Margrét shook her head and huddled into her shawl. ‘When I was younger I spent some time working by it. Around Langidalur.’
‘The sea is different up around Vatnsnes. Sometimes the water in the fjord is like a looking glass. Something you want to run your tongue across. “As glazed as a dead man’s eye,” as Natan used to say.’ She shifted closer to the fire. ‘One time I saw two icebergs grinding against each other. The wind had blown them together. When they came closer I saw that both boulders had gathered driftwood upon their shelves, and after some time I heard a terrible cracking and saw the driftwood erupt into flames.’
‘It sounds like something out of the sagas,’ Margrét remarked.
‘It was eerie,’ Agnes agreed. ‘I couldn’t help but watch. Even when night fell I could still see small flames burning out to sea.’
For a few moments the two women gazed at the fire. The flames were now dying in a red glow that spread over the women’s faces. Outside a low moan signalled the onset of more winter winds.
AFTER FRIDRIK PROPOSED TO SIGGA it snowed hard enough to bury a highwayman. There was no riding home for Fridrik, and I made him bunk with Daníel. The brandy slipped them into sleep like a shoehorn.
I remained wakeful. Thoughts of Natan and Sigga wormed through my brain, interrupting my dreams. I knew why Natan hated Fridrik. It wasn’t because the boy had taken a shine to his wealth and valuables, although that was part of it. No, it was because of Sigga. I decided that he wanted Sigga as much as he didn’t want me.
I must have eventually fallen into an uneasy sleep. The badstofa was empty when I woke, and the snow had finally stopped falling. The world outside was white, except for the oily grey of the ocean. There was a noise out by the home field, and when I went out to see what it was, I saw Fridrik kicking a dead sheep. His aggression made my stomach turn.
‘What are you doing?’ My voice rang out clear and strong in the still air. Fridrik didn’t hear me. He kept kicking, grunting. His boots sent up a spray of bloody snow.
‘Fridrik!’ I called again. ‘What are you doing?’
He stopped and turned around. I saw him rub his face on his sleeve and he began to haul his boots through the heavy drifts towards me. As he came closer I saw that he was in a mood.
‘Hello, Agnes,’ he said, breathing heavily.
‘Why are you kicking that animal?’
Fridrik was panting. His breath issued from his mouth in a puff of fog. ‘It was already dead.’
‘But why were you kicking it?’
‘What does it matter?’ Fridrik squinted up at the heavy sky. ‘More snow’s coming, I’m thinking. Best not get caught in it.’ He sniffed and wiped his nose on his glove, leaving a shiny smear upon the wool.
‘Natan will kill you.’ I gestured towards the stain of blood and dirt surrounding the sheep. ‘You’ve ruined the meat. And the skin.’
Fridrik laughed. I wanted to slap him for kicking the sheep, but I had no power over him, and he knew it.
‘It was already dead, Agnes. It died this morning.’ He wiped a melting fleck of bloody snow from his cheek, and heaved his boot out of the drift to walk past me. ‘Don’t worry, it will still be good to eat.’
‘You’ve trampled it.’
He rolled his eyes.
‘You’ll catch your death,’ he called out, his back to me. I watched the snow clouds descend upon the mountain and let the chill air prickle at my ribs until I shuddered with the cold.
Seeing Fridrik hack at the sheep with his boots unsettled something within me. It was portentous: the rapid limbs, dark against the snow, colliding with the soft corpse until a fine mist of blood floated above.
Snow began to fall. I turned around to follow Fridrik back to the farm, and saw a raven descend upon the sheep. It gave a mournful caw and then plunged its beak into the innards. Snowflakes landed on its black feathers.
I interrupted Fridrik and Sigga sitting together on her bed, whispering in low voices. Sigga looked as though she had been crying.