On the Cold Coasts

things. Their duvets and clothing fitted on one horse and were ready in a pannier in the tack storehouse. All she had to do was to put a saddle blanket and packsaddle on the horse and tighten the girth. She would be doing it for the first time herself, though she had watched others do it often enough.
    She heard the girls enter the hall and retire, one by one. Only a thin panel separated her from them, and though she could not make out any words, she could hear them whispering to each other in the dusk. She did recognize one pealing, bright laugh, however, and pressed her lips together. What on earth did Gudrun have to laugh about, one child hanging onto her apron strings and another about to burst out of her, while the father ignored them. Ragna counted the weeks on her fingers; Gudrun was so big that surely she was due within two or three weeks, at the most. That meant the baby would have been conceived…at Christmas or New Year’s? She sighed deeply and squeezed her eyes shut, but to no avail: they lay in a hot embrace behind her eyelids, Gudrun laughing. May the devil take her and Thorkell too!—Even though she loved him.
    An hour later, all was quiet. She waited until she heard snoring, then slipped out of bed, threw a thick wool cape over herself, and tied a triangular scarf over her head. The night would be chilly. She was able to get outside and away from the buildings without anyone seeing her—save for the dogs, who went quiet as soon as they recognized her. They followed her out to the fields to fetch her horse and back up to the storehouses. There she shooed them away, fearing they might attract attention. The tack storehouse was locked, but she still had a set of keys and soon found the one that fit. She had little trouble putting the packsaddle on the horse and tightening the girder, but she found it somewhat harder to put up the packs and fasten them. Her hands were not particularly strong, and she almost wanted to give up, but she managed it in the end and was able to lead the horse out of the storehouse and down into the valley.
    The still moon shone a cold light on the red rocks of Mt. Holabyrda and the path in front of her. Ragna gazed up at the starry sky and spotted Frigg’s Spinning Wheel in the southern sky, the ancient goddess of marriage and fertility. Neither were intended for her, apparently. And anyway, Frigg was not someone she believed in, but rather Holy Mary, Mother of God. She crossed herself again with her head lowered, feeling ashamed to have wasted a thought on a heathen idol. She walked with quick steps, the horse willingly allowing itself to be led behind her, despite being more accustomed to carrying a rider than a pack. When they crossed the Hjaltadalur River, she clambered onto its back and sat sideways atop her luggage; even though the icy water was shallow, it might reach above her boots, and she did not care to get her feet wet in such frost. Even though the route was not very long and she was warmly dressed, she was numb with cold by the time she reached the brook below Kot. Immensely relieved, she knelt at the edge of the hot pool and soaked her hands, which were already blue with cold, in the warm water. Steam wafted up from the brook, enveloping the nearby surroundings in a mist. There was complete silence, broken not even by the distant chirp of a bird or a bleating sheep. Thick clouds were piling up in the sky, and it was dreadfully cold. A cloud covered the moon, and the darkness deepened. In that black silence, Ragna shuddered and reached inside her cape for the small silver cross that she wore around her neck, softly murmuring the Angelus: “ Ave Maria gratia plena, Dominus tecum …”
    Finally: the sound of hooves. As he approached it was almost like the white horse had no rider, the man merged so well with the darkness, dressed in a black cloak with a hood. He leapt from his horse and walked to greet her, smiling, his arms outstretched, waiting to gather her in an embrace. She was enormously relieved to see him.
    He had expected her to be on horseback and had not taken along another horse, so they had to ride double on his regal steed. Her own horse with the panniers lagged behind, tied to the tail of Thorkell’s horse. They rode slowly, but Ragna didn’t mind; it was good to have him so close, his strong arms around her, holding the reins. She tightened the cape around her and nestled closer to him. The chill was gone from her bones, and the journey