Bride Fair, and suggested an alliance. He'd always believed his son would live a celibate life, so had swallowed his doubts at the Fair, but Ragnar was sure that she'd married Yngi because he was Gothi's son, rather than from any real attraction, though in the dark all looks were moot.
Had Yngi been anyone else's son, he would probably have been left on the hillside. It wasn't an Icelandic custom, but the Isheimuri had too little time to spare on sentimentality. While they'd never condone eugenics or the actual murder behind the mealy-mouthed phrases, nor could they afford to weaken their gene pool too much; the gods knew that they were finding it hard enough to stop the gradual drift that came with such a small population, and poor diet and limited medicines.
Ragnar realised that he'd stopped half-way across the courtyard, and was apparently staring into space, doubtless to Thorbjorg's amusement. Might as well play the part, he thought, and struck a pose:
"What do you want with this bag of bones?
Old wolves do not need warm flesh,
When old and cold will do as well:
I'd rather stoke my own hearth."
Thorbjorg flushed at the implied insult, and fled.
Chuckling, Ragnar strolled to the byre but as he approached, his good humour evaporated.
The stable was empty of animals, as they were still out grazing under supervision, and in the corner the stranger lay dozing, while Bera sat, peeling the local turnips, which tasted more like soap.
In the two days since he had awoken, the man looked worse, as if the effort had drained him. If anything some of his pallor seemed to have eased.
Bera nodded without looking up at him, and Ragnar allowed his gaze to rest on the starman's face.
Despite being sick and injured, the man was so inhumanly handsome that he seemed almost god-like to Ragnar. The older realised that he was feeling an unfamiliar emotion – envy.
"He's slightly better than he was earlier today," Bera said.
As if he knew that they were talking about him, the alien stirred and tried to nuzzle at her breasts. Blushing furiously, Bera eased him away.
Ragnar felt his temper rise. "Let him. Might as well get some good from you spreading your legs – he can be your babe in arms."
Her head bowed, Bera unbuttoned her blouse. As the man's lips found her nipple, she murmured, eyes downcast, "Do you feel better, Ragnar Helgrimsson, by humiliating me? Do you feel more of a man?"
He stepped forward, knife half-out of its scabbard, but stopped. "You humiliated yourself, girl. Was it one of those travellers who stopped off on the way to Spring Fair? Or is it one of the boys?"
She didn't answer, but kept her head bowed.
As he left, she called out, "You say we've been abandoned by the Terraformers, my lord. But what if they've come back? And he's one of them? An advance scout, to see whether we've survived?"
Ragnar stopped. Orn didn't have the wit to see the hole that the stranger's presence blew in Ragnar's longheld beliefs. That the girl had thought through the implications only showed what a waste her disgrace was. "You think that they're throwing them down at us?" Ragnar said. "I'll guarantee you, child, he's no bloody Terraformer. He's an escaped lunatic, or a common vagrant who fell into a geysir or something."
"You should see his body healing," Bera said. "You can watch the burns fade almost by the second."
"Good!" Ragnar said, walking back into daylight. "We can put him to work, and he can pay for our generosity in kind."
By the next day Ragnar had mastered his restlessness, and got down to work. Much of it was administrative. The district measured eight hundred kilometres north to south, a thousand from east to west. Many of its people had been to the Summer Fair, but there were a few who hadn't, but had grievances to lodge.
Egil
Had Yngi been anyone else's son, he would probably have been left on the hillside. It wasn't an Icelandic custom, but the Isheimuri had too little time to spare on sentimentality. While they'd never condone eugenics or the actual murder behind the mealy-mouthed phrases, nor could they afford to weaken their gene pool too much; the gods knew that they were finding it hard enough to stop the gradual drift that came with such a small population, and poor diet and limited medicines.
Ragnar realised that he'd stopped half-way across the courtyard, and was apparently staring into space, doubtless to Thorbjorg's amusement. Might as well play the part, he thought, and struck a pose:
"What do you want with this bag of bones?
Old wolves do not need warm flesh,
When old and cold will do as well:
I'd rather stoke my own hearth."
Thorbjorg flushed at the implied insult, and fled.
Chuckling, Ragnar strolled to the byre but as he approached, his good humour evaporated.
The stable was empty of animals, as they were still out grazing under supervision, and in the corner the stranger lay dozing, while Bera sat, peeling the local turnips, which tasted more like soap.
In the two days since he had awoken, the man looked worse, as if the effort had drained him. If anything some of his pallor seemed to have eased.
Bera nodded without looking up at him, and Ragnar allowed his gaze to rest on the starman's face.
Despite being sick and injured, the man was so inhumanly handsome that he seemed almost god-like to Ragnar. The older realised that he was feeling an unfamiliar emotion – envy.
"He's slightly better than he was earlier today," Bera said.
As if he knew that they were talking about him, the alien stirred and tried to nuzzle at her breasts. Blushing furiously, Bera eased him away.
Ragnar felt his temper rise. "Let him. Might as well get some good from you spreading your legs – he can be your babe in arms."
Her head bowed, Bera unbuttoned her blouse. As the man's lips found her nipple, she murmured, eyes downcast, "Do you feel better, Ragnar Helgrimsson, by humiliating me? Do you feel more of a man?"
He stepped forward, knife half-out of its scabbard, but stopped. "You humiliated yourself, girl. Was it one of those travellers who stopped off on the way to Spring Fair? Or is it one of the boys?"
She didn't answer, but kept her head bowed.
As he left, she called out, "You say we've been abandoned by the Terraformers, my lord. But what if they've come back? And he's one of them? An advance scout, to see whether we've survived?"
Ragnar stopped. Orn didn't have the wit to see the hole that the stranger's presence blew in Ragnar's longheld beliefs. That the girl had thought through the implications only showed what a waste her disgrace was. "You think that they're throwing them down at us?" Ragnar said. "I'll guarantee you, child, he's no bloody Terraformer. He's an escaped lunatic, or a common vagrant who fell into a geysir or something."
"You should see his body healing," Bera said. "You can watch the burns fade almost by the second."
"Good!" Ragnar said, walking back into daylight. "We can put him to work, and he can pay for our generosity in kind."
By the next day Ragnar had mastered his restlessness, and got down to work. Much of it was administrative. The district measured eight hundred kilometres north to south, a thousand from east to west. Many of its people had been to the Summer Fair, but there were a few who hadn't, but had grievances to lodge.
Egil
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