‘You know what this means,’ Bj?rn said. ‘This means there will be a storm. The northern lights always herald bad weather.’
At noon the following day the wind began to whip around the croft, stirring up the snow that had fallen overnight, and dashing it against the dried skins we’d stretched across the windows to keep out the cold. It was a sinister sound – the wind hurling ice at our home.
Inga wasn’t feeling well that morning and had remained in bed, so I prepared our meal. I was in the kitchen, setting the kettle upon the hearth, when Bj?rn came in from the storehouse.
‘Where is Inga?’ he asked me.
‘In the badstofa,’ I told him. I watched Bj?rn take off his cap and shake the ice into the hearth. The water spat on the hot stones.
‘The fire’s too smoky,’ Bj?rn said, frowning, then left me to my chore.
When I’d boiled some moss into porridge, I took it into the badstofa. It was quite dark in the room and, once I’d served Bj?rn his meal, I ran to the storehouse to fetch some more oil for the lamp. The storehouse was near the door to the croft and as I approached it I could hear the wind howling, louder and louder, and I knew that a storm was fast approaching.
I’m not sure why I opened the door to look outside. I suppose I was curious. But some strange compulsion took me and I unlocked the latch to peek out at the weather.
It was an evil sight. Dark clouds bore down upon the mountain range and under their smoky-blackness, a grey swarm of snow swirled as far as you could see. The wind was fierce, and a great, icy gust of it suddenly blew against the door so hard that it knocked me off my feet. The candle on the corridor wall went out in an instant, and from within the croft Bj?rn shouted what the Devil I thought I was doing, letting the blizzard into his home.
I heaved against the door to shut it, but the wind was too strong. My hands stiffened with the cold rush of air. It was as though the wind was some form of ghoul demanding to enter. Then, all of a sudden, the wind dropped, and the door slammed shut. As though the spirit had finally entered and closed the door behind it.
I returned to the badstofa with oil and filled the lamps. Bj?rn was angry at me for letting the cold air in, with Inga in such a delicate state.
The blizzard hurled itself upon our croft that afternoon, and raged for three days. On the second, Inga began to have her baby.
It was too soon.
Late that night, amidst the sound emitted by the wind and snow and ice, Inga began to have terrible pains. I believe she was afraid that this baby, too, would arrive before its time.
When Bj?rn realised that the baby was coming, he sent Jón, their workman, to his brother’s farm for his sister-in-law and their servant woman. My foster-father bade Jón tell the women what was happening, so that they might at least give their advice, if they couldn’t return with him.
Jón protested that the blizzard was too forceful, and that he couldn’t be expected to perform such a task, but Bj?rn was a demanding man. So Jón dressed himself in thick garments and went outside, but he returned soon after, covered in ice and snow, and told my foster-father that he couldn’t see two steps in front of him, and that he wouldn’t be made to walk farther than the barn when the weather promised only death. Yet, Bj?rn made him try again, and when Jón returned, half-frozen with cold, telling him he could scarcely stand in the wind, and had not made it more than six feet, my foster-father took him by the collar of his jacket and pushed him outside. I think then, when he opened the door, he saw just how dangerous the weather was, for when Jón returned inside a few minutes later, shaking with cold and anger, Bj?rn said nothing, but let Jón undress and get into bed to revive himself.