For supporters only, here's a section I wrote in the first draft, when I was getting to know Bera's world. It's the author incorporating some research but mostly making stuff up, finding the story. So it had to go. As soon as I knew it was a thriller, whole pieces like this were chopped if they weren't essential to the plot. Ouch.
The single POV protagonist (Bera) needs to take the lead at this point, so I made her have some success at seeing where a whale has beached and leading the folk there.
‘We’re awful close to Seabost,’ said one of the men.
‘I know. But we’re right over the other side of the fjord,’ said Bera.
There was a slight stir when a red sail was sighted in the distance but it passed beyond a distant headland, out of view. Bera grew more and more uneasy. They began to close the island. Sails were lowered and Bera stood at the bows, praying, listening to the steady rhythm of the oars. They passed the end of the island’s jutting first horn and she scanned the shore. It was plain that an enormous animal lay on the beach. Some cheers rang out across the water and Bera felt good.
Even before the boats were hauled up the shingle, the children scrambled ashore and ran over to the immense carcass. The smaller ones were scared at first but some older boys ran up and hit it with their fists. They chased after the girls and shoved their hands under their noses, to make them squirm and laugh. Then all the folk lined up, shoulder to shoulder, facing the whale. They judged it to be at least 50 ells, from the number of them that ranged the whole length.
Bera began to sing. She made her way to the head of the whale, joined by some of the women, who took up the song. They stood close to its unblinking eye. Bera looked deep into its cloudy blackness. She rested her hand against the whale’s side and made up some words of peace to send it on its way, back to the eternal whale roads, to send its living kin to feed the folk in other years. The women also touched its body and this time the children gently followed as part of the ceremony. Then they stood aside to let the work begin.
The men threw ropes made from walrus hide over its body. These were the least likely to break. They anchored the whole carcass with ropes, so that they could safely work and turn it over once one side was processed. For now, three of the team used them to haul themselves up onto the whale back. They wore special shoes with nails driven through the soles, for purchase. Two of them clung on with one hand and cut slits along the length of the body while another climbed on top of the whale to make further cuts. On the ground, Ottar set up a couple of boatyard winches and when they were ready he and his men pulled off two strips of blubber. It sounded like dry kindling crackling in a fire.
They lay them out on the ground and each long strip was torn with large flensing hooks and cut into blocks. The carcass was rolled over and a third and fourth strip of blubber was pulled off. The women cut the large blocks into smaller pieces.
Bjorn came over to where Bera was stacking the blubber.
‘Do you see trouble?’
‘No. But that doesn’t mean it can’t happen. We need to try and get home before night.’
He left and one of the women asked if they were going to render the oil.
‘We daren’t. They might see smoke. Anyway, we need to get home quickly. Let’s load the boats.’
Bera told the women to form a line to pass the blocks to other folk onboard the boats. She helped stow on one of them, preferring to be well away from the stripped body of the whale. She slithered and slid on the decks made slippery with grease. Her rough clothing would smell for weeks.
When she got back there was another change of teams. The whale-men swapped shoes for others to climb. All drank deeply of the ale they had brought with them. All were bathed in dark red blood. The smell was intense and they crawled with flies. So it went on: turn and cut, winch and drag; flense and chop until, at last, the whole whale was gradually unpeeled.
There was a longer rest. Bera went with Bjorn to soak their feet in the shallows. They sank down onto the shingle, washed their sticky hands and scooped water onto their faces.
‘We won’t be able to work much longer,’ Bera said.
Bjorn looked west, to where the sun was an orange ball amongst purple clouds.
‘I wonder why its blood is so dark?’ he said.
Bera shrugged.
‘Why don’t you ask your skern? Ask if there will be an accident. If someone will die.’
‘It’s not like that, Bjorn. It’s not like you and me talking. He makes a sort of pronouncement then goes. Then I’m supposed to work it out. I think he makes things up sometimes.’
‘Is he here?’
‘No. That’s the other problem. I don’t know if he’s supposed to be. I’m not sure about much.’
They heard a graunching noise and looked back. The huge jaw was being winched up into the sky. There was a cheer. They looked at each other then ran back in time to see it thump down onto the ground. Some weary men set to sawing it, wrenching off the lower jaw from the upper.
As they finished, the sun set.
The folk were exhausted.
‘Do we stay and finish or come back tomorrow?’ Bera asked Ottar.
‘I’m not creeping away. We stay.’
They all stripped off, waded out into the sea and washed off as much blood as they could before they froze. It exhilarated them and they raced about, laughing and play fighting, adults and children. They rubbed themselves down with their cloaks and bundled themselves back into stiff clothing. Energy restored, they lit torches and set up campfires and cooking pots. At first, children were set to scare off the screaming birds that came to prey on the carcass. When it was fully dark, and they had gone to roost, the children returned. Men were posted to watch the beach. Whatever monster might crawl out of the deeps to feast on the whale could have its fill: the enemy they feared would arrive in boats.