Free Winter Song by Colin Harvey Page B

table.
        "You can help eat it," Ragnar said. "Some of it is for you, anyway." He gestured to one of the benches that ran the length of either side of the table, and the others burst into conversation, the children chattering and laughing. Hilda sat opposite Karl. "Is Yngi joining us?" Hilda asked Thorbjorg, who had shoved herself into the space next to Hilda. Thorbjorg flushed. Karl thought he caught Hilda's faint smirk.
        "He's butchering a rock-eater. He's going to pickle it."
        One of the children made gagging noises.
        "We may have to eat it, if it's a hard winter," Hilda said. She turned to Karl. "As Ragnar's daughter, I run the household in his absence." Someone tittered. "So I choose the menu," she added.
        Thorbjorg said, "I'm Thorbjorg, Ragnar's daughterin-law." When Karl shook her hand, he felt the faintest pressure on his knuckles from her thumb, and she seemed reluctant to let go. When he met her gaze, she widened her eyes fractionally, and a pink tongue-tip licked her lips.
        "Would you like some lamb?" Bera said, pushing some of the grey chunks onto his plate. "Green sauce," she said, and ladled a few small spoons onto the lamb. "Have some pickled vegetables."
        Karl nodded thanks. For all that his stomach was growling in protest, he took only a few of the various vegetables, but looking across in the sudden silence, saw that he'd taken far more than anyone else. He tried to scrape some onto Bera's plate, but she blocked him. "You have some," he muttered, pointing to her nearempty plate. "I've taken far too much."
        "You need to build your strength up," she said.
        Following the other's example, he ate using the implements, which felt awkward in his hands. He'd spent too long on Ship and grown used to munching on food that he could hold in his hands. The pickled vegetables were tart in his mouth, but enjoyable. So was the green sauce on the lamb, which was slightly greasy but so rich that his mouth didn't feel big enough to hold the flavour.
    "Good?" Bera said, watching him.
    "Very." He shovelled another forkful into his mouth.
    "It should be. It's freshly slaughtered."
        The lamb turned to ash in his mouth, but somehow he managed to keep chewing and swallow. "This is from an animal?"
        He grew vaguely aware that Hilda and Thorbjorg had stopped talking.
        "A small one of the sort that you saw on the hills. You remember?" Bera said.
        Karl didn't answer, but concentrated on the pickled vegetables, trying not to think of eating what had been a living, breathing creature. Did you think that they were pets, or ornaments, fool?
        "And the other day," Bera said. "You remember, you said 'sheep'?"
        "What?" he said. "I've only just awoken."
        Thorbjorg laughed. "Oh, Loki, you're funny."
        Karl thought, Hmm, there's some sort of misunderstanding here.
        Karl watched Ragnar flirt with Asgerd. Her serenity seemed to challenge the Gothi, who paid her far more attention than the others. His vitality clearly attracts women, Karl thought, surprised at this new facet of a man he'd only glimpsed as a grumbling bully.
        "Are you really from the stars?" Thorbjorg said. Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "You must have seen so many things, if you are."
        "Where else would I come from?" Karl said, smiling. He didn't want to give too much away – he didn't know what Ragnar had told them, and didn't want to upset his host by straying from the party line. "Call me Karl."
        "You could be an outlaw," Thorbjorg said, widening her eyes. Her grin showed her teeth and a mouthful of lamb-in-green-sauce that made Karl feel queasy.
        "I'd be a pretty useless outlaw, wouldn't I?" He made himself ignore the thought of flesh, and grin back. Don't give offence. "I'm told I was found stark naked in a snowfield."
        "You could be some sort of Holy Fool," Bera nudged