She Wolf

by Dan Smith

  ‘You told me not to trust those men,’ she whispered to him. ‘You told me not to trust them.’

  It’s all right. Take a deep breath. It’s all right.

  ‘I should have listened to you.’ She concentrated on his breathing, in and out, the way she did when Thor’s chariot was making thunder in the sky, or if the men were drinking and fighting in the village. ‘Don’t leave me.’

  I’m here.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of cold forest air, and in that moment she loved Geri with all her heart and she was filled with an overwhelming sadness that ached in every fibre of her body.

  When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t look at him because she knew it would make her want to cry. And she absolutely refused to allow tears to come to her eyes. This wasn’t the time. Instead, she stood and adjusted her scarf. She pushed the hair out of her face, then snatched her bow from Cathryn’s hand and stared at the woman as if nothing had happened. ‘What do we do now?’

  Cathryn narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Doing that makes you feel calm? Talking to yourself?’

  ‘Yes. What do we do now?’

  Cathryn eyed her suspiciously. ‘Well . . . we need to get away from here before others arrive. Those warriors were part of a bigger group who won’t be happy to find their friends dead in the snow. I’ll take you somewhere safe, that’s a promise.’

  ‘I don’t want to go somewhere safe,’ Ylva said. ‘I want to find the three-fingered man and avenge Mother.’

  ‘Child, you’re making it very difficult for me to like you. You almost died back there. Bron had to kill three men to keep you alive. Three. I don’t think you can manage on your own; you need to come with us.’

  Bron sighed his disapproval, and swung up on to the chestnut horse, but Cathryn waved a hand at him. ‘Hush, you. We won’t leave her out here on her own.’

  ‘I won’t go with you,’ Ylva said. ‘If I do, the three-fingered man will get away and I’ll never find him. Geri and I will stay here and go after him.’

  ‘Geri?’ Cathryn and Bron shared a glance. ‘Who’s—?’

  Bron pointed two fingers at the ground beside Ylva and moved them backwards and forwards.

  ‘The dog?’ Cathryn looked at Ylva. ‘Geri is the dog?’

  Ylva lowered her eyes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I understand . . . I think. But we need to leave now.’ Cathryn took her horse’s reins and put her foot in the stirrup. With a creak of leather, she hoisted herself up and held out her hand for Ylva. ‘You can ride with me. Can your dog keep up?’

  Bron made a clicking sound with his tongue to attract Cathryn’s attention. He cupped a hand behind his ear before pointing two fingers into the forest behind them.

  ‘You hear something?’ Cathryn asked.

  Bron turned to the left, then the right, pointing and touching his ears. His eyes were so wide Ylva could see the whites, even in the darkness.

  ‘All sides?’ Cathryn steadied the horse and turned to scan the forest.

  Bron nodded.

  ‘Quickly.’ Cathryn extended her hand to Ylva again. ‘Climb up. They’ve found us.’

  Ylva hesitated. She looked at Geri, then up at the wild Saxon woman on her horse. Beside her, Bron was gesturing with his hands again, and Ylva didn’t need to understand his hand-speak to know what he was saying. He was telling Cathryn to hurry up. Something bad was about to happen.

  As he gestured, a flame appeared in the darkness of the trees close by. One moment it wasn’t there, and then it was. A flickering flame, at just the right height for it to be held by a man on horseback. A fraction of a second later, another burst into life nearby.

  ‘Get on, child,’ Cathryn said. ‘Now.’

  More flames appeared – five or six of them – forming a semicircle in the forest behind them, as if angry spirits were materializing.

  ‘Who is it?’ Ylva spun around.

  ‘Fairies,’ Cathryn said. ‘Who do you think? It’s people who want to kill us!’

  It was enough to make Ylva move. She ignored Cathryn’s hand and grabbed the back of the saddle to pull herself up. There was no time for her to settle before Cathryn nudged her horse into a trot.

  It was dangerous to ride through the forest at night. Visibility was low, and there were hazards everywhere. But they had to escape. The horses would see better than their riders – they would have to trust the animals to find a safe route.

  As Cathryn and Bron gathered speed, encouraging their horses to move faster, flames flickered in the forest, and the dark shapes of riders blurred beneath them. When Ylva dared to look around, she counted six but it was impossible to be sure. They were moving at such speed it felt as if there were so many more than that; as if a circle of fiery horrors was tightening around them.

  Close behind, something let out an ugly scream; a shrill and demonic sound that ripped through Ylva like a blunt-toothed saw. It made her think of draugar rising from their graves to kill anything that crossed their path, and she would swear she even smelt the scent of decay. The sound was followed by a guttural whooping and growling, and when it faded, Ylva’s world was filled with nothing but shimmering fire and thundering hooves.

  14

  Spears of Moonlight

  Their horses crashed through the understorey. They thundered between spears of bone-pale moonlight that cut through the canopy, moving from dark to light and then dark again. The trust between Cathryn and her horse was strong. She spoke to it in urgent whispers, squeezing its flanks with her boot heels, encouraging it to run blindly into the night.

  Ylva hated being so close to the woman, it made her skin itch and tighten as if spiders had burrowed into it, but she bit her bottom lip and forced herself to dig her hands deep into Cathryn’s furs, hanging on to keep herself from falling.

  Bron had broken ahead of them. As Cathryn’s horse veered sideways, skidding on exposed rocks and tree roots, Ylva caught a glimpse of the boy disappearing into the murky gloom. Behind, the terrifying sound began again; a mixture of growling and yipping and screaming. Like hungry wolves fighting over a carcass.

  ‘Be fearless.’ She spoke to Geri, who was lost in the darkness behind her. ‘Be fearless.’ But she knew she was speaking to herself.

  Ylva kept her face low behind Cathryn’s wide back to shield her from tree limbs that snatched at her like dragon claws as they passed. But when the screaming began again, she risked a look back and immediately regretted it. A talon-like birch branch pulled her hair and tore across her cheek, making her cry out in pain. Her head snapped back, her grip loosened on Cathryn, and Ylva slipped sideways. For one awful, awful moment, she was falling. She was going to plunge into the brambles, and she would be trampled and killed and left for the monsters on their tail.

  As she fell, Ylva frantically snatched at Cathryn’s cloak, yanking the woman to one side. Startled, Cathryn tugged hard on the reins and the horse responded by swinging left with a suddenness that almost threw both riders from its back. But Cathryn was strong and experienced. Her bond with the animal was firm. She righted herself and reached back to pull Ylva up into the saddle. Immediately, Ylva grabbed a handful of the woman’s furs and pressed herself closer for safety.

  The damp warmth of her own blood slid down her cheek.

  Behind them, the sounds continued. That nightmare of screaming and howling. Some faded into the distance, as if whatever was chasing them had slowed, but others were gaining.

  ‘They’re coming closer.’ Ylva’s voice was full of panic.

  And then it was right behind them. A scream that froze her blood. And into that pure white terror came the glint of moonlight on metal as a spear whisked past and thumped into a tree. Bark and woodchips exploded just inches from her face, peppering her with splinters.

  ‘They’re catching up!’ she shouted as a second spear clattered among the branches to her right.

  A rider was moving parallel to them th
rough the trees. He wasn’t carrying a flaming torch, but as he pounded in and out of the shafts of moonlight cutting through the birches and aspens, Ylva caught glimpses of him sitting astride his horse, and she saw the terrible image beneath his well-worn helmet. Only the man’s eyes were exposed to the cold air of the wintry night; the rest of his face was covered with a black woollen scarf pulled right up over his nose, and it was painted with the same design she had seen outside the hut.

  A half-skull.

  Ylva screamed at herself to move. This could be him, the three-fingered man, riding alongside her. This might be her chance to fulfil the promise she had made to Mother; to do what the gods expected of her. They had led her to this moment so she could prove herself to them.

  Ylva let go of Cathryn and reached for the bow across her back. As she did so, Cathryn drew her sword. The Viking half-skull veered closer, taking advantage of a gap in the trees. He thundered towards them, raising his cruel sword and letting out a savage scream.

  In one quick movement, Cathryn slashed her sword at the approaching rider. It was not a good strike. The half-skull saw it before Cathryn had unleashed it, and he slowed his horse at just the right moment. Cathryn’s weapon hacked nothing but cold air, and the giant remained firmly on the back of his huge black stallion.

  The momentum of her attack unbalanced Cathryn, and as she tried to resettle herself, her horse passed between the narrow white trunks of two aspens growing close together. There was barely enough room for the horse to make it through the gap, but with Cathryn’s arm extended, they didn’t have a chance.

  Still trying to shrug the bow from over her shoulder, Ylva saw what was going to happen. She saw it, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. They were moving too fast, and the trees were too close.

  Cathryn’s arm smashed into the aspen trunk with a lurching thump followed by a sickening crack. The sword tore from her hand and was lost to the forest. Cathryn screamed and twisted hard in the saddle, forced sideways by the impact. She pushed against Ylva, and the two of them were ripped from the saddle. The horse stumbled, and then they were falling.

  15

  Two Arrows

  Ylva’s world was in chaos. She had no sense of where she was or what was happening; whether she was facing forwards or backwards, up or down. A moment of weightlessness stretched to last a lifetime, and the world tumbled. There was the horrible demonic wailing, and Cathryn’s screaming, but the overriding sound in her head was the sharp crack she’d heard; the sound of something snapping inside Cathryn’s body.

  And then bone-crunching impact.

  Tangled together, they struck the ground like a fallen beast. Ylva landed hard on her back, the air whooshing out of her lungs, and Cathryn came down on top of her. Before Ylva could take another breath, the two of them were rolling and skidding through the snow. Ice scattered from shrubs and undergrowth as they barrelled through it and slammed into the thick trunk of a sturdy oak.

  Muddled and dazed, Ylva wondered if the sky had fallen on her head. But it was Cathryn’s bodyweight that crushed her, and Cathryn’s furs that smothered her. Ylva felt the dreadful closeness of the woman and, in a rising panic, pushed her away with both hands, twisting and fighting for breath. It took a huge effort to move her, and when Ylva was finally free, she sucked in a great lungful of cold, clean air.

  But her problems were not over.

  Heart thumping like Thor’s hammer, Ylva was lying upside down against the tree. Her head and back were in the snow, while her bottom and legs were pressed against the gnarled trunk. Her muscles were already tender and bruised where she had fallen. She wriggled and slipped sideways into the bracken. Thorns snagged her clothes and pulled her hair. They scratched her hands and face.

  She got to her knees and looked about, scanning the forest as if she were deep underwater. Her vision was hazy, her thoughts unclear, but she didn’t have time to waste. Nothing had changed. The warriors were still hunting them. They still had to make their escape.

  Cathryn’s horse had deserted them. It was already thundering riderless into the forest, probably terrified by what had happened.

  ‘Are you still alive?’ Cathryn mumbled.

  ‘I think so.’ Ylva looked away from the horse disappearing into the night and stared at the woman who had come to her rescue. She was like a beast; huge in her furs, with wild hair full of snow and pine needles.

  ‘Good. We need to get moving.’ Cathryn grimaced as she tried to stand up. Her right arm was hanging useless by her side. ‘This isn’t finished. Look.’

  In the trees behind them, the monstrous half-skull had turned his horse and was heading straight for them.

  Ylva wanted to hide, but there was something burning in her. Something that wouldn’t allow her to run away. She was Ylva the Fearless; skalds and wanderers would tell her saga in the great halls of villages all over Midgard. Now was her time for revenge.

  She wrestled the bow from over her shoulder. The weapon was still intact, so she knew the gods were with her. And when she reached to take an arrow from the quiver, she was even more sure of it, because although most of the arrows had scattered when she fell, the gods had left her with two.

  One more than she needed.

  Without thinking, Ylva put an arrow to the bowstring and drew it back. The world moved as if the gods had slowed time. She was about to make history. Ylva the Fearless was about to kill the three-fingered man. The horse and rider thundered towards her, the half-skull lifting his sword ready to strike. Steam bellowed from his horse’s nostrils and he shrieked his terrifying battle cry.

  Ylva released her arrow.

  16

  Too Many

  Moonlight glinted on the iron tip as it left the bow to flash through the trees. The feathered fletchings fluttered as the arrow spun straight and true.

  But the gods weren’t with Ylva in that moment. The half-skull’s horse stumbled on the ground beneath the snow, skewing to one side, and the arrow zipped past the rider. It ruffled the fur of his cloak as it passed him, but if he noticed, he didn’t show it. He rode on, swinging his sword.

  Ylva felt the blade carve through the air above her head as she ducked. It bit into the tree beside her, throwing up bark, and then the half-skull was behind her, slowing his horse and turning.

  ‘Get behind the tree!’ Cathryn yelled. ‘Stay low!’

  Ylva reached for the second arrow, but before she could put it to the bow, the rider was on her again, swinging his sword as he passed.

  For a second time, Ylva ducked beneath the deadly blade, feeling the weight of it above her and sensing its power as it struck the tree, gouging splinters of wood.

  She spun on the spot, twisting and throwing herself behind the tree as the Viking slowed and turned for another attack.

  ‘You sure you know how to use that?’ Cathryn looked at the weapon clutched in Ylva’s hands.

  ‘I almost hit him,’ she said between breaths.

  ‘Almost isn’t good enough. Let me take it.’

  ‘With your arm like that?’ Ylva flinched as something struck the other side of the tree and the horrible screaming erupted in the forest once more. ‘I’ll do it myself.’

  ‘Make it count.’

  Ylva steeled herself and leant out just enough to peer around the tree, but saw immediately that one arrow wasn’t going to be enough; there were two riders out there now. They were close, and moving slowly through the understorey, but both riders wore half-skulls across their mouths. Either one of them could be the three-fingered man. Or perhaps, neither.

  Confused, she looked from one to the other, aware that far off to her right, more flames flickered among the trees. Other riders were heading this way, drawn by the terrible sound made by the two half-skulls.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Cathryn said. ‘Shoot him.’

  ‘Which one?’ Ylva watched the two men, then glanced at the approaching flames. The half-skulls were moving closer to one another, coming together and head
ing towards the tree Ylva and Cathryn were using for protection. The others would be here within a few minutes.

  Cathryn struggled to pull an axe from her belt. ‘Do it!’

  ‘They’re not close enough. I have to kill the right one.’ Ylva tucked herself in a crouch against the tree and held the bow so it was pointing upwards – about the height she expected the riders to be at when they appeared.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Cathryn said. ‘We can’t wait for them, there’s too many. Fire it off to give us cover and we’ll make a run for it.’

  As she said it, the head of the first horse came into view around the tree to Ylva’s right. Ylva clamped her jaw tight and aimed the bow, ready to shoot. Any moment now the rider would come into view and Ylva would fire. She might not be able to kill both of them, but she would at least kill one. She would—

  ‘Put it down.’

  It hadn’t occurred to Ylva that the half-skulls would appear on either side of the tree. And it hadn’t occurred to her that one would come on foot.

  ‘I won’t ask twice. Throw it out into the snow.’

  When Ylva turned, she knew she was beaten.

  The Viking standing over Cathryn was not big enough to be the three-fingered man, but he was just as terrifying. Dressed in a heavy leather tunic and breeches, he wore a dirty helmet that covered his whole face. The half-skull was painted on it, grinning at Ylva like he was part draugr, part wolf. He held a black shield in one hand, painted with the familiar design, and in the other, he brandished a vicious sword.

  ‘Throw it out,’ Cathryn said as she dropped her axe. ‘Do what he says.’

  Ylva hesitated.

  ‘If you want to get out of this alive, do what he says.’

  As far as Ylva was concerned, she lived only for revenge, and if she died now, Mother’s murder would not be avenged. This was not her time to die, so she threw the bow aside. As soon as it broke the surface frost, it disappeared beneath the snow and was gone for good.