On the Cold Coasts

matter how everything else turned out. That touched her deeply, even though this very same life was to blame for how everything had turned out. How could one hate and love a tiny thing that wasn’t even a person yet, both at the same time? She sighed, almost inaudibly.
    “Is it moving?” He wasn’t pompous anymore. His deep voice was almost reverent.
    She nodded, and felt a childlike pride that at least she was capable of finding a life stirring inside of her.
    “Do you want to feel?” she asked, surprising even herself. Hesitantly he extended a long-fingered hand, and she placed it tightly on her belly, holding her own over his. “This is where it kicks the most.”
    The baby was quite still now, almost as though it was teasing them. Not even so much as a butterfly fluttering in her uterus. They waited, quietly. She smiled, feeling awkward. Finally came a strong and decisive kick. Thorkell laughed, surprised, when he felt it against his palm. “What a strong fellow,” he said, as though it had to be a boy. Ragna felt slightly more hopeful; perhaps all would be well after all. He did not withdraw his hand, and she let hers continue lying over his. Thus they sat, quiet and still, except that Thorkell moved his thumb back and forth a little bit, and those movements awakened in her strange impulses that were almost certainly not appropriate, even though they were, theoretically, betrothed.
    A short while later, Gudbjartur Floki called brusquely to his son that they were leaving; they would not be spending the night at Akrar, and had a long journey ahead of them.
    “Will you allow me a kiss?”
    She turned her cheek toward him but found to her surprise his cool lips touching her neck, just beneath her ear, and heard him inhale deeply. “You smell so good,” he said.
    Then they left.

    The arrival of the English had been welcomed at first, since ships from Norway had become a rare sight and for a long time there had been a shortage of numerous commodities. The Icelanders sold stockfish to the English and received in return flour and honey, soap and pewter, English linen and shoes made of cowhide. Thorsteinn of Akrar had prospered in his dealings with the English, being one of the first to establish connections with them in the north. But the novelty soon wore off and disputes about pricing began. The English acted as if they alone could decide how much should be paid for the fish, and were moreover beginning to fish themselves from their vessels and barks, using tremendously long lines with dozens of hooks on each one. They salted the catch instead of filling their holds only with Icelandic stockfish. Usually the ribalds sailed away in the fall on ships loaded with fish for which they had not paid a tariff to the king of Norway and Iceland, or even the correct price. Lately conflicts had arisen between the foreigners and the locals with increasing frequency, to the point where blows were exchanged. It was said that Gudbjartur Floki of Muli and his son Thorkell had been involved in a dispute with the captain of Trinity of Bristol, and some thought it uncanny how suddenly the storm had begun on the morning of Holy Thursday; in the blink of an eye, it had changed from a light breeze to a heavy blizzard with winds from the north. Gudbjartur Floki had long been notorious for dabbling in the dark arts, what people referred to as galdur . “Apparently the son also knows a thing or two about sorcery and such matters, and in any case, he was not suited to you,” Sigridur told her daughter and stroked her cheek. She omitted to mention the obvious fact that a year earlier both she and her husband had been rather in favor of forging a strong bond with those wealthy and ambitious men from Muli. There would be other suitors and of a better ilk, she said, and in any event the inheritance was plentiful and there was still time, at least for a while. The men from Muli could keep their arrogant ways and their own company. It was said that Thorkell himself had fathered two bastard children with his father’s wenches, and the woman who would marry him would never have him to herself. Besides, he was said to be quick-tempered and with a difficult disposition.
    The mistress of Akrar shook her auburn hair and whispered these and similar words of comfort to her daughter when her husband was out of earshot. It was not even certain that the child would live; in fact, it was just as likely that it would die. Who knew better than she