorillini babies?_

'I will take him on, defend them in the forest,' Hedda replied.

_Are you sure?_ asked Marit. _He's a Vesper, just as much as we are SkumRonde; his powers will build in the evening as yours fade. He'll trap you._

• • •

Far enough down the path now, she slowed. She returned to her habit, taking the right-hand path, the one that didn't seem to lead in any particular direction. She stood in front of the snow-framed door, checking the track for life, reaching out for the rounded, brass handle before her.

Again, that iced-glue feel of freezing metal against her skin.

She started to turn the handle, a quarter turn.

Again, the resistance of the lock.

'Well, Marit, nothing new here,' Hedda thought-whispered, then twisted her hand to try to free it from the cold handle.

Then there was a click.

The sound of a latch falling within the body of the door.

The door opened.

'I am going all the way to the bottom of the tunnel this time,' Hedda thought-told Marit. 'Just to let you know. I know the risk is for both of us.'

_Well, how couldn't we go together?_ Marit replied. _But the ramp is steep, icy. If we are caught down there, will be no escape._ Marit mind-spoke for the first time with a wavering voice.

Hedda took her first steps down the sharply angled path.

She passed the barred windows.

Sighs of pain echoed around her.

Muffled screams of defiance from some.

Anguished, resigned cries from others.

'Turn, run, little girl,' a voice pleaded.

'I said don't come down,' warned another.

At the bottom of the incline was a small area of flat flagstones. A doublewidth door, slightly open. The blue glow shone around it from the other side.

So bright that its edges were blurred by the light.

Hedda looked straight at the glow until her eyes adapted.

She pulled the door open.

The room was as large as a church hall, damp.

A smell like rotten pig gut hit her, face on.

It was set up as a basic hospital ward.

There must have been forty beds.

Each bed held a small person, tied down to the iron frames by wide leather straps. They were writhing under the straps, their faces fighting pain.

They each had wide needles delved deep into their arms.

Each attached to a large machine slowly pumping out their glowing purple blood.

The pumps led to sets of turning glass beakers, distilling a finer bright blue liquid that was then pumped away in broad plastic tubes to an unseen place.

Hedda walked slowly towards the first bed. What could she do? They all had such small bodies, just like Dai. They seemed drugged. At least half of them had the letters _GFF_ embroidered in silver or gold on the sleeves of their faded suits.

She moved a few paces towards the centre of the room to check the next row of beds.

A sound behind her. The sound of the heavy door moving. It slammed shut and was bolted closed.

She turned as fast as she could. In the bright blue haze of the room, she could see the outline of a tall, strong figure, small horns glinting, and a Nisse.

The first was holding a broad sword, the second a large syringe.

Philos rushed forward. He dug his claws into her shoulder. The pain threw her to the hard ground. She was desperate to be stronger.

'You monsters!' she groaned. 'Let Baldur take your soul when you die!'

'Your old gods are not going to help you here,' Philos spoke with both anger and the control of his powerful bulk, of high office. 'Go ahead,' he added 'lecture me about the cruelty to these Fairigs, but I am only doing this out of love.'

'Some sick love ... you mad Minotaur,' Hedda replied, reaching for her dagger.

'Let me drug her now,' said the Nisse.

'Won't you save me, a fellow Scandinavian, Matti?' Hedda near begged.

Matti's face fired a dark red, against the blue light. He shouted at her, taken by rage, 'Hold your tongue! We Finns come from a deeper place, not your fancy Scan-islands. Your clan just watched as we lost our Eastern Finnish lands to the man of steel's finger, stealing our nation.' Philos hit Matti hard, knocking him from his anger.

'Now, Hedda,' said Philos, 'to be clear, I am going to be the Holmgang Leader here for years to come, here safe on Razorbill. And I am going to let you go ... and watch you rot inside with what you know.'

'But if you let me go, I will talk, tell all!' Hedda protested.

'But, you see you won't,' said Philos, pulling closer to her.

'But-' said Hedda.

'You see, little girl,' Philos continued, 'these beings here form part of a great chain of Fairig hospital wards ... all across our islands, some large, some small. We need their power. They have to be slowly bled, at least twenty hours a day, or everything is lost.' 'Lost?' asked Hedda.

'Lost,' Philos repeated. 'I once believed only in love. Its power to defeat all. In my Greek homelands we even ended our mist protection. We trusted the humans. Surely, we could live together? Now my land is only ruins. Our temples and homes destroyed. Humans took over, killed us, captured us.' 'I-I ...' Hedda stuttered.

'There are very few hiding places left,' Philos continued. 'Just like Matti here, we lost our homes. Fourteen of my family were killed. The three others live in the shadows, in fear.'

Hedda started to feel numb, dead inside.

Matti moved next to Philos, speaking straight at Hedda.

'These poor Fairigs protect this island,' he said. 'Their glow plasmas produce the heat for your precious Gorillini. The same plasma creates the mist that protects the Dolphin Boat. The mist that protects your mother as she daubs the plasma on her longboat bow. The mist that protects your family on Crop-Skul.'

Hedda's brain started to rock with burning pain. There must be some way to cut through this knot, she pleaded to herself.

'So,' glared Matti, 'here, hanging on the tip of my finger is the one brass key that unlocks all these Fairigs. Take it if you want, you are welcome. And see thousands die.'

Hedda pulled herself up, holding her throbbing shoulder. She felt drunk with panic, images of the fog, her home, swirling in her mind.

She moved towards the heavy door, unbolted it and left for her dorm.

# Chapter 30

### Running Away

She rushed down the path to the dorm. She needed to find someone, someone she always trusted and loved. She must look for some light in this unpacked world of evil.

She couldn't tell Einar. His joy, his adventure, would be crushed. It would break him, change who he was.

Hedda just hoped that Far-Far might be well enough today, strong enough to listen.

He was her ever-anchor. He soothed the pain of the stone bruises back home, stitched her cuts with care. Her shield from suffering.

Nothing was going to hold her back from seeing him. She threw back the door of the respite centre, certain Grimskal would be there guarding the white barrier curtain.

'He needs more rest!' the nurse cried out, hands raised.

'Move!' Hedda shouted. 'I said, move! I want to see him, have to see him now.'

Grimskal tried to grab Hedda by the hair as the Viking girl pushed past. A strong push and shove and Hedda was through to the other side of the curtain.

Far-Far was sat up in a day chair of leatherette deep blue, his head propped by a white and red checked cushion. He was sitting at the end of the room and Hedda gave a formal bow to the other old ones as she marched past.

'Far-Far, I wanted so much to see you.' Hedda spoke quickly at first, stopping when she saw his eyes were closed. She gently poked her grandfather's shoulder, tried to help his head stay upright. It kept falling back down onto the cushion.

'Can you hear me? Should I come back later?' Hedda whispered.

Hedda couldn't lose him now. She needed him, needed her old Far-Far back.

Then a twitch in his one eye. Hedda reached out and squeezed his hand.

His eyes started to half open. She squeezed harder still.

' _Stjerne min_ , you've grown so strong,' he croaked.

'It's so lovely to hear your voice,' Hedda said, her own speech faltering. Far-Fars eyes opened wider, a fragile glimmer of the old ox-strong Viking, masked and trapped in the shell of the shaking disease.

'Tell me, _fortelle_ , you must have news,' said Far-Far. 'I know that voice. Have you won, won a challenge? Tell me,' he said, taking a sip of water with a stiff, shaking hand.

'I have seen something, something we have to fight against. It's terrible, terrible. Philos, he just pushed me away, wouldn't listen,' Hedda spoke, hush-voiced.

'I wish I could help, but it's beyond me now,' Far-Far sighed, his eyes welling.

'But it was horrible, Far-Far. I can't tell you how terrible it is. You see, there is this door, a door in the snow,' Hedda continued.

A tear now brimmed in Far-Far's eyes. 'Little one,' he said, 'please tell me ... you took care. That ramp downwards, it's very steep, always covered in ice.' Far-Far ended in his lowest whisper.

Hedda's mouth fell open, blood pounding behind her ears. She reached out to the bed frame to stop stumbling.

'Ramp? Ramp? I-I hadn't yet told you of that ...' Hedda rambled, looking as if someone had just ransacked and burned down her family home and childhood. In her mind she saw herself as a smaller child, an evil tornado pulling her away from Far-Far's grip, the image turning to blackened dust.

'I know,' Far-Far said, eyes lowering, speaking like a saddened, confessing convict, 'the iron bars there will have shocked you, and the straps.

_Ja_ , it's so sad about the straps, trapping their fine bodies.'

'So, you know, you knew about the Fairigs. Why didn't you try to do anything to stop them?' Hedda pleaded, starting to sob.

'There was no one to stop, _min lille_ one,' Far-Far paused, 'no one but myself.' He looked straight into Hedda's eyes, speaking slowly. 'My decision back then, forty years back, to lock them there, trap them, bleed their blood, well, it was so hard, but you see I had to do it.'

Hedda quickly pulled back her hands from her Far-Far. She stood for a moment, motionless. She started to cry. Then she ran, ran for the snow outside.

# Chapter 31

### Challenge Revealed

She had been found in the early hours, wandering barefoot in the snow. Later, they would tell her how they had been looking all night, calling out her name. Her fingers and toes had been black-purple, brittle, just able to be saved. It took two days, wrapped tight under blankets in her dorm, before she woke.

Erika and Lyda had kept a close eye, sitting beside her throughout, trying to calm her cries.

She had repeated again and again in her coma, 'I didn't know! I swear I was never told.'

'What? What is it?' Erika asked as Hedda woke.

'I can't say, can't say,' Hedda murmured, starting to wake, adding, 'I want to leave the Holmgang now, go home.'

'Why?' Erika asked. 'What will that help? Tomorrow we find out about the Holmgang Challenge. Perhaps we could do something for the Gorillini?'

'Can't think straight. Sorry, I need to be left alone,' said Hedda, turning her shoulder away from the others under her bedding.

'Well, if you want to be left be, we can do that, easy as pie,' Erika said impatiently, signalling to Lyda to move from her side.

Hedda stayed in bed the whole day, thinking of the first boat home, how soon it might leave. The tin voice had been quiet, but came late that night.

Hedda knew she could not ignore it.

_Lying in bed feeling sorry? What's that good for_? asked Marit.

'But Far-Far,' said Hedda, 'he was everything and now he's gone, lost to me.'

_So, you found trapped bodies, a live grave, yet your thoughts are focused on you, that you have lost a little bit of paradise?_ Marit jabbed back with scorn. 'But he was my Far-Far,' Hedda cried.

Isn't he still? Doesn't he still care for you? He's your flesh and blood. The war, the war still holds its secrets. Perhaps what he did he did for others?

• • •

The next morning, after a tormented night with herself, Hedda stood at the end of the breakfast table ignoring the loud whispers of 'Why is she back?' and 'Has she gone berserk?'.

Erika shouted down the long table, 'Come on, Hedda. Your place is here,' in a good impression of a relaxed, manner-of-fact way, adding, 'What would you like to eat?'

Hedda stood straight-backed, chin out, a child warrior. She wasn't going to be an easy target for the McKennors or the Vespers. She would keep on, even if thoughts of Far-Far stung like a lodged arrow.

'Flu, bad three-day Flu,' she said, glaring at the McKennors, 'and yes, Erika, pancakes; I'd like pancakes, plenty of them.'

She squeezed in next to Erika and gave Lyda a gentle smile.

Dai's plate held a small tower of sugar cubes, coated in treacle that he was mouth-melting spoon by spoon. He chatted with Lyda; it seemed he was partway through a long story.

'Yes, the Grand Fairigs are probably the bravest people. I am also going to do very well in the challenge, especially if it's woodwork. Been practising for weeks,' said Dai.

'Yes,' said Lyda in a tone of stretched kindness.

'I agree,' Hedda said, facing straight towards Dai.

'Well, that is kind,' Dai answered, halting between his words. 'But you have never said anything kind about us Fairigs before. You know I can't see beneath words. Please just tell me if you are being sly.'

'I believe you must clearly be one of the bravest races of all the islands,' Hedda answered in quiet proclamation. Erik and Lyda watched on, wide puzzle-eyed.

'Yes,' added Hedda, 'you see I spoke with Far-Far; he told me of your battles in the war and those you lost on the frontline, of challenges in the Holmgang, fine Fairigs who never return from here.'

'That is very kind of you,' said Dai his wings fluttering behind. 'Hedda, when you say nice things about me, I like you more.'

Hedda smiled, accepted a small tap on the back from the Huldra and started to carve through the pancakes piled in front of her.

This morning there was an extra coating of expectation and worried delight covering the mix of chatter and boasting at the table. Sometime during breakfast, the speaker horns would shout into life, with the Minotaur's voice.

Two bites away from finishing her treacle pile, there came the sparkle of the blue glow along the leads feeding the horn speakers. A screech of power and then his voice.

'Yes, delegates, this is the day,' called out Philos. 'The challenge is to be announced.' The distant figure of Philos atop the Watch-Room leaned down towards Matti. 'My deputy will now announce the challenge,' he bellowed.

Matti took a step forward, pronouncing, 'The challenge this year of 1985 is ... baking. Your teams will be now being posted in the dayrooms. You will be judged as teams, marked for the skill of each member, each team will choose one person to propose a minor law, should you win.'

Then a short salute from the two men and they disappeared back to their sentry room.

The room around Hedda exploded into chaos as if a crazed bull had been kicked and untied. Jars of jam, meat plates and piled muffins were thrown and broken. A dark storm of fighting between Vikings and Celts broke out at the end of the table. One of the Stone Trolls became an unwilling barricade. The angry glint of daggers leaving their scabbards sparked shouting and charging across the room.

'Stop! Stop! Aye, stop I say!' came a loud shout from a Celt, now standing tall on top of the central table. 'Stop!' he continued. 'Yee cannae settle this by fighting. It's a fix, it's a fix. And it dusnae make any sense. How can cooking, simple cooking, let you change a law that binds us.'

The fighting stopped for a moment, as if some high god had pressed pause mid rock track on a heavenly cassette player.

There was a general murmur that built, a defiant thudding of fork handles on tables, words of rebellion spreading. The weak bonds holding their world together looked to melt and buckle. A door to the room opened and another voice shouted out. He stood in the doorway, legs wide, arms stretched out, rainbow t-shirted.

'Silence, silence now!' Einar demanded with some deep-found blaze in his speech. Hedda suspected he had run to Rigel Dorm to protect her from a certain fight, she felt guilty for all the times Einar had put himself between her and trouble.

Einar continued, 'McKennor! Yes you, McKennor ... you drooling fool! So you think, think that a quick fight, a stab in the guts with a blade, that makes you a leader does it?'

'Well, it was the waey it was done before,' McKennor shouted back.

'So, so what?' replied Einar. 'How would that one stab, a punch, mark you out as leader of others? How would it show you could form a team? How would it show skill, preparation, order, care? How would it show craft and art?' The crowd went quieter still.

'All,' said Einar 'these things sit at the hands of the master baker. The guilds of crafts are the guilds of power. If anyone here can show how vulgar battle better picks a man to be a law-maker then stand and shout out why now.' The room was now as quiet as a plague of gutless ghosts.

'Well, so,' Einar stated as proud as if holding a medusa head up high. 'So now it is time to bake!'

A broad chorus of chanting, rounds of clapping and the repeated word - 'Bake! Bake! Bake!' - shook the room.

As the crowds settled, there came a voice, headline excited, from the edge of the kitchen. 'Look, look!' a girl shouted. 'Look, the teams for the Holmgang. They have pinned up the teams!'

Hedda watched the mix of scowls and hurrahs as the crowd rushed to read the groups of names. She couldn't see the list for all the Giants and Trolls in the way.

'Lyda, can you see it? Can you see it?' Hedda called over.

'Yes,' Lyda shouted. 'Five people in each team.'

Hedda hoped she could get some proper bakers in her team. Einar perhaps.

'That's it,' Lyda confirmed. 'Found our names.' And then an 'Oh...!' 'What do you mean, "oh"?' Hedda shouted up to her.

'Well, you're in a team with Dai and Erika,' said Lyda.

Hedda cringed, thinking what she could do with a sugar-manic Fairy and a Huldra who loved to mix offal and jam.

'And? Who else?' Hedda asked in hope and fear.

'Well, the other two are me ... and Far-Far.'

# Chapter 32

### Preparation

She held her head in her hands, the sounds of the walls of ovens thudding in her ears. Hedda breathed out hard, looking through her fingers at the three others in her team, as they stood in the glare of the white competition kitchen. They had seized a bench at the back. To their one side was a team led by Vegard and Einar. To the other was Greg McKennor's, including the foul, swearing Frode.

'Yes, Dai,' Hedda answered again. 'Yes, Dai, I know it's true, but what do you want me to do?' Hedda sighed, trying to hide frustration, speaking as if she hoped some buzzing fly or wasp would leave the conversation.

But Dai wasn't leaving. 'So, we all get marked, twenty percent each?' he repeated.

'Yes, Dai, that's clear,' Hedda agreed, speaking slowly, tapping her knuckles hard against the worktop.

'So, we are twenty percent down on everyone else already, as your grandfather is bed-bound with his illness. I heard he's in a lot of pain, can hardly move,' Dai continued.

'Dai ... I am not sure how that is helping,' Hedda replied, the tapping getting harder.

'And you see, I know you don't like my sweet creations, and I heard Dame Blanches thinks my work is horrible.' Dai paused for a second, looked around. No one was disagreeing. 'And when it comes to Lyda here, well, she can't cook for toffee.'

'But, but,' Erika said, 'Hedda is learning to bake quite well. I know back home she's banned, but here, Hedda could make a fairly good sponge I am sure.' 'Fair enough, about maybe ten marks for the sponge,' Dai nodded, scratching his eyebrow, seeming to be mentally totting up, 'but to be frank,' Dai added, staring at Erika, 'your taste for mixing flavours has gone rather badly so far, hasn't it?'

Erika went crimson faced, fists clenched. 'I knew it,' she said with a stomp. 'Knew you would pick on my strawberry and fish liver mousse again ... I liked it.'

The metal worktop was now giving off a loud, fast bell-like noise as Hedda hit it at woodpecker speed, the edge of her knuckles starting to bruise.

Hedda hit the worktop with one loud, angry punch.

'Look!' Hedda said, pointing to her team mates. 'Look, we are going to put our heads down and just practise and practise. We can catch the others up. Look at the Celts and other Trolls and Giants. Why shouldn't we be just as good as any team?' Hedda spoke, trying her best to sound like a clan chief leading a group to battle. She looked to see if she had won their hearts.

Dai spoke calmly. 'You don't really believe what you just said, do you?' he said, looking at her, unblinking.

'No, I don't think she does,' came the sound of limp beech branches from Lyda.

'Does it really matter?' Erika butted in. 'Come, let's at least try, see how far we can go.'

'Alright,' said Dai, and then speaking slowly and directly to Hedda added, 'Erika, she told me about the Gorillini. Not that we have any real hope of winning, but if we do win, if we have the right to pass a law, I am happy to agree with the others and give you the right to choose. But I want to be sure that you will pass a law to try to help the Gorillini.

It can't be a law to help you or your clan; it must be for those poor trapped ones.'

Hedda took her time to answer, a white glaze starting to build around his eyes.

'What do I do, Marit?' Hedda mind-spoke. 'I can't tell anyone that the Fairigs are trapped. It has to be secret. You heard Philos. You heard what will happen if I tell. And worst of all, what would it do to Dai? I fear for him, fear for his delicate soul if he knew the truth.'

_Is your real fear that Dai would tell his kin, that there would be a Fairig rebellion?_ Marit probed.

'Marit, we are only twelve, still small, to be fair, I still haven't worked things through,' Hedda replied.

_Well, how about a type of truth, not a full lie, but a shadow truth, if you feel that's better all round?_ Marit suggested, their exchange interrupted by Hedda's shoulder being shaken by the Huldra by her side.

The milk glaze sank back into Hedda's eyelids and she looked up and around the others waiting for a reply.

'Yes, Dai, I promise,' Hedda said. 'If we win I would seek to pass a law to try to help the Gorillini. Now, let's start work.'

The clouds of flour and sugar, the scent of caramel, toasting almonds and melting chocolate shrouded the room in the next few hours. This sweet mist, the heat from the iron ovens, would sit at the centre of the storm of their lives for the weeks to come. Three hours in the bake room a day was the decreed maximum and those minutes would fly as if there were barely time to boil an egg.

Each day the white room sprang to life with violent colours and scent like a field of poppies opening in the sun. A thunder-burst of baking, of folded meringues and boiled jams were mixed in with secret glances of their foes' ancient recipes. The sweet mix was spiced with sneers and uncontrolled, cold laughter for every burnt crust, wet sponge or split sauce. Even the wonder of Madame Hzu's blue and green fireworks, and the crazed world of the Kuuku's coffins, could not distract the delegates from the one challenge that mattered the most to all of them.

The days grew longer as the weeks passed, each welcome extra minute of sun a reminder that soon the first annual session at the Holmgang would be over. The spring would bring the Dolphin Boats, taking their passengers back to fields needing to be tended and to the hearths and hearts of their families at home.

On a clear morning with the bluebells surrounding the back of the patisserie, Hedda and her three team mates ran out of the large door followed by a cloud of black smoke and the coarse smell of burning toffee. They stopped a safe distance in the snow, all four with arms on hips, foreheads wrinkled.

'It's no good,' Dai spoke, a dark sorrow in his frank honesty, adding, 'We've baked for six weeks now and it's worse than when we started. I've even followed the pig bins as they emptied them in the sties; there is one mound, our mound, of slops that is being left alone.' As Dai spoke, he pointed at Erika in a jabbing way.

'Alright, alright, let's go back in. Perhaps tomorrow start again.' Hedda spoke well but her face was pointing straight towards her feet.

'But there's no way, no way we can make it.' Erika spoke as if knowledge and despair were her equal friends. 'We need Far-Far. At least he, he with all his Viking skills ... Sorry, Hedda. I mean at least he will guarantee us at least twenty percent.'

'But that's impossible. He is ill,' Hedda replied, still downward facing.

'Do you know that for sure?' Erika asked. 'Perhaps he is a little better.

When was the last time you visited?'

'Well.' Hedda rubbed her knuckle under one eye. 'I haven't seen him, haven't looked to visit him, since you found me in the snow.'

Lyda had been quiet until now. Hedda always sensed that the Stone Troll's long life and centuries-wide viewpoint educated the Trolls that excess words are empty companions. Hedda looked up to Lyda and her gentle iolite eyes.

'Viking friend,' Lyda's beech leaves softly rustled, 'go, go see your father.'

# Chapter 33

### Difficult Recipes

Hedda knew that when she opened the door Grimskal would be there. As Hedda stepped inside, the nurse waited in front of the curtain like a guard-hound.

'What do you want, Viking girl?' Grimskal said, cold, distant. 'I guess something for some graze or cut. I see you never visit your grandfather,' the nurse ended, veins raised on her neck.

'I am sorry, I know that's wrong of me.' Hedda spoke with calculated grace, covering a harder, determined tone. 'But would you have let me visit him in any event?'

'Never know will we,' the nurse snapped back, 'and in case you care, no, he is not better. There were a few days where he seemed brighter, had some movement, but you missed out on those.'

'Thank you, Nurse,' Hedda said in the least sincere way she could. 'I would like to talk about his treatment.' The word 'treatment' Hedda spoke in a lower tone, enough to make the nurse rush over towards her, hands pushing the air for quiet.

'Stop right now, girl! Your grandfather has turned down any medicines.

You cannot, I won't let you, do anything against his choice.'

Hedda's words now slowed to a very slow walk. 'Nurse, I, want you, to give to Far-Far all three, all three treatments, mixed together.'

'I've told you I won't do it,' Grimskal said with war-like defiance.

'Nurse, I want you to grind up the blue bellflower, together with those crushed green tablets and soak them together.' Hedda paused '...with the glow plasma. He is weak. I am sure you will be able to inject it without too much fight.'

'There is no way, simply no way! Now shoo, little girl, back to your little dorm and find some dollies to play with,' said Grimskal.

'No dollies.' Hedda's voice now sounded as if she might be ten years older. Hedda then spoke again, like a swordsman making the final thrust of a rapier. 'You said to me, Nurse Grimskal, said the glow plasma was the devil's work. Now I couldn't guess what you mean by that ...'

'Do you know, do you, girl?' the nurse asked, voice quivering.

'I have no clue what you mean,' said Hedda, staring hard at the nurse, 'but I do know that if there is some hidden secret in that plasma, if it is discovered, there would be a question about who had been using it. I mean knowing, knowing where it came from. Knowing use; that must have the more severe punishment.'

'Are you trying to force me, to threaten?' the nurse asked in challenged anger.

'Not at all. You see, I do not know what you are talking of ...' Hedda paused, perhaps only for half a second, before adding, 'do I?'

The nurse looked around the room as if her own soul had filled the empty beds around her and was judging her.

'If only, if only ...' the nurse started, but then she stopped, her tone that of a house-broken mule. 'I will prepare the needle tonight, use an opaque syringe. I will make a batch, only enough for a few weeks. When he is better, I will tell him it's a tincture of the blue trumpet, nothing more.'

'Thank you again, nurse. I want to talk with him too,' Hedda added, shoulders back, giving a formal nod.

'Give me a few hours, time to let it work. Four tomorrow morning, in the dayroom, come then and he will be ready.' As the nurse spoke, she looked up to the sky and made a motion with one hand across her front. She then disappeared behind the curtain.

# Chapter 34

### Conversations

Sleep would not greet her that evening as Hedda turned in her bed, thumping the mattress underneath her as if it could somehow ease her worries. She was sure she checked the crystal display on her watch only every thirty minutes, but the numbers only moved a minute or two each time.

'No point in lying here any longer,' Hedda thought with Marit.

_Agreed. Come, it's 3.30 a.m. already. Why not sit in the dayroom, make some tea while you wait?_ came the tin half-soul's voice.

The dayroom was as quiet as a confessional, still grey-dark through the windows, not pure night. In only a few weeks this hour would be filled with summer northern sun. She took her time to make the tea, each step taken with elaborate delay, trying to burn the minutes. She was two mugs of tea and three biscuits into the early morning when the dayroom door opened.

Far-Far stood in his full six-feet-eight, tanned, leather glory, and walked over to the table with a bold stomp.

' _Stjerne min_ ,' he spoke with a tone of sorrow toward her, 'I am sorry for all you have seen. _Kom_ , let me try to explain at least a part of it _. Jeg_ know it must be very hard.'

Hedda was silent, her face the shape of crying, but she would make sure she shed no tear. Just weeks ago, seeing her Far-Far well would have been her deepest unshackled joy. All those years of support and story, care and guarding from him, constant as the tide. But now that kernel of happiness was seeped in dark loss. Could she now even hate her kin?

'I know, _min lille_ ,' Far-Far added. 'I know it is hard to understand, I know I have done wrong, horrible decisions, but-'

'But, but,' said Hedda, 'you chained those pour souls down. Some of them have been there forty years,' Hedda pleaded, again hoping perhaps the truth would change.

' _Ja_ , but there was more. Sadly, that's not all of it,' Far-Far spoke darkly. 'What I can tell you now itself is not the full picture. But you see, the humans, they came several times before. Not just in the war of the forties. _Du_ know we have some protections for the islands' secrecy,' he continued, 'but how could we keep so many islands, so many places safe, so close to Norway, close to Stor Brittania, off the north German coast too? There would always be gaps, weaknesses where they would find us. Perhaps thirty years would go by with total peace be _f_ ø _r_ some human boat or frigate would pull up at one of our shores.' Far-Far spoke with the softness of aged regret, slowly pouring fresh mugs of tea for them both as he did.

'But what did you do? Did you fight them, hold the humans prisoners?' Hedda asked.

'Wouldn't work. Every time a person was lost, they would send another ten looking. We took a grand risk caring for those poor fruit-picking boys on our island. No _vi_ had to find a way, something more than powers, something that we could trade with the humans. Something that would make their leaders protect our waters themselves, make sure their people did not look too hard, wipe _oss_ off the maps.'

'So, the leaders, their politicians, they know we exist?' said Hedda.

' _Ja,_ just a few of them,' said Far-Far. 'We were a secret, kept locked for the most senior of their ministers, their heads of armies. The humans pretended back home their giant _teknisk_ steps, leaps forward were by their own scientists. How did _de_ humans find these big steps themselves when they hadn't for tens of thousands of years be _f_ ø _r_?'

'But what did we trade? What did we give up for the secrecy?' asked Hedda.

' _Vel_ ,' Far-Far continued, 'hundreds of years back it was trading with Druids and others for their ceremonies, but that didn't please them for long enough, always back for more, younger generations choosing to forget our pacts. Then a hundred years ago, we taught them how to use Thor's power, to take the lightning, control it, make it themselves.'

'Like the batteries on the toys and cassette tapes Mamma brings home?' said Hedda.

'Like that, _ja_ , big forges of _elektrisitet_ they built. And we had to agree to give it up, not use it ourselves. Now all _vi kan_ do is steal the odd small battery in the night from their shores,' said Far-Far.

'But, Far-Far, that was a hundred years ago, but what about in the forties when you were the _leder_?' Hedda asked, eyes widening.

'They came back, from all directions, all the countries around. It was a terrible war, so many human lives lost, we didn't want to see. The rules had been ripped to shreds and gone, our lands would be lost, our people killed,' Far-Far added. 'Perhaps a few Vikings could mix into human life, but what of the Trolls, the Fairigs, the Kelpies? Even the Huldra women would soon be held in the human's padded jails.'

'But they had already taken elektrisitet, Far-Far?' Hedda asked.

' _Ja_ , and we tried, tried to calm their demands with the light metals from the red quarry from Feltspar, but that was not enough for _dem_. I didn't want to enter into our next trade, but there were metal boats of all sides surrounding our isles, ready to fire with their guns,' Far-Far replied.

'But what, what was it?' Hedda demanded.

'Another power we held for so long, _min barn_ ,' said Far-Far, now with a deeper voice than she had ever heard. 'The water here, in the cold island lakes, it is _tungt_ , heavy. Down to its smallest part, atoms they say, the heavy water holds a power within it. It takes knowledge, but we taught them how to split water's parts, to give off massive forces. So powerful it scoops air from the ground, creates a mushroom of cloud in the sky.'

'But which side, which side of the war did you trade it to, Far-Far?' asked Hedda.

'We had survival first, our principles last,' said Far-Far. 'The only way we thought we could truly be free is to trade it to both sides.'

'And that left you without that mushroom power?' Hedda spoke with the hesitation of sudden clarity, 'and political agreements alone could not stop us being discovered by accident, so you needed a new power, something to power this mist?'

' _Ja_ ,' said Far-Far, his eyes wet as he spoke, 'many of the Fairigs, they volunteered in secret. Not all, I cannot pretend all. Some were captured. But many sacrificed themselves to protect their families, to protect us.'

Hedda wanted to cry, wanted to be able to sob out loud, but still knew her clan rules would not allow it. She could not stop her face filling with an amber dawn of sadness.

'But, Dai, the other Fairigs?' she asked.

'Your young friend will not know, cannot know, must just think his elders are missing, were lost in the war, or died in Holmgang challenges,' said Far-Far.

'So, the Holmgang, it's just a feeding ground to find new Fairigs, to trap them in that dungeon, pretending they died in some challenge?' Hedda spoke, as if seeing some terrible zombie.

'The Holmgang should be more than that,' said Far-Far, 'a place of peace and of protection. But _ja_ , yes, at the same time we cannot let the mist fail. We must keep protecting. There must still be sacrifice.' There was a hollow pause.

'And yes,' Far-Far added, 'you will need to keep a very close eye to protect Dai. I did always want to treat the trapped Fairigs with some care, but even that was lost, short-sighted, as their welfare is key for us all.'

'Why do you and others call them Fairigs?' Hedda asked. 'Aren't they just Fairies?'

'I agree, they look like the fairies _fra_ Scotland, but they differ. Dai, his kin, are Men of Rig,' said Far-Far, adding, 'Their race, their race is only half human, the other half, legend says is born from a visit from the God Rig, some call him Heimdal. That is why, why their blood is so special.'

'So, they need saving, must need saving,' Hedda spoke as in some final desperate challenge, her hands plunged deep into the hair by her ears. 'I know,' calmed Far-Far, 'the nurse, she has told me about the challenge. Let me see if _jeg_ can help in some way win that, see if there is some glimmer of hope, but I fear it will not be a great deal. Let me gain some sleep now; it is still early. Grimskal told me the preparation is at Dame Blanches. I will see you there, tomorrow.'

# Chapter 35

### Team of Five

Dai and Erika were in the white bake room, arguing with clenched fists. Hedda was stuck between them, arms stretched out, trying to keep them from spilling blood. Lyda watched on, waiting for the scuffle to settle, counting time with the patience of erosion.

'Look I tell you, we are going to have to work together!' Hedda's shouting was drawing grimacing and thumb-down movements from several of the tables around them. Hedda was just losing her grip on Erika's collar when there came a Scottish shout from Greg McKennor.

'Ach-aye, well that's rum, very rum! The Skum teams have gonnae pulled a master-baker from the edge of the grave,' he said.

In the open doorway stood the antique leather-tan Viking, a light blue apron with an emblem in one corner of two face-to-face dolphins under a shield and crown. He held an open, thick, leather satchel, packed with wellused rolling pins, whisks and spatulas. There was a moment of silence, a moment for Far-Far to speak.

'Young McKennor, hold that ugly tongue. This _er tid_ for those who can to shine,' Far-Far commanded out.

The room filled with a mix of excited shouts and sour sniping, arms raised, palms open, others hitting the work benches or throwing clumps of pastry to the ground.

Hedda and her team ran over to Far-Far, leading him to their bench as a home-returning warrior.

'Right,' he added, looking down at the raw ingredients on the bench, 'what's the plan?'

The team of five spent the next minutes sketching ideas, planning out timings, working out potential scores and weaknesses. Far-Far kept scratching above his ear as the others explained their thoughts. Then he stopped them, pulling them together into a huddle to share their whispers. Lyda bowed over to join them, creating their own space, as if the four were stood inside some kind of curved cave.

'You see, it will never work,' said Far-Far. 'If you rely just on my baking, _du_ will never have _mer_ than twenty points, well perhaps thirty or so. We all have to get the best marks we can to have any real chance.' The others replied in argument, about Lyda never having actually eaten anything in her life, Dai's over-sweet tooth, let alone the mystery of Erika's taste buds, and the evidently novice Hedda.

On the last news, Far-Far gave Hedda a small wink. 'Well,' he said, ' _ja_ , let's keep Hedda to simple sponges, that's decided.' 'And for the design?' Dai asked.

'Let us see,' said Far-Far. 'Keep it close to home, they always say. Why not we make this very building, this French property out _av_ sponge? Dame Blanches is sure to love something that reminds her of home. And what about Dai? You create the icing to cover for the building, the windows, the whole façade, royal icing for a Grand Fairig.'

Dai was smiling like a puppy. 'Far-Far, when you say nice things about me, I like you also.'

'Right, that covers that and leaves Lyda and Erika,' said Far-Far, bending his neck back to speak straight up to the Stone Troll. 'I guess you have got some real power in those fine stone arms, suggests to me that you would be perfect for kneading bread.'

'They are quite strong,' came the flustered but proud rumble of leaves from Lyda.

' _Perfekt_ ,' said Far-Far, 'so you can bake the breads for the shop window of the model bakery shop, and bake its roof from rye bread.'

'And me?' Erika asked with the look of the last player to be picked for a ball game.

'You will be master of the fillings, Erika,' said Far-Far. 'I will bake pastry cases for flans and the bodies of the croissants. You can fill them with any fillings you want.'

Dai's face suddenly turned colour, adding, 'Are you sure, Far-Far. I mean-'

The massive Viking gave Dai a limestone stare. 'I am sure, very sure, and it will all be fine.' Then his stare moved to a smile, a touch of charm. 'And I have something to add for the bench too,' said Far-Far, as he rummaged in his satchel. He pulled out a battery cassette recorder, adding with one word, 'Music.'

# Chapter 36

### Competition Nears

Hedda wondered why the flickers of happiness, the moments of joy, were always short. She didn't know if it always had to be like this, that the rarest berries were always the sweetest. In this last week before judging, even in the depth of sneering competition, there was again the thrill, the glimpses of what she hoped was a normal childhood.

They practiced the routine, start to end, each day. Crisp glowing mini pastry croissants mingled with fine sugar-work window frames, the mellow scent of vanilla sponges all blended with eighties rock about love never ending or tearful loss.

For a being that had never and would never eat, Lyda's baking was improving at a pace. At the start she wasn't quite aware how hard to kneed. The bench put up with the granite pummelling of her fists for a few seconds, then the top started to tear across its length. The long side bolts pinning the metal legs surrendered as the table crashed into a heap in front of her, glass mixing bowls full of liver and tripe smashing on the hard floor.

When a new bench was dragged into the room, Hedda stood with Lyda, agreeing between them a slightly gentler method. Lyda continued to practise with the dough, her branches waving in time to the slow four-beat of a power ballad.

Each day, Dai would pull Far-Far to one side, whispering his worries about Erika's meat and sweet, offal and fruit combinations. Far-Far first tried to comfort Dai but after a few days just told him that this was how it was going to be, the Huldra had to be judged on what she produced, that it was the best use of her skills.

Even up to the last day of practise, they never managed to finish the work in time; there was always some detail missed, some baking rushed, temperature too hot or in the oven too short. Even so, Hedda could see the team getting better, not all that far from the benches beside them; they had a chance.

# Chapter 37

### Judging

There was no agreement for any procession from the dorms to the white bake room. Even so, the neat line of teams of five, stepping in time in the snow, would have honoured any parade. All were chest-out, ready for battle in their cleanly pressed aprons, some wearing team badges, others matching sweatbands.

As the lines marched into the white room, roasting hot with the rows of ready ovens, they stood behind their benches, evenly spaced, all waiting.

Dame Blanches stood at the front of the room with the elegant majesty of an ancient queen. Her hair and a full-white dress gently ebbed and swayed from side to side, absent any wind.

'Delegates,' she said with regal command, head high, 'you will have three hours. You will be judged on design, texture and flavour. Each of your team will be able to score a maximum of twenty points. Do all understand and agree?'

The complete, grave-like silence was taken by all as express agreement.

'Good,' she continued. 'I will be joined today to judge by Madam Hzu and by Master Kuuku. Three hours start now.'

Most of the tables reacted with such panic that it seemed they had never seen a spatula or set of weights in their lives. Bags of flour were dropped and ripped, teams were running into each other, barging shoulders without meaning and a large central bowl of raw eggs was tipped over in the melee, the eggs breaking or spinning off in swirling trails across the floor like crazed comets.

It took a few minutes for the bubbling mania to died down to a dull panic. Within an hour, the panic was swapped for waves of fitful despair as teams waited by ovens, checking their watches every twenty seconds and tutting and raising their hands in the air.

'Right ... that's ... the sponge cooked, think ... it's not bad, well for me at least,' Hedda said, holding a large, hot tin with mittens. She talked in little spikes of broken language as if the heat from the tin had taken control of her speech.

'Looks good. Well done,' Erika kindly praised, even before considering the taste. 'Thanks, Erika. What next?' said Hedda.

'Well,' Erika spoke quickly, as if she would otherwise slow down the power of the ovens. 'Lyda has done a great job with the dough - smooth, shiny - it's proving now, should be in the oven soon.'

'Pretty windows are waiting here,' Dai shouted. 'I have done a really good job. I am impressive at this.'

Hedda looked around to the Fairig. At least being frank is useful in a straight competition, she thought.

'Well done, Dai. That just leaves the pastries by Far-Far and Erika's fillings,' said Hedda. She wanted to know what surprises Erika had come up with today. The Huldra had changed her mixes every time. Each had made at least one of the team wretch uncontrollably before covering their mouths.

Perhaps, perhaps Hedda could step in, suggest a tweak here or there.

Hedda peered into Erika's set of neat bowls of brown and colourful slices, but was then barged to one side. 'Leave her be,' said Far-Far, as firm and warm as ice. 'I am sure she will be just fine, now keep _din_ nose out of it.'

Hedda let the next few minutes slip from her fingers; she had done what she could. She had to let go. She didn't want to, but knew that all she could do was damage.

'Understood, Far-Far. Well, too many bakers will burn the bread. My sponge is cooling here and I am just in the way. I will step out for a little air,' said Hedda.

Far-Far gave her a half-wave, half-shooing motion. Within a few steps, Hedda was out in the cool spring air. Most of the minutes of her life had meant so little. It seemed to her that lives were mainly just padding; only rarely were there times that mattered, that stitched it all together. She begged the skies that the next few minutes, the judging would go well. As she closed her eyes, she knew that there was a tin voice inside herself she needed to greet. Just now she could not keep half her soul from her.

'Well, Marit,' Hedda mind-said. 'Nearly there. It's been only half a year from home and I feel when I go back I will be a stranger, even to myself.'

_But life's not frozen in tundra is it. Don't all the elms grow?_ said the tin voice.

'Well, I suppose, but I feel I am losing my childhood before I had it.

Goes too fast,' Hedda spoke in full-fat self-pity.

_Enough of that! The sands flow for all; you are not special with that. I am sure Far-Far feels like he is young on the inside even though he knows he is close to being ash. Now time to go back inside_ , said Marit.

'But in a way,' Hedda spoke as frankly as Dai, 'in a way I do not want to win today.'

There was a moment's wait from Marit before the tin reply. _Because if you lose, you wouldn't need to make any choice at all, rather than have to choose one life to the loss of others._

'I am just young still. Couldn't this all wait?' Hedda mind-answered, agreeing with herself. 'I mean, the three captives Old Anna told me of, those poor Gorillini with their wounds, the old ones robbed of dignity in their beds as Philos swallows their medicines, and the Fairigs, trapped for so long but protecting all of us ...'

_Come Hedda,_ said Marit, _go back in with pride. It's time, time for the judging_. Marit spoke with cool power, as Hedda returned to the bake room.

Dame Blanches stood with her two fellows at her sides. 'Now for the judging to begin,' she proclaimed, holding a long antique knife high in one hand, its blade at least the length of Hedda's forearm.

As Hedda watched the trio approach the first bench, she checked around quickly to see the others, gauging their chances. She realised two of the tables could have wished for a better day. One of the tables was the source of the strong burning smell, their tiered cake only a half of its intended size, its star design surrounded by burnt ends. The chefs stood with their heads in their hands, one of them sobbing.

The other sorry table had planned a soufflé, the shape of a warrior's face, intended to rest above a strawberry sauce. One whole side had collapsed, looking as if it were bleeding in pain.

Hedda felt a dull ache inside for those two tables. All that effort, dreams of what minor law they would have passed, lost by a few seconds either side in the ovens.

'What do you think of ours?' Erika whispered to Hedda, secretly pointing to the miniature bakery on their table.

'It's, it's amazing,' said Hedda.

'I know,' said Dai. 'My sugar work is phenomenal.'

'Very true, Dai,' Hedda agreed, but have you seen McKennor's and Vegard's?

'Yes, said Dai. You can see them too ... so I am not sure why you ask?' asked Dai.

'Well, it's a figure of-' Hedda replied, cut short by the Fairig.

'Doesn't matter,' said Dai. 'What matters is that they both look amazing. Vegard has managed to get his chocolate Dolphin Boat floating in that sauce, and McKennor, well, I haven't seen a caramel castle that size for a very long time.'

As Dai spoke, a gust of cold air shot towards their faces, from the direction of a very artic stare from Dame Blanches.

'I will have silence,' she said. 'Silence! Ah, _bien_ , you will see that this judging will have far more, shall we say _dulce et decorum_ than any Viking ceremony.'

The next minutes were filled with silent tension, only broken by a small formal welcome at the judges' visit to each bench, limited questions on technique and ingredients, and the roles of team members. Each visit was finished with a word or two from Dame Blanches and minor nods from her assistant judges.

Hedda knew, from their place at the back of the room, that they were bound to be last, and she would have to suffer watching McKennor's and Vegard's tables first. She leaned over, trying to hear what Dame Blanches discussed with Vegard as she took a large slice of the boat, filled with red candy bricks, and cut off the head of a sugar-paste dolphin. But she couldn't catch the words, just a final, ' _Formidable._ '

She even cupped her ear like a horn to try to hear as Dame Blanches judged McKennor's table, but again it was just silent murmurs, then followed by a, ' _Fantastique_.' Hedda closed her eyes, took a deep breath and opened them to see the three judges standing right before her.

'Ah, yes, young Hedda, is it not? You will have been leading your team today?' the dame asked, fully aware of the answer.

'Yes, Madame,' Hedda answered with a small bow.

'And I can see, _oui, tres_ clever, you have formed the design of my very own _batiment_.'

'Yes, indeed, Madame,' Hedda nodded with no idea what _batiment_ was supposed to mean.

Madame Hzu added, with polite deference to the dame, 'I can see that the sugar work is very fine.'

'It is! It is!' agreed Dame Blanches. 'Let us take a slice.' She spoke like a detective entering a crime scene for the first time, slicing through the bread top and sponge rear of the building in one powerful swipe.

' _Ajabu_! The bread and the sponge, both very fine indeed,' said Kuuku with a wild-eyed wink.

' _Particularment_ for two such novices of the trade,' added Dame Blanches, looking to both Lyda and Hedda and receiving the obligatory bows in return that her tone demanded.

'So, this, this just leaves the three sets of mini pastries and their fillings,' said the dame.

'Yes, that's me, that's me, Madame, yes that's me,' said Erika in a rattling way as if she herself was not sure what next word would fall from her mouth.

Each of the judges took a bite, Dame Blanches and Kuuku seeming to smart in pain, followed by Dame Blanches asking, 'Tell me, young Huldra, precisely what filling do we have here?'

'Sweet chilli, apricot and snake, Madame,' said Erika.

Dame Blanches made no reply. As the three chewed the next pastry, Madame Hzu added, 'Well, this is interesting. Can you tell me about this one?' 'Ahh, mussels and banana,' Erika replied.

'And now let us try the last,' came the quiet ever-joy of Kuuku's low voice. Again, the three picked up the small pastries and chewed.

Before any questions, Erika added with pride, 'Apple, Madame, simply apple, spiced apple and cows' brain.'

Hedda saw that Madame Hzu, on hearing this, started to lean towards the bench for a glass of water and Dame Blanches neared, face-to-face with Erika.

'One word for your cooking today, that is _int_ é _ressant_.' She spoke to Erika as if two generals consulting after a hard-fought battle. With one long sway of her arm, she pulled her white robes tight into herself and declared, 'One hour, one hour to judgment.' With a solemn march, the three judges left the room.

A moment later, it was as if the room breathed out as one body; even the ovens sighed out hot streams of relief. A rumble across the benches of 'Could have gone better' and 'Happy with that' mixed in with the lower tones of 'If only I had taken it out earlier' and 'Did you see their faces?'. The teams started to slowly clean down their benches.

Erika had not moved. None of Hedda's team moved. No one said a word. The Huldra looked at her team mates, as if pulling up a net from the ocean, unsure of the reaction to come.

Someone had to speak, Hedda wanted to encourage, be the natural lead, but she was struggling with how to put it.

Dai found his words first. 'What on earth do you think you were doing, you stupid Huldra?' he shouted. His small arms stretched to grab her by the shoulders and do the best to shake Erika from side to side.

'I tried! I tried!' she pleaded.

'Tried, I mean, mussels and fruit are one thing, but snake?' Dai's shouting was getting louder with each word. He breathed in deeply to end,

'And brains?'

'I thought it would help us stand out. I mean, well of course, looking back on it now it seems mad, but-'

Erika's words were interrupted by Hedda, in a tone that seemed a close mirror of the warm welcome that Erika had given on the harbour of Hulderak.

'I think it was honest and brave of you, Erika. Both are important to Vikings. Now, come, let's tidy. Worrying about the dawn won't move the sun.' As Hedda spoke, she gave Dai her strongest do-not-even-think-about-it stare and they started to clean down their tools.

The benches were cleaner than the day they were built by the time the hour came to an end. Loose conversations about possible winners and small talk about their homelands circled and repeated. The gentle chatter slowed and ebbed as one boy called out, 'Two minutes! It's nearly time.' The teams returned to their strict lines behind their benches, all in their same formations as before.

The door in front of them opened slowly, the three judges taking only a few steps into the room. Kuuku held a small, dark-wood replica shield with rows of small brass-engraved plaques screwed onto it. He lifted the shield, presented it in front of Dame Blanches, as if showing a new baby, and then bowed as the dame began to speak.

'All, now it is time to declare the _premier prix_ , the winner of the Holmgang Challenge of 1985. I will be coming to this point quickly. The three best tables were McKennor, Vesper and Stein-Sun. It was a difficult decision and in the majority of the categories almost a dead heat between McKennor and Vesper.' As Dame Blanches spoke, the tables on either side of the Hedda started to erupt with cheers and hand-slapping. Hedda looked over to Dai and held her finger in the air to make sure he would hold his tongue.

'But you see, when it comes to flavour, the McKennors, on reflection, had very little variety, all sweet, all caramel.' Dame Blanches gave the McKennors a sorry bow. 'And,' she continued, 'in my discussions with the table d'Vesper, it was clear from them, once asked more than once, that the principal cooking, perhaps all of the cooking, was carried out by the two wonderful Viking cooks of Vegard and Einar.'

'But,' Kuuku added with expected interruption, 'as we have made clear, this is a team matter and the Vespers' conduct limited their possible score.'

'So,' Dame Blanches added with a gallic dominant flair, 'so this means that all three of our finalists are on par. And I return to flavour, flavour combinations.' Dame Blanches paused again. As she did, Hedda grabbed Dai's hand to stop his tap-tapping on his forehead with his palm.

'And you see,' said Dame Blanches, 'when it comes to flavour, it was novel of Erika to encapsulate in pastry a traditional dish from each of our lands. Dame Hzu was reminded of her childhood in the Chinese hills when tasting the snake. Kuuku was impressed with the mussels with plantain and me, I adored the _cervaux au pommes_ , the delicious, tender fried brain ... And so the winner of the challenge for this year, is team Stein-Sun.'

Erika beamed with an uncontrolled smile and gentle laughter as her team members surrounded her with the warmth of deserved applause. She raised her hands and her team clapped enthusiastic high fives. The clapping spread around the room like flames on dry ground until most of the room were joining in the speeding rhythm. All apart from the two tables at either side and a number of McKennors, Vegard and other Vikings who stood with tightly crossed arms.

Einar opened his arms wide to try to join his family, but received an ugly jolt in the back from the darkly grimacing Vegard. That sour boy looked straight into Hedda's eyes. Even in that one moment for her, a moment like sweet, warming porridge, Vegard tipped in a fly with that evil neck-cutting action he used with the flat of his hand.

Hedda ignored his gaze; for once she would keep the darkness around her at bay, even if only for a few seconds more.

'Shoulders! Shoulders! Erika! Shoulders!' Hedda shouted, just then, in the release of celebration, shouted as if she were a sister to the grinning Huldra.

The repeated cries of 'Shoulders!' sprang into the mouths of the clapping crowd as Lyda bowed over, put out her arm for Erika to climb and led the procession back to the dayroom.

# Chapter 38

### Return to the Forest

'I know he won't go out there 'til evening,' Hedda mind-thought with Marit, only a few hours after the celebration, but a universe away, sat on the edge of her bed in the dimming light of her dorm.

_Agreed, he needs the wolves to do his work. He couldn't kill the two Gorillini babies alone, not with the parents guarding them_ , Marit replied.

'I will run there and protect them. Must go alone. I know that evil Nisse Matti could be there, watching. I can't risk the others getting expelled,' Hedda mind-said.

_Don't pretend you are some silver-winged angel, Hedda. You are going alone, taking a chance, because if Dai or the others see the sad, sorry_ lives of the Gorillini, they will push you to use your minor law to protect those poor animals. You know Dai will look straight at you, tell you you had already promised, Marit challenged.

'Stop talking at me, Marit. I have this one small law I can change and I am just young. I haven't had to decide really anything ever and these three groups, all in need. And anyhow I'm sure when I have to sit in Philos's marble room, he will give me nothing to make much of a difference anyway.'

_Fine_ , Marit snapped back, _but I bet you are going to try to use me, throw me into some dusk animal to protect you, put myself at risk if the animal is killed, and what have you seen to help in the forest anyway that's under your dusk powers? No bears there. Are you going to take on the wolves with a stray rabbit?_

'Marit, I just don't know. I just know we need to go soon.' Hedda ended her thoughts, as she rested her dagger's blade on a cloth before her, grinding its edge fight-sharp with a soft stone. She tried to ignore the light from the door opening, the soft steps towards her, just focus on the blade.

'You alright? Why on your own?' Erika asked, looking down at the slow, methodical grinding. 'And what's wrong? Can I help?' 'Nothing, nothing,' Hedda answered, still looking down.

'But-' said Erika.

'But, nothing,' Hedda answered, pushing her away, saying, 'I just have to go.'

Erika's eyes were fixed on the sharpened, readied blade as Hedda thrust it back into her scabbard and made for the door outside.

Hedda was a good minute down the path and looked back to see that Erika was still watching. Hedda waved in an angry motion towards the Huldra until the door of the dorm was closed.

A well-trodden path later, then swiftly over the inner bamboo wall with a makeshift ladder she had hidden for months in the dense bushes.

Hedda was in the clearing. The four Gorillini were sat in a ring in the middle, close to the central stake, the little ones away from the cover of the surrounding green. It seemed as if they were waiting, ready as if some time had come. As Hedda neared, their heavy brows and eyes lifted to greet her.

Huruma made a low, gentle grunting sound, adding for Hedda a sense of welcome. Hedda sat with them, all in calm attendance for those minutes before the comfort of dusk began to pass and the first shadows of evening started to wrap around the surrounding leaves and trees.

Tumaini pointed to a tree, its branches weighed heavy by three birds, a hawk and two larger bald-headed and hooked-beaked _gribbs_. The three scavengers stared with their cold eyes, waiting, smelling the air, dragging their narrow tongues over the bottom edge of their sharp mouths.

There, a movement in the forest. A circle of howls, padding feet, growling, closing in. Huruma wrapped her arms and body around her young. Hedda looked to the clearing edge. She had hidden too many times from the savage wolf packs at home, had found too many deer severed at the neck, their bodies left to rot.

The leader, coarse, grey-haired, a black stripe across its snarling nose, was the first to break cover. Growling wildly, behind those eyes, the snapping jaws, the face moved with the same callous envy as if Vegard himself stood there within the wolf's skull.

'Back! Back!' Hedda shouted, stabbing in the air towards the maddened, drooling wolf.

'I know you are out there, Vegard,' she called.

She couldn't see Vegard; instead there was just a growing pack of baying wolves, scratching at the ground. How many could there be? In seconds six were in the clearing, then more.

'A dozen, a dozen wolves, Tumaini. Come, stand back to back,' said Hedda. As she spoke, Tumaini stood to display the majesty of his muscled, weather-beaten frame. He gave one flare of his nostrils to Hedda and she took it as a sign that he was ready. She had never seen a person as brave as Tumaini in this moment, and someone who looked so afraid for his kin.

The black-striped wolf slowly paced, jaws stretching towards Hedda's ankles. Then there was a voice from behind the trees, that snarling voice.

'Waited so long,' Vegard spoke slowly, as he stepped forward, his eyes glowing white, his wide gaze on both Hedda and the wolves.

'And it will be so easy to explain,' he added, 'five bodies dead in the woods, found by a wolf pack, a stupid girl trespassing.'

'Vegard, stop! Just leave the small ones, the parents. I am here. Fight me, dagger with dagger,' Hedda pleaded in anger.

'It's gone past talking. Your little powers must be shrinking in the dark. Anyhow, where are your bears to protect you now?' As Vegard spoke he raised his hand and brought it down in one wide swipe, as if commanding trained hunting dogs.

The attack was instant. One wolf leapt on the back of Huruma as she bent over her babies, the wolf locking its teeth deep into the back of her neck. A major vein severed as blood forced and trailed onto the ground. Huruma would not move. She held fast like a bunker, protecting.

Tumaini leapt forward to save her, but as he did, Black Stripe and three others smothered him in one ugly move. He managed to hit Black Stripe to the ground for a second, but the other three wolves had taken their grip into his flesh. One was ripping at the skin at his thighs, the other two at his arms. He fell to the ground. A raging chorus of howling and then Tumaini was covered by a mound of five, six wolves.

Hedda, a few feet away, but as good as alone, was surrounded by the other wolves. She readied her dagger, seized their gaze. As she entered battle, she gave one internal cry to Marit.

'Help me! There must be something to help me.' There was no reply.

The first wolf leapt for her arm.

Hedda pulled back and then forcing up with her legs, stabbed out hard, deep into the left side of its chest.

The wolf fell, whimpering, its life seeping from it.

The power of her stab shook Hedda's balance for a second, a second that the wild pack seized on. One clamped its jaws around her forearm, dragging her to the ground. Then the other three joined, leaping on top of her, forming a new mound, tearing at her tunic, adding to the blood.

She lay there struggling. She would never be seen to give in to that horrid Vegard. He just stood there, laughing, hollow. So, this is it, she thought. A short life, a few years of joy, then pain. She had again seen glimmers of happiness on this remote island. Glimmers to be gone. She rested her head in the dry mud in the frenzy, started to let go of this world.

But then a new movement in the clearing. Hedda was still pinned down, but suddenly the wolves' growling and tearing halted. There was a new, familiar voice.

'Halt, Vegard! We three demand you halt the wolves now.'

Hedda had to struggle to lift her head and look up from the dirt. She knew the voice well, knew it from the first offering of sweet elderflower water on a neat, slate-capped harbour.

'Ha!' Vegard laughed. 'Three sweet little girls in their red and black national dress. What's your threat? Are you going to sing a song, maybe a summer dance?'

'We can only warn you one more time, warn you we cannot control our temper,' said Erika. It was clear to Hedda, there would be no more warning.

'Temper, temper!' Vegard mocked Erika, and as he did he swayed his hand one more time. The wolves raged again, savaging the three bodies on the ground.

Then came a change, a change that rocked Vegard back into the bushes, shouting, 'No! No, devils! Witches!' Hedda looked up from the mud to see the three girls throw back their heads, their grand, sharp, enamel fangs extended. The arch in their bodies seemed to separate them from the world of people, turned closer to beasts.

She had never seen as much blood in her life as in the next few moments.

The Huldra started to rip the wolves from the backs of the three pinneddown bodies. One wolf was grabbed by its shoulders. Clara went straight for its throat, her teeth clasping around the wolf's neck like a bear trap. Another moment and the wolf lay dead, large parts of its neck severed.

It went on, an ugly fight that Hedda would later try to forget. Then, a craze of calm. Seven wolves lay dead, their bodies broken and torn, lying in a half circle.

Black Stripe and the four other wolves had retreated, standing like a shield around Vegard. The three Huldra crouched, half in defence, allowing Hedda and the Gorillini to stand. Huruma stemmed her cut with her hand.

'Vegard, go now, leave these poor animals. No more killing today,' Hedda spoke as calmly as she could, hoped he would run.

'Never! I have more, more.' Vegard leered as he spoke, waving his hand, beckoning something from behind him. 'And anyway, who's going to protect the stupid babies when you are not here? I can come back anytime and kill them.'

As Vegard spoke, two powerful beasts, bigger than the wolves, came from the trees and rested on either side. More animals from the zoo, Hedda thought, their fur shining luxuriant black. They looked like massive cats.

'Yes, Hedda, now it is time,' Vegard said as he started to raise his hand.

It was then that the tin voice came back to Hedda.

_Hold fast_ , Marit mind-said. _I think I have found something. They are joining us from the bushes behind, we have just a few moments of power left._

Hedda kept her eyes fixed on Vegard. She was expecting an ugly end. But she could hear an even heavier padding from behind, too nimble to be a bear.

As the padding grew closer, she saw that Vegard and his wolves pulled their heads back in fear. The giant black cats curled their tails underneath then.

Hedda felt the breath of two massive beasts and caught glimpses of orange in the corner of her eye. They came and stood on all fours, on either side of her. Their heads were as high as her chest.

'More cats,' Hedda mind-replied to Marit.

_Yes, orange, striped giant cats. It seems we still have some power here with them_ , mind-replied Marit.

Hedda saw that these new cats were tagged in the ears too. She looked quickly and read out, 'Tigris, Siberian.' She looked up, wanting this to end. 'Vegard,' she said, 'I am going to give you twenty seconds. If you move very fast you can make it over the bamboo wall: twenty ... nineteen ...'

# Chapter 39

### A Minor Law

Vegard was quiet in the dorms for the last few days of the Holmgang. For now at least, Hedda would have some calm, even though she expected, knew, Vegard's hatred would rebuild and take control of him, strengthened with some taste for revenge.

'Two more tasks before packing for home,' Hedda mind-said to Marit, walking towards the steps of the watch tower.

_Well, the one will be the meeting you have now with Philos, your minor law, and the other?_ Marit asked.

'The other is to say goodbye to Kuuku before the summer, and perhaps a small change in design,' Hedda mind-replied, breathing out hard, halfway up the steps.

She opened the door. Philos and Matti sat at the heavy, black, stone desk, like a black fly in a room of white icing.

'Come, Hedda, sit down,' Philos said with the sincerity of a politician focused on power not truth. As he spoke she pulled out the simple chair and sat, staring straight at them.

'Are you coming to ask for some medicine for your grandfather? Is that the law you want? Well, we don't have enough for all the patients, and of course I have my needs,' Philos spoke calmly, trying to reel Hedda in, adding, 'but I suppose we could strike a deal, a small law that favours your grandfather in the small print; perhaps medicines for former leaders we could say? You could get him back for a while.'

Marit mind-spoke to Hedda. _Do you want to take his deal? We could save Far-Far._

Hedda did not reply to her thoughts, but spoke, 'No, Philos, and I assume you will not support a law for the Gorillini.'

'Well, when it goes for approval in the dark quarry, a law should be a formality, provided it is stamped for approval.' As Philos spoke, he stroked the smooth top of the two wood-handled stamps on the desk, one sitting in a green inkpad, the other red. 'But how could I approve their release? Where would they go? And there can be no suggestion that they have been treated badly.' Philos leant over towards Hedda. 'And anyway, little girl, you are banned from the forest. How would you even know to pass the law?'

'Thought so,' said Hedda, pushing forward a small piece of paper across the desk. 'Here is my proposal.'

Philos unfolded the paper. 'It's written in Norwegian,' he said, losing some of his control.

'Yes, it is. I understood the ban on my language was on Crop-Skul, not here,' Hedda spoke, adopting the tone of control that Philos was losing, 'and your signs here are very detailed.'

Philos snorted, as to declare he was still part beast, 'Now, let me see, see if I can translate,' he said. 'You want a law that any person who is held captive in any of the islands is entitled to three hours of liberty a day.' 'Yes,' said Hedda.

'Not free the Fairigs?' Philos asked.

'How would that work?' she replied.

'But why would I support this? I can't admit that the Fairigs are locked away; there would be chaos,' said Philos.

'I can think of a few reasons,' said Hedda. The next few lines she had practised through the night in her dorm. 'First, there is no mention of Fairigs at all. And, as of course the position agreed by all is that no Fairigs are held captive, this makes it a very minor law.'

'So, what?' said Philos, leaning for the red stamp labelled 'decline'.

'And,' Hedda said, 'and Far-Far told me two things: one that the Fairigs will produce better glow plasma if they get some rest each day. Also, there is a fire escape tunnel from the dungeon that leads to the forest. The Fairigs could stay in the forest, within the bamboo wall those hours each day, unseen, wing-tied.'

Philos's hand was wavering. 'And?' he asked.

'And I can tell from when we spoke,' said Hedda, looking at the desk, 'and that picture on your desk, the loss you have had in your family. If you lose your position here you will be sent back. Perhaps your fate will be the same as the other discovered minotaurs, killed, experimented on.' Hedda breathed out as she spoke, adding, 'And if anyone else finds the Fairigs, if the secret is broken in the Acorn Order, perhaps the fact that you passed a law to give some small improvement to their lives, well, perhaps that will protect your position here.'

Philos looked as if he would split in two with rage, but then he was nudged by Matti who gave him a hard, long look. Then the minotaur reached for a stamp, picked one up and stamped it hard on the paper in bright green ink.

• • •

Kuuku's coffin class was buzzing with chiselling and hammering. There were oak Viking-ship coffins being lacquered with shiny, hot tar and a range of rockets and sports cars being spray-painted in the paint shop in the corner. One of the cars was a beauty, with front lights that flipped open, bright red paintwork and a large white stripe running across the roof and bonnet.

'Morning, Kuuku,' Hedda said warmly as she walked in, 'I have been thinking; I will be changing my design.'

'You do not want to keep your design for a Viking ship with three generations of wooden female Vikings proudly lifting their swords?' Kuuku queried.

'No,' said Hedda, 'I am keeping the Viking ship bottom part. After all, that's all I know. But on the top, I would love to have something from FarFar's tales of England. A big helter-skelter, a wooden round tower like those from the 1950s fairs I have been told of. Red and white striped with a flag on top. It must be tall enough for people to be able to slide down and pick up real speed.'

'Ha Ha! Wonderful! _Ajabu Ajabuuuu_!' exclaimed Kuuku with beaming joy.

As Hedda ended her woodwork class, she packed up the chisel and hammers and left for the door outside. She stepped into the fresh air. She welcomed the beautiful disinterest of the flowers around her.

