‘I will continue, though I know you have questions.’ He pauses; the slower he goes, the better, otherwise he knows a quick barrage will further unnerve them. ‘We have discovered through bitter experience, through trial and error, that too much of the liquid will kill you.’ In his narrative Stefán omits the horror of the very early days, the burial mounds of those whose lives were lost from ignorance, greed and experimentation, and the stories of the Watcher who guards their secrets.
‘You will not age, but you will not become any younger. You will be the most vibrant, healthy, strong and fit as you can be for your current ages. If an accident befalls you, you will recover; however, you will not live without physical pain. Deformities have occurred. One of our group’s …’
‘Group?’ Jón stands.
‘Wait, Jón. Let him speak,’ Elísabet says.
Jón sits again, and Stefán acknowledges Elísabet with a grateful nod.
‘One of our group’s hand was mangled in an accident. It has healed, but not perfectly. Normally, he would have lost the use of it. These are small things, considering. Believe me, the physical challenges are few. It is the mental and emotional toll for which you must prepare.’
‘We have heard enough. Thank you for the coffee. We will prepare the horses.’ Jón stands again and motions for Elísabet to join him.
‘Please, wait! There is much more to tell you,’ Stefán says. ‘You really must not leave here before you’re fully prepared. It would be dangerous.’
‘Wait, Jón.’ Elísabet turns to Stefán. ‘There are no children on this farm. At least, none came out to greet us.’
‘Yes, you are right.’ Stefán is eager to engage her.
‘And the people who live here, they are not your family?’
‘No. We are a community, made of people like you and Jón, who purely by accident, stumbled upon the pool.’
They stand awkwardly at the door in the dark passageway, neither coming, nor going. The lava walls feel too close. There is not enough room to breathe.
‘I urge you to stay the night … this is no weather for travelling. I can try to answer all your questions.’
Jón exchanges a look with Elísabet. ‘Very well,’ he says reluctantly. ‘Until the weather improves.’
Greatly relieved, Stefán tosses a brick of turf into the fire and blows. Then he pulls on an outer coat and steps out for a few minutes to round up food from a neighbour.
Jón paces. His thoughts lead him back to his first reaction, one of utter disbelief.
‘Has your curiosity been satisfied, Elísabet?’
‘No, Jón, it has not. I want to hear more. I don’t know what it is, but something is wrong here.’
‘Of course something is wrong. We’ve been unlucky to come across a farm of, I don’t know … I don’t know what they are. Surely, you don’t believe him?’
‘No, of course not.’ She pauses. ‘I don’t think I do.’
Stefán returns carrying a steaming pot, and the woman they met earlier, Margrét, follows him with more food. She places an assortment of bowls on the table, and then opens her arms to the couple in the customary, uninhibited way of greeting – as if things were still normal. She welcomes them both with hugs, and kisses Elísabet’s cheeks.
Margrét serves chunks of salted mutton, swedes, a plate of hot lentils and pot bread. She passes a bowl in which a mound of chopped black potato and hard-boiled egg are covered with a brown sauce and sprinkled with pepper, sugar and vinegar.
‘We’re grateful.’ Elísabet smiles at her. ‘So much food!’
‘It is very good. Thank you.’ Jón, who thought he could not eat, is suddenly ravenous.
‘There is herring and cheese when you are ready. Do you have enough coffee for after?’ Margrét asks Stefán.
‘Yes, thank you, Margrét,’ he replies, and signals for her to leave them.
‘How old are you, Stefán?’ Jón asks.
Stefán smiles at this. Jón has waited longer than most to ask.
‘Ninety-seven.’
Elísabet drops her spoon. ‘It cannot be. You look … no, it is not possible.’
‘I was fifty when I first drank.’
Elísabet calculates. He survived the Skaftá fires. She places her bowl on the table, struggling to keep her supper down. An acrid taste rises in her throat. Suddenly, she is fearful that everything he has told them is true.
CHAPTER TWELVE
1831
It is June. Soon they will again be under the spell of the salty tang of the sea. Elísabet rides comfortably enough. Jón is overly cautious and asks too often how she fares. She must stop frequently to relieve her bladder and her husband’s infinite patience verges on irritating. She might like him to sigh, or make a humorous remark, but he sits in a watchful blaze of pride and is immovable in it. It is their last journey before the birth of their first child.
Neither Jón nor Elísabet could resist Stefán’s offer to fish from the portion of his land that borders the sea. When his letter arrived, the first personal post they had ever received, they had been discussing a way to supplement their stores for the oncoming winter. Stefán will allow them to keep what fish they need and then trade or sell any extra.
Her body moves with her horse’s gait and her thoughts stray to a seafaring foreigner, the man who so recklessly played with her life. How quickly he lost interest in her the day he first met her sister.
‘Elísabet? Where are your thoughts?’ Jón beams at her. ‘We’re almost there.’
She smiles at him, erasing the past that fretfully reappears.
When they arrive at Stefán’s farm to rest for the night, Elísabet is surprised that the buildings seem larger and more numerous than she remembered. The farmland sprawls further than she recalled from that first strange visit.
As it is still daylight Jón gives the customary three knocks. The door opens and Stefán’s broad and welcoming smile slowly fades to that of surprise and confusion on sight of Elísabet.
‘I’m sorry.’ Stefán
