The Glass Woman by Caroline Lea

Author:Caroline Lea
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781405934633
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2018-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

Jón

Near Thingvellir, December 1686

Killing is never an act I have undertaken lightly. If a life must be taken, it should be done with reverence and from necessity. I have heard that there are countries across the ocean where men thrill at the thought of murder. They delight in feeling the victim’s heart slowing, watching the eyes clouding.

I have only ever killed when I had no other choice. Yet now I am stalking through the darkness: two knives in my belt, a sharpened piece of flint in my fist, and enough rage in my belly to drive that stone into a human skull.

Before I met Pétur, I had never slain another man – not intentionally. But knowing Pétur changed everything: suddenly, I found myself capable of murder.

Pétur became Egill and Birgit’s son at about twelve summers, though he has no true idea of his age. A merchant had found him wandering around the volcanic rocks at the base of Hekla, foraging for leaves and berries, thin as an oar, and coated in so much dirt that he might have been made of earth. The merchant used a loaf of bread as bait, coaxed Pétur to his cart, then bound his wrists and ankles and tried to sell him as a slave. No one would buy him: Pétur bared his teeth and growled, snapping his jaws if anyone came too close. The merchant brought him into Stykkishólmur to sell to one of the Danes, hoping they might take the boy to Denmark as some feral curiosity.

But Birgit was entirely besotted with him. She and Egill had no children of their own and she set her heart on caring for him. Egill was against it, but she pleaded until he relented, and they took Pétur in. Everyone in the settlement was appalled and delighted in equal measure.

I was overseas at the time, and thought little of the wild-eyed boy who could barely speak. He ran around ragged and barefoot, while people laughed at poor Birgit, who pursued him with shoes, and kissed him when she caught him.

Katrín told me that, over the next five years, the boy seemed to calm and grew fond of Birgit, though he and Egill clashed: there were often shouts of anger from their croft, then cries of pain as Egill beat Pétur into submission.

He grew more compliant with age, and, by the time he was eighteen summers, he could pass for Egill’s natural son, bar his dark hair and eyes. But that particular summer, Pétur and Egill were heard bellowing, and Birgit screaming.

Then there was a long silence.

I tried not to listen to the village gossips, but Katrín told me that Pétur wasn’t seen for days afterwards; people rubbed their hands in glee, agreeing that Egill had killed him. Egill, however, came to my croft, pale, saying that the boy had fled. He believed Pétur had travelled south on one of the merchant ships. Would I help to find him?

‘Why me?’ I asked. ‘Should you not fetch your boy yourself?’

‘He will not listen to a word from my lips.

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