After Elísabet and Jón are made comfortable, Stefán wastes no time.
‘I must speak frankly.’
Jón nods in agreement.
‘I am astonished. You are the first of us to conceive under these circumstances. I am unsure what this means.’
‘Surely it just means we are going to have a child,’ Jón says, confused.
‘No, you don’t understand. Forgive me – congratulations to you both. But we don’t know what your child will … if the baby will have been affected by your condition.’
‘Stefán.’ Elísabet speaks carefully. ‘These past few months we’ve thought about this, and we still have not grasped the full meaning of “our condition” as you call it. It is so hard to fathom. We do not feel different.’
‘I understand, I do … you haven’t told anyone of what happened to you both, have you?’
‘No. We gave you our word.’
‘And neither of you has yet been taken with the long sleep I warned you of?’
‘No, not yet. But we remember your instructions and if this strange sleep occurs, we will follow them, I assure you.’
‘Good. Have either of you noticed any strangers or foreigners near your farm, or on your journey here?’
‘Just yesterday, we gave way to a traveller who rode behind us for a while. He gave no greeting when he passed. Elísabet, you observed his riding?’ Jón looks to her.
‘Yes, he seemed uncomfortable on his horse. But then he went ahead of us. Why?’
How much to tell them now, Stefán wonders. Perhaps a small healthy dose of the truth.
‘There are … people … A Danish group who are suspicious of us. But you must be hungry and tired. Perhaps it is better to speak of this in the morning.’
‘I think Elísabet needs to rest before we eat, but I want to hear more about the Danish,’ Jón says.
Stefán looks through the window hole to check the sun’s position. ‘While the daymark is still before mid-evening I must take my turn on watch. Would you care to join me?’
‘My legs are stiff and aching for a walk. But I will stay with Elísabet,’ Jón says.
‘No, Jón, please go. I will rest. It’s fine,’ she reassures him.
A light mist falls as Stefán and Jón tread past a massive heap of sheep dung. Stefán points to a patch of low shrub.
‘Just past the shrub the path will lead to a small stream, there you will find a grassy ledge. Just beyond the ledge the mountains will appear on the horizon. They are our octant marks. Each night, before mid-evening our men walk the perimeter. We search for our enemy.’
‘Enemy?’
Just as Stefán begins to explain, a man covered in blood runs after them. He shouts to Stefán.
‘There is trouble with the ram!’
‘I must go back,’ Stefán says.
‘Do you need help?’ Jón offers, as any farmer would.
‘No, thank you. Please. Continue your walk. We will speak later.’ Stefán turns to go, and then turns back. ‘Not too far, yes?’
Jón nods in agreement, waves and sets off.
Bright patches of bog cotton, white and spotless, shimmer through the mist. Cows and sheep graze in small familial clusters. June’s midnight sunset is still hours away when the copper-coloured head of Jón Eymundsson disappears through a meadow of brilliant yellow-green grass.
Elísabet wakes later in a drowsy cloud, perplexed until she gains her bearings. She stands holding her heavy belly, feeling famished and nursing a strong craving for something sweet. She moves slowly down the long tunnel-like hall into the common room where Margrét greets her.
‘I hope you had a good rest. I am happy for you and your husband.’ Margrét embraces and kisses her. ‘What would you like to eat? I picked blueberries earlier today.’
‘You are a magician, Margrét. They are exactly what I want. But surely you will save them for a special occasion.’
‘This is a special occasion.’ Margrét serves the blueberries with a large bowl of sweetened cream. She likes this woman with her strange and handsome beauty. Margrét is somehow put at ease in her presence.
‘Do you know the time? Has Jón returned?’
‘Not yet.’ Margrét pauses. ‘His appetite will bring him back.’
The women smile at how easy it is to guess a man’s motivations.
‘The evening looks promising, perhaps you’d like a bit of fresh air?’
‘Yes, I’d welcome that. I’ll go out and wait for Jón.’
She steps into the evening air just as Stefán rushes by the front of the hut, followed by several other men. These men would normally be using every bit of the daylight to attend the animals and prepare for next month’s haymaking season. It is now that she realizes she must have slept longer than she thought. Jón has been gone too long.
‘Jón is not with you?’ she asks Stefán.
‘I had to come back to see to a ram. I directed him to a walking path, but he hasn’t returned yet. We’re off to search for him now.’
‘I will come, too.’
‘There’s no need. I think it would be best if you …’
‘No. I’ll go with you.’
There is such finality in her voice that Stefán doesn’t argue, and when they begin walking he’s surprised that she is more than capable of keeping up. She strides in silence, eyes ahead, searching.
The mist has cleared leaving the tall grass damp. A wind blows south and carries wafts of sweet-smelling thyme that grows in clumps along the path. After walking a short while, the party reaches the spot from where in the distance the peaks of the cold blue mountains shoot up into the charcoal cocoons of clouds.
They call Jón’s name. Stefán entertains thoughts of what might have happened: a broken bone from a misstep, or perhaps it was time for Jón’s long sleep. He reproaches himself for allowing him to go alone.
It is a beautiful time of day. The sky is flushed rose. The grey-leaved shrubs glisten. But as she continues forward, Elísabet sees the shrubs are smashed, dented with impressions of a struggle. She walks on. A mist has fallen in front of her like a
